Scott takes hold of Logan’s hand in the few fleeting moments that they have before the battle starts. On the horizon, helicopters edge closer like malignant insects and the makeshift army of anarchist mutants march forward.
Logan’s hand is large and his palm is sweating, but he squeezes Scott’s hand tightly. Their fingers interlock and they watch the fight of their lives coming towards them; at this point, there is nothing left to do but wait. Scott’s blasts won’t reach far enough to do any real damage, not at this distance.
“I’ve got your back, one-eye,” Logan promises. Coming from him, that means the world.
Scott nods. “Same here,” he says.
There should be more to say as his heart thunders, but he can’t summon a single word. He doesn’t resist when Logan uses his grip to yank him towards him, placing his free hand on Scott’s jaw to hold him in place. Their kiss isn’t gentle or tame - there isn’t time for that. For them, there never is. Logan growls against Scott’s mouth and yanks him even closer. The others on the team don’t seem bothered or disturbed. Storm doesn’t even bat an eyelid.
With a reluctant snarl Logan pushes him back again and, still holding his hand, turns his gaze back to the skyline. The approaching mob is less than a minute away now. “See you when it’s over,” Logan says.
Releasing the first blast from his visor, Scott doesn’t have a chance to wish him luck.