Fragile But Repairable
by
Eiluned


Author's Site: http://www.phoenixfyre.net/Eiluned

Archive: Yes to Alex, WXF and anyone else who has the other In Repair stories. All others please ask first.

Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel, not me. But, damn... The lyrics are copyright to Sting and U2. The quotes in the text are from Stephen Hawking's "A Brief History of Time," published by Bantam Books. There's a line from Gladiator in there, which belongs to Dreamworks.

Warnings: Explicit sex, some bloodiness, discussion of rape. If it ain't your cuppa Ruby Mist, you might not want to read this story.

Notes: Takes place a little over seven months after Damaged, which can be found with the rest of the series on my site. Thanks to Gables for the Tucson mall names. ::grin:: Creative liberties have been taken with Tucson and Santa Fe's airport. Forgive any crazy stuff that I made up. ;) Huge thanks to Mara, Alex and Devil Doll for the repeated beta reads, and thanks to DD for making me rethink how I'd written part of this.

Feedback would make the five months I spent working on this worth it. ;)

'This is a thought.'
~This is Jean's telepathy.~
#This is Professor X's telepathy.#
*This is emphasis.*

---

"I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion"

Sting, "Be Still My Beating Heart"

"Love is not the easy thing
And the only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind"

U2, "Walk On"

* * *

Xavier's School for Gifted Children
25 October

* * *

"What are you going to dress up as, Hank?"

Henry looked up from his book and laughed. Jean and Ororo were already in their Halloween costumes, and both were grinning at him impishly. Storm was in a ridiculously tight pair of red vinyl pants with flames up one side and a red corset. Devil horns poked out of her white hair. Jean had on an almost scandalously short white baby doll dress, and a silver halo was perched jauntily on her head.

"Why doesn't this surprise me?" he teased.

Jean poked her bottom lip out and frowned at him. "You don't like our costumes?" she asked in an innocent voice; Storm cracked up.

"I can't believe Storm let you be the angel, Jean," Hank said.

"I'm just more angelic," she retorted good-naturedly. "Well, maybe not. So, have we confirmed that Worthington will be at this party?"

"Mm-hm," Hank answered, pointing at the computer screen. "He responded s'il vous plait yesterday."

"Good. I'd hate to have gone--" she put her hands to her head suddenly, wincing, leaning against the console for support.

"You okay?" Ororo said, steadying Jean.

Jean rubbed her temples. "Yeah, I'm okay..."

"What was that?" Hank asked.

Jean shrugged, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't know. It felt like... someone was yelling at me in my head. It was weird.

"I've got stuff to do. The kitchen still needs to be cleaned up. See you two later."

She turned and started to walk off, but her knee gave and she fell to the floor. "Whoa! Jean, are you all right?" Storm exclaimed, helping her to her feet.

"No... I heard it again..." she murmured.

"I'll get the professor," Henry said, hopping over the computer console.

"I'm okay," Jean protested. "Don't bother him. It just caught me off guard."

"Well, at least take those shoes off. You're going to break your ankle if you keep falling over like that."

Jean rolled her eyes at him, unbuckling the straps of her shoes. "That was weird. I'll talk to Professor Xavier about it later."

"We'd better get out of these outfits," Storm said, waving her hand at her pants. "I'm afraid these will stick to my skin permanently."

Jean pulled herself to her feet and headed for the main staircase. Her mind still tingled faintly and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. It felt for all the world like someone was whispering against her skin. Shivering, she started up the stairs.

Sudden, slow knocking on the front door startled her, and she stopped on the third step, staring at the door. If someone had broken into the compound, the security alarm would have gone off. If it was a visitor, they wouldn't have been able to get past the gate without authorization from the mansion.

She dropped her shoes on the staircase and slowly walked to the door, ready to blast whoever was outside across the lawn if they attacked. Something familiar prickled in her mind, but she couldn't focus enough to scan the area psychically.

She unlocked the door and opened it slowly, shaking from adrenaline rush. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Jean began to wonder if she's imagined the knock. Suddenly, a tall figure detached from the shadows and fell into her arms.

"Logan?" she said incredulously, but he was already unconscious.

He was extremely heavy, as she'd remembered, but she'd never had his full deadweight on her before. She staggered backward, yelling for someone to help her.

Her dress felt warm and wet, and she gasped in horror to see blood soaking through it. "Oh, my god," she said, trying to maneuver him to the floor.

Hank bounded into the room with Storm on his heels. "Jean, what is it -- oh, god..." Ororo looked sick.

"Somebody get the Professor!" Jean yelled, rolling Logan onto his back.

Blood flowed freely from a wound on his midsection, pooling on the polished wood floor. Jean pressed her hands to the wound, but Hank pulled her back. "Wha..." she said, staring at her bloody hands.

"Levitate him. We have to get him to the Medlab. I'll try to staunch the bleeding," he said urgently, pressing his own huge hands over Logan's stomach.

Jean rose to her feet, and Logan suddenly floated off of the floor. His eyes fluttered open for a second and seemed to focus on Jean. His lips moved slightly, and he was out again.

* * *

"You should probably go rinse your dress out, Jean, before the stain sets in," Professor Xavier said while adjusting an IV tube.

Jean stopped wringing her hands long enough to look down at her angel dress, which was stained a gory shade of crimson. "Yeah, I guess so," she replied quietly.

There was always a supply of scrubs in the Medlab's bathroom, so she pulled on a set and let her dress soak in one of the sinks. Her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest. Seven months... he'd been gone seven months, without any kind of contact, and he suddenly showed up on her front step, bleeding to death. Why was he back? And what was she feeling?

It was a strange combination of dread, relief and fury. It made her stomach do flip-flops.

"Why isn't his healing factor closing that up?" she asked the professor when she emerged from the bathroom.

Professor Xavier carefully peeled some gauze from the wound. "I think he can only take so much damage. His healing factor must be overloaded," he answered, discarding the soaked bandage.

"You can see some fading scars here," he continued, pointing at some rapidly disappearing pink marks on Logan's chest. "The bleeding is under control now, so I believe his healing factor will catch up with the damage he's sustained."

"Those looks like claw marks," Jean said, motioning to the wound.

The professor nodded. "They do."

"What do you think did this to him?"

Professor Xavier looked up at her. "I don't know. We will just have to wait and ask him when he regains consciousness."

He was watching her very carefully, and Jean squirmed under his scrutiny. "What?" she exclaimed.

"Are you going to be able to handle this?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied shortly.

He gave her a knowing look. "Seven months is a long time, Jean, but you're still hurting. I just want to make sure you aren't going to alienate him when he wakes up."

She stared at him, angry. "Don't you think we've gone over that enough?" she said.

"I don't bring it up to make you feel badly. I just don't want to see you make another mistake."

"Mm-hm. You're just being altruistic," she said sarcastically.

He gave her a patient look that just irritated her more.

"Look, I was scared and confused. Can't I make a goddamn mistake?" she snapped.

"Language, Jean."

She glared at him. "If you had seen someone get ripped in half, you'd be a little wary, too."

"He was there to save your life."

"I was scared! Why do I have to keep defending myself about this?"

Professor Xavier gave her the long-suffering look again, and her patience snapped. "I'll take care of him. Please leave. If you don't, I'm afraid I'll say something that I'll regret," she said through gritted teeth.

The professor nodded and wheeled himself out of the room. Jean collapsed into one of the chairs and shook her head. "As if I haven't beaten myself up enough," she muttered.

* * *

Logan was floating in a dark haze, aware of his body, but feeling like he wasn't really connected to it. He could feel warmth and a bit of residual pain, but otherwise, he felt pretty good. Something faint in the back of his mind whispered that he was healing. He'd felt like this a few times before. He mostly remembered the time he spent in the Savage Land, healing the massive wounds he'd received when he broke out of the Weapon X facility.

Something else twinged in his mind. It was a presence more than anything else, something familiar and comforting. It wrapped around him like a warm blanket, but he felt a strange sense of guilt because of it.

~Sleep,~ the presence told him, and so he did.

* * *

26 October
9:22 a.m.

* * *

"You're still here?"

Jean jerked awake and nearly fell out of her chair. Piotr grinned and handed her a glass of apple juice. "I knocked on your door for five minutes," he said, "but you never answered, so I thought you might be down here."

Jean gulped the juice, giving him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Petey."

He pulled another chair up and sat down with her, rubbing his eyes. "So, how's he doing?" he asked.

Jean set the glass on a table and got up, pulling the sheet back from Logan's torso. "He was starting to heal the big wound last night," she said, gently pulling the bandage off.

It wasn't as bloody as the other bandages had been, which was a good sign. The wound looked much better, too. "Watch this," she said to Piotr, and he leaned over.

The ripped skin and muscle was knitting itself back together visibly. Piotr looked nauseated. "That's... interesting. But disgusting," he commented, looking away quickly.

Jean grinned at him. "I thought you'd have a stronger stomach than that," she teased. "I have no idea how his body can do that, but it's fascinating."

"It's gross."

"You're such a weenie, Peter."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was staring at her with a concerned look on his face. 'Here goes,' she thought.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm okay," she replied. "Don't worry about me. I am She-ra, Princess of Power."

Colossus snorted. "You've been watching cartoons with Bobby again, haven't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Piotr smiled. "Well, we figured you'd pull a vigil down here, so Hank's getting some books for you. He should be down here with them soon."

Jean smiled back, taping a fresh gauze pad loosely over the wound. "Thanks."

Piotr left the infirmary and Jean settled back down in her chair. Logan was still unconscious, but he was breathing evenly. When she touched his mind, she could feel that he was starting to slide from unconsciousness into normal sleep. It was a very good sign, but she couldn't help wishing that he'd just stay unconscious. She had no idea what to say to him when he woke up.

Henry bounded into the infirmary fifteen minutes later, his arms full of books. "Cripes, Hank," Jean laughed, "I'm not going to be down here forever."

He stacked the books on a table and pulled a chair up beside Jean. "Variety is the spice of life, Jean. Anyway, I had no idea what you're in the mood for, so I just grabbed a little bit of everything," he replied.

Jean shuffled through the stacks. "Goodkind, Krakauer... The Complete Works of Shakespeare?" -- Hank shrugged cheerfully. -- "Oh, Henry, you even brought your astrophysics books. What more could a girl ask for?"

"How's he doing?" Henry asked, unintentionally parroting Piotr's earlier question.

"He's starting to move from unconsciousness to sleep. That's a good sign. And the wound is healing nicely. I suppose he'll be awake soon," she answered, flipping through Stephen Hawking's 'A Brief History of Time.'

"One hell of a birthday present, huh?"

Jean glanced at him, not sure how to answer that.

"And are you planning on being around when he wakes up?" Hank continued.

Jean looked up from the book, surprised. "Of course. Why would you ask something like that?"

Hank pushed his blue hair back off of his forehead. "You seem a bit skittish, that's all," he replied.

"No, you asked because he left when I woke up."

Hank laughed lightly. "Damn mind-reader. I can't evade telling the truth around you."

"I've thought about bolting, but I can't. I need to know why he suddenly showed up again. I mean, aside from the obvious reasons," she said, motioning at his bandaged midsection.

"You want to know if he came back because he was injured, or if he came back for you."

Blushing, Jean nodded. "It sounds kind of arrogant when you say it out loud."

"It's not. It's an honest inquiry."

Jean rubbed her forehead. "God, Hank, what am I going to do? I feel like everything's been turned upside down. I never wanted to see him again--"

Hank snorted. "Jean, please forgive me, but I'm going to be brutally honest with you. We've talked about this a lot over the past months. I've listened to you rationalize for hours. I even picked the lock on your door when you barred yourself in there with a couple of gallons of chocolate ice cream and those horrid Sarah McLachlan CDs. And that was last month.

"Jean, you're not over him. You merely came to terms with the fact that he left."

"No offense, Hank, but I really don't think you know what the hell you're talking about," she said shortly.

"Oh, really. So what would you call the sappy chick music episode?"

"A lapse."

"Do you want my honest opinion?" he asked.

"Not really."

"You're in love with him."

Jean looked shocked. "No! Hank, I watched him rip a man in half..."

"So? How does that stop you from loving him?"

Jean stared at him. "Hank, he killed someone."

"And if I remember correctly, so have you. Does that stop me from caring about you?"

"I--"

"Jean, you should have seen him when he was around you. He changed completely. When he first got here, he strutted around, acting like a complete asshole, but when the two of you became lovers, he changed," Hank paused, gesturing in the air. "He was still arrogant and ill-tempered, but when he was around you, I could see his whole manner change."

"How?" Jean asked in a small voice.

"Ugh, you had to ask. He... well, it was as if he became more gentle around you. And protective. Loving, almost. I don't know how to properly describe it, Jean, but it was there."

Jean didn't know what to say. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Hank reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry..." he said quietly.

Jean wiped the tears from her cheeks angrily. "Don't be. And you don't know what you're talking about."

"And you can tell yourself that all you want, Jean," Hank said impatiently. "I'll just be happy to say 'I told you so' and rub it in your face when you realize that I was right all along."

Jean shook her head at him. "Blue, I love you to death. Now, go away before I kick your ass."

* * *

27 October
3:57 p.m.

~'As matter carrying entropy fell into a black hole, the area of its event horizon would go up, so that the sum of the entropy of matter outside black holes and the area of the horizons would never go down.'~

Confused, Logan opened his eyes, squinting. "Jean?" he mumbled.

~'The mass of the sun curves space-time in such a way that although the earth follows a straight path in four-dimensional space-time, it appears to us to move along a circular orbit in three-dimensional space.'~

He tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. He settled for raising his head a little bit.

Jean was sprawled in a chair beside his bed, asleep, a book lying open on her stomach. She looked so beautiful that it made his chest ache. Her hair was longer than he remembered; a few strands fell onto her face in loose curls. He was overcome by the urge to touch her.

He tried pulling himself up again, and fell back on his pillow, grunting in pain. Jean jumped and woke up, her book falling to the floor. "Logan?" she said, pulling herself upright. "What is it? Are you all right?"

His midsection felt like it was on fire. He tried to stretch, but Jean pinned him to the bed with her mind. "Don't do that! You'll tear the wound open again," she admonished.

Logan groaned and winced. "Hurts..." he muttered.

A hot flash of pain shot into Jean's own stomach, and she had to stop herself from staggering backward. 'What the hell?' she thought, confused.

He shifted restlessly on the bed, his forehead creased. She reached for a syringe filled with a painkiller, but his hand shot out to hold hers back. "No drugs," he said hoarsely. "Won't work anyway."

The touch of skin to skin made her shiver with some strange emotion... something like fear and arousal and anxiety all mixed together. She pulled her hand away and brushed his hair back from his forehead gently. His eyes held hers for a second, but what she saw in them made her stomach do a funny flip. Underneath the pain, there was something warm and deep...

She couldn't handle it. "Sleep," she whispered, putting a psychic suggestion into his mind. "It won't hurt when you wake up again."

His dark eyes slipped shut.

Jean collapsed back into her chair, rubbing her temples. The buzzing was back, giving her a headache. She focused for a moment, pushing everything else out of her mind until the buzz was gone.

Seeing him awake... She hadn't expected to react the way she did. She couldn't help but want to take care of him. He was hurt, and that preyed on her inner mother-hen. She had to make him better. She could handle that.

What she couldn't handle was the sudden leap her heart made into her throat when he touched her and looked at her. Her brain could say that she hated his guts all it wanted, but her heart and body obviously had a different opinion.

"Why come back?" she muttered.

* * *

Professor Xavier's office
6:40 p.m.

* * *

"You should get some rest, Jean. I don't want you sleeping in an infirmary chair again tonight," the professor said, glancing at a news report.

"Okay. I'll sleep in one of the beds," she replied stubbornly, and Professor Xavier looked up at her.

"Jean, I called you here because I know you're not getting enough sleep or--"

"I'm not going to change my mind, so don't."

He gave her an exasperated look, but nodded. "All right. I'm not about to argue with you. But I am ordering you to eat a decent meal. I can't afford to have you in the infirmary, too."

Jean cracked a small smile. "Deal."

They both sat in silence for a little while, Professor Xavier reading and Jean staring at nothing. "Sir?" she said, finally. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

She was quiet for a second, trying to figure out how to ask without sounding rude. "Why do you keep harping on me? About Logan, I mean," she asked, speaking quickly. "I know that I probably messed up, but so did he, and I'm getting tired of hearing about it all the time."

To her surprise, Professor Xavier gave her a sad smile. "I don't mean to harp on you, Jean, and I apologize that it seems that way."

He looked at her for a moment, his mouth tight. "I could see that you and Logan cared about each other, and I don't want you to make... a mistake."

"You mean, the same mistake you made."

The professor smiled grimly. "You don't miss a thing, do you?

"There was someone, a long time ago, that I cared about more than life itself. We both made mistakes, and it ended. I have never regretted anything more in my life. Sometimes, love is more important than anything else in the world, and we both were blind to that. I do not want to see the same thing happen to you."

Professor Xavier silently stared at nothing, lost in his thoughts, and Jean had a sudden flash of insight. "You're talking about Magneto, aren't you?" she blurted out without thinking.

She half-expected him to be annoyed with her, but he just gave her the same, sad smile. "Go on and eat dinner," he said.

Jean stepped out of his office with a much deeper understanding of her mentor.

* * *

28 October
11:40 a.m.

* * *

The next time Logan woke up, Jean was asleep again. He leaned forward carefully, testing the pain in his abdomen. There was none.

He sat up, stretching out muscles sore from disuse, watching her carefully. She was sprawled across two chairs, another book lying open in her lap, head resting on the back of the chair. Her hair *was* longer; it looked a bit wavy now that it wasn't so short. She looked pale and tired, dark circles ringing her eyes.

Logan started to wonder if coming back was such a good idea. He could remember hearing her talking with someone -- she hadn't sounded happy to see him. He glanced around the infirmary and saw a pair of sweats sitting on a table. Maybe he could get dressed and get out of the infirmary without waking her up. He could go and thank Charlie, and then leave. Go back to his own life.

'Yeah, that sounds really great, doesn't it? Go back to cage fighting to make a few bucks and living in some shithole in New York City.'

Frowning at himself, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at the stiffness in his back. What other option did he have? He didn't want to hurt Jean any more than he already had. He was halfway to the table when she spoke.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He stopped, sighing. "Out."

He heard the rustling of clothes and the creak of wood; she was sitting up. "You're leaving," her tone was flat.

"Yup," he replied, just as emotionless.

There was a whoosh of breath when she sighed. "That's great. You show up here after seven months, nearly dead. We patch you up, and you take off again without so much as a word. Nice fucking gratitude."

He finally turned to look at her. "Look, I figured you wouldn't want me here. Why would you want some psychopath wandering around? I'm not welcome here--"

Her jaw clenched for a second. "The professor says that you're always welcome here. No one's forcing you to leave. You can stay if you want," she said in the same flat voice.

"And what about you? Do you want me to stay?"

Her jaw clenched again. "What I want doesn't matter. Professor Xavier would like for you to stay here. I think it's only polite, considering he saved your life."

Logan clenched his fists, annoyed. "Fine. I'll stay. Same room?"

Jean nodded tersely. "Everything you didn't take when you left is still in there."

For some reason, those words stung him the most. "Fine," he said again, burying the emotion, "I'll just get dressed. You can leave."

She pursed her lips, looking almost as if she wanted to say something else, but she got up and left the infirmary without another word.

* * *

Jean leaned against the wall outside of the infirmary, trying to catch her breath.

'Well, that didn't go very well,' she thought irritably.

* * *

29 October
10:14 a.m.

* * *

Jean gave the punching bag a tremendous kick, sending it bouncing on its chain. It felt good to be able to kick the shit out of something that couldn't kick back. She drew back and punched it as hard as she could, cursing when her knuckles popped painfully.

"You should palm it."

She jumped. "What?" she said shortly, not bothering to face Logan.

"When you punch, instead of hitting with your knuckles, bend your wrist back and palm it."

Jean sneered at the bag, giving it a hard roundhouse kick. "I don't remember asking for your advice," she snapped.

"I give it when it's needed," he snapped back.

A kick augmented with telekinetic energy snapped the chain and sent the heavy bag crashing to the floor. "Excuse me?" she said, turning to glare at him. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and telling me what to do?"

Logan opened his mouth, and Jean could tell from the sudden burst of anger from him that he was really about to lay into her, when Hank came out of the locker room.

"What was that crash?" he asked, then stopped in his tracks when he saw them glaring at each other. "A thousand pardons. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"You didn't," Jean said acidly, bristling at the 'I told you so' look on Hank's face.

She strode across the gym, shouldering Logan out of the way, trying not to shiver at the feel of his body against hers.

* * *

2:20 p.m.

* * *

"There have been some acts of terrorism in Singapore. The local authorities are blaming it on an unknown mutant group," Professor Xavier said.

"Do you think the Brotherhood has regrouped?" Jean asked, watching the digital video replay itself on the ceiling of the viewing room.

"I wouldn't doubt it," a rough voice said from behind her.

'Goddammit,' she thought.

Logan was leaning against the rail on one of the staircases, looking up at the image. "They weren't stupid enough to keep everything in the Savage Land. I never saw it, but I know Magneto had another base somewhere else. My guess would be in the Outback," he said.

'Great. That's it, just keep trying to suck up,' she thought petulantly, scowling at him.

"Australia..." Xavier mused. "That would make sense. I'll have to look into that."

Huffing, Jean started up another staircase, keenly aware of the sympathetic look on the professor's face and Logan's eyes cutting into her.

* * *

30 October
9:45 p.m.

* * *

Jean had managed to go the last day and a half without seeing Logan much, which seemed to be both a good thing and a bad thing. She knew she was just avoiding the inevitable, but she *really* didn't want to get into another fight, and she didn't particularly want to talk to him like a normal human being either. When they did speak, they had managed to keep the sniping comments to a minimum.

Hank kept staring at her pointedly whenever Logan walked into a room, and even though she'd been ignoring it, it was starting to annoy her. And the professor kept watching her with that sad smile on his face.

Something was going to have to give soon, or she would go insane.

Sighing, she turned on the stove burner and plopped a teakettle down on it, then pulled herself up to sit on the counter next to her mug. She had been thinking a lot lately, especially about what Henry had said to her a few days earlier. She hated it when self-introspection started to prove her wrong. If there was one thing that Jean hated more than anything, it was feeling like she wasn't in control, and she felt like that now.

The door creaked quietly, and she watched Logan enter the kitchen from the corner of her eye. He looked right at her, and after a second, feigned surprise.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were in here," he said gruffly, turning to leave.

She couldn't help grinning bitterly to herself. "Yes you did. You could probably smell me from all the way down the hall," she replied, swinging her feet a little bit.

He watched her intensely for a few seconds, then gave a small smile. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, motioning to the empty counter across from her.

"It's a free country."

He pulled himself up onto the counter. Part of Jean wondered why she wasn't telling him to go away, but the bigger part of her was damn tired of fighting and very lonely. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she missed him. His physical presence was calming to her, made her want to curl up against his chest and fall asleep.

The teakettle whistled impatiently, and Jean gave herself a mental shake. Logan watched her as she filled her mug and squeezed a big glob of honey into it, just watched her quietly, and she could sense that he was comfortable being close to her. Over the past couple of days, he had felt tense, vaguely ill at ease, but each time he had walked into a room with her in it, his emotions rippled to the happier end of the spectrum, even if they fought.

She watched the water turn a brilliant shade of magenta, idly swirling the teabag around, acutely aware of his eyes on her. "Well, it's late, and I have a lot to do tomorrow," she said, pulling the teabag out and tossing it into the garbage can.

She turned to face him and shivered slightly. "Good night," she said softly.

Logan reached out and drew the pad of his thumb slowly across her cheek. "'Night," he replied.

Jean shivered again and hurried out of the kitchen.

* * *

31 October
2:03 a.m.

* * *

Jean sat straight up in bed, fighting off the sensation of suffocation. What had awakened her? She had been having a horrible nightmare...

Someone knocked softly on her door, and she woke up, stumbling out of bed and to the door. "What's th' matter?" she mumbled, pulling the door open.

Bobby stood in the hall, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, but..." his eyes darted down from her face, and his cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, "he's... um..."

Jean realized a bit belatedly that she hadn't pulled her robe on, and she was dressed only in a pair of panties and a skimpy tank top. "Yeah, I'm in my underwear. Whatever. Now, who's what?" she said irritably.

Bobby blushed even more furiously. "Wolverine. I think he's having a nightmare or something," he gestured down the hall toward Logan's room. "I was coming back from the kitchen, and I heard him. I thought I should tell someone."

Jean rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Okay. I'll take care of it."

He darted down the hall to his own room. Jean closed her door quietly and padded barefoot down the hall. She could hear him through the door and suddenly understood why Bobby had felt it necessary to wake her up. The sounds coming through the door were frightening, tortured moans and half-screams. She wondered briefly if she should wake Professor X, but decided against it.

She eased the door open and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind herself. She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then tiptoed across the carpet to his bed.

He was obviously caught in a nightmare, and was thrashing about. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. Jean felt heat rise into her face at the sight of him nearly naked, but pushed it aside with a bit of annoyance.

"Logan, wake up," she said quietly.

He moaned and jerked, mumbling incoherently. "Wake up, Logan. You're having a nightma--"

She choked back a scream and telekinetically grabbed his hands just before his claws ripped into her belly. "Wake up!" she said loudly, backing slowly away from him.

"Let me go," he growled in a voice that was barely human.

Jean could tell that he wasn't entirely lucid. "Not until you're awake," she retorted. "Logan, wake up."

His claws retracted. "I'm awake..." he mumbled.

"What's my name?"

He chuckled nervously. "Are you gonna slap me around?"

Jean huffed. "Wolverine..."

"Okay, okay. You're Jean. I'm awake. Now, let me go."

She released his hands, and he rubbed his temples, watching her carefully. "What are you doing in here?" he asked.

"You were having a nightmare," she explained. "I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

Jean felt his emotions wash over her, a strange blend that took a moment to sort out. He was relieved to see her, but nervous that she was there. And... he was embarrassed. 'Embarrassed? Because of the nightmare?' she wondered to herself.

"Well, sorry to wake ya," he mumbled.

Jean didn't need to read his mind to know that he was reliving the dream. She slowly crossed back to the bed. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He looked ready to give a smart-assed reply, but instead buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, shuddery sigh. Pain rolled off of him in waves. The bedding was damp with sweat, and he was soaked.

"Why don't you get in the shower? I'll change the sheets, okay?" she said.

Logan nodded tersely and got up, disappearing into the bathroom. Jean shuddered, still feeling the residual horror from his dream, and started stripping the sheets off of the bed. Something about the dream felt familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

She found clean sheets in a bureau drawer, and made quick work of making the bed. She leaned over the bed and tucked the last corner under the mattress. She spread the top sheet out, not bothering to tuck it under. He would just pull it loose anyway. He moved around in his sleep a lot, even when he wasn't having nightmares. When they shared a bed, she always woke up with the sheets wrapped around both of them. She sighed and left the blanket folded down at the foot of the bed.

Gathering up the damp sheets, she ducked into the bathroom, intending to drop them in the laundry chute. She instead came face to face with a naked, wet Wolverine.

They both froze, his hand on a towel, hers clenched around the sheets. His black hair was wet and pushed back from his face, drops of water trickling from the ends onto his broad shoulders. His body hair was dark and slicked down, accenting the lines of his muscles. Her eyes inevitably followed the trail of hair down his stomach. His penis hung heavily against his thighs, resting on his thick thatch of pubic hair.

Hot desire roared through Jean like a wildfire.

She blushed deeply and turned away, cramming the sheets into the laundry chute and stammering out an apology, hurrying back into his bedroom.

Dizzy, she dropped into the armchair beside the window and stared out, watching the wind strip leaves from the trees. Her stomach was doing flips again, probably as a result of the battle of wills she was waging against herself.

Her body felt like it was on fire; it wanted nothing more than to pull him down onto the bed with her and make love to him until they both passed out. Her mind, however, was much more cautious.

'Remember what happened last time, Jean. He was just using you. Do you want that to happen again?'

'He wasn't. Not at the end.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'Yes. I just told myself that he was so I'd have a reason to stay angry at him.'

'That's wonderfully analytical of you, Jean.'

For some reason, her inner antagonist was starting to sound like Professor X in one of his moods.

'Shut up,' she told herself.

The bathroom door opened quietly, and light poured into the room. She glanced back at Logan, who was standing in the doorway with the towel wrapped around his hips, backlit by the bathroom light. He switched it off, and she blinked rapidly in the sudden dark, trying to adjust her vision.

She kept her eyes focused outside of the window while he found a pair of boxers and slipped them on. She heard the bed creak under his weight and turned to look in that direction. "I... I'm sorry about walking in on you," she said, feeling foolish. "I should have knocked--"

"It's all right. Nothing you haven't seen before," he replied, and Jean cracked a smile.

"Still, I'm sorry for embarrassing you."

He chuckled dryly. "I think you embarrassed yourself more, Jean."

She could sense that he was still edgy from his nightmare. She desperately wanted to wrap her arms around him and whisper that everything would be all right. Instead, she said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness enough so she could see him clearly. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, silent for a long while.

"I have these dreams," he said quietly, "about things that have happened to me. Things that I can barely remember. Sometimes, they're about what happened with the Weapon X people. The things they did to me, before they wiped my memory. Sometimes I dream about when they put the metal in me."

"Is that what you were dreaming about tonight?" she whispered, although she already knew the answer; she had been dreaming the same thing before Bobby woke her up.

"Yes. I could feel it, when they cut into me and melded the adamantium to my bones."

He stopped talking and resumed his study of the ceiling. Even in the dim light, Jean could see that his jaw was tightly set. She rose from her chair and padded to the bed, slipping in beside him, pulling the sheet up over them.

Logan turned his head and looked at her. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Lying down beside you," she answered, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Are you--"

"Ssh. We'll talk in the morning," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

He sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

* * *

31 October
8:17 a.m.

* * *

Jean stretched languidly, and a pair of strong arms curled around her waist, pulling her snugly against a hard body.

God, that felt good. She rubbed against the body like a cat, wrapping her arms around it, enjoying the tickle of body hair against her skin.

"Logan..." she murmured, pressing her face against his neck.

'Logan,' she thought, and suddenly bolted awake.

She was as close to him as she could be without actually lying on top of him. One of her legs was pressed between his, and the sheets were tangled around them, practically tying them together.

He was rock hard and pressed against her thigh, and worst of all, she was wet and throbbing.

"Oh god," she whispered, pulling away from him quickly.

He grunted in his sleep, reaching for her, but she got out of his range, sitting with her back against the wall.

Logan made a disgruntled noise and rolled onto his stomach, onto the place where she had been lying. Jean couldn't help smiling when he raised his head and groused sleepily.

"Jeannie?" he muttered, blinking rapidly.

When he saw her, and seemingly realized what had happened, he looked embarrassed. "I didn't..." he said.

"Nope," she replied.

He looked relieved. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

"It's all right."

They sat there in silence for a while, not looking at each other. Jean was still shivering. Even being close to him did something to her; she desperately wanted to crawl back into his arms and fall asleep listening to his heart beat.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Jean."

She jumped when he spoke suddenly. "Sorry? For what?" she asked.

Logan closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. "For everything. For lying to you. For leaving. For hurting you."

Jean felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, even more so when she saw a single tear slip down his cheek.

"Logan," she murmured, crawling over the bed and slipping her arms around him.

He pulled her close, resting his head on her shoulder. "I never did anything that I regretted before I met you. I'm so sorry that I hurt you, darlin'," he said quietly.

Jean pulled back and took his face in her hands, looking at him. His eyes were dry now, but his jaw was set tightly. She recognized that this expression was the closest Logan would ever come to crying.

"I need to know something," she said softly. "Why did you come back? After so long... why didn't you stay away?"

His arms tightened around her. "I missed you. I missed seeing your face, and having you close by. I needed to be near you. You make me feel like a better person, Jean."

The surge of emotion at his words was too much for Jean to handle. She collapsed against him, sobbing. Logan held her close, kissing her hair gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I need time," she said, hiccupping. "I need to figure this out. Give me time..."

"Jeannie, you have all the time you need. I just need to be close to you."

Her tears slowly ran out, and they both fell back asleep.

* * *

10:28 a.m.

* * *

"Jean? Jean, are you in there?"

Someone was calling her name from far away. Jean huffed, still hanging on to sleep.

"Jean? Wake up!" Hank's voice filtered into her mind.

"Jeannie..." a low, sleepy voice rumbled in her ear. "I think someone's at your door."

Irritated, she sat up, disentangling herself from Logan and the sheets. She leaned over him and picked up the alarm clock, then panicked.

"Oh, shit! It's ten-thirty!" she exclaimed. "Shit, shit, shit! I was supposed to be up hours ago!"

Logan watched her scramble out of bed with an amused grin on his face. Her foot hung on the blanket, but she caught herself before hitting the floor face-first. She looked around on the floor for a second, then smacked herself on the forehead. "Crap! And I don't have any clothes! And Hank's out there..." she flopped back down on the edge of the bed. "Oh god. Now I'll never hear the end of it."

Logan scooted closer to her and ran his hand across the bare skin of her back, above her tank top. She jumped off of the bed as if she'd been electrocuted. "I've gotta go get dressed. We're supposed to leave for the city in two hours..." she mumbled.

"Mind if I tag along?"

She looked at him in surprise. "You want to go? You realize that we're going to a Halloween party, right?"

"Yep."

"And you realize that you'll have to go in costume."

She felt him hesitate, some of his thoughts filtering into her mind. She hid her amusement. "Costume?" he asked.

Jean nodded. "Yep. It *is* a costume party..."

"Whatever," he said. "I'll find something."

"We're leaving at twelve-thirty. Be ready."

She smiled, fighting the urge to kiss him. "I've gotta go," she said, ducking out of his room.

Henry gaped at her when she suddenly stepped out of Logan's door in her underwear, his hand raised to knock on her door down the hall. "Oh, my stars and garters," he said.

Jean scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. "What?" she said shortly, nudging him out of the way so she could get into her room.

"I knew I was right, but..."

She whapped him on the arm. "Hank! I didn't sleep with him," she snapped.

He gave her a 'oh, yeah, *sure*' look. "Mm-hm. You just came out of his room in your skivvies. You didn't sleep with him, right," he said sarcastically.

"Henry, there's a difference between sleeping in the same bed with someone and fucking them," she said. "For your information, he was having a horrible nightmare. I was just helping him out."

She started to close the door in his face, but he caught it and came inside. "I'm trying to get dressed here," she said, exasperated.

"Jean," he said, "seriously, what's going on?"

"I told you. He was having a really bad nightmare. He doesn't have them when I'm close by."

"Selfless altruism?" he teased.

"Sort of," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "I was having the same nightmare as him. It was weird."

Hank wrinkled his brow up. "Maybe you should ask the professor about that."

"I was planning on it," she said tiredly, "but I do have to get dressed first, and you're preventing that."

"Well," Hank said, "I hope you had a satisfying evening..."

"Get the hell out of here, Hank," she said with a laugh.

As soon as the door closed, Jean collapsed on her bed, rolling on top of her body pillow. She could still feel Logan's thoughts darting around in her head, warming her, sending shivers over her skin. He was definitely thinking about sex. "Hello, sexual frustration," she muttered.

* * *

11:09 a.m.

* * *

"Professor? Do you have a minute?" Jean asked, sticking her head into his study.

He looked up from his book. "Of course. Have a seat," he replied.

Jean closed the door behind herself and sat in one of the leather armchairs in front of Professor Xavier's huge mahogany desk. His study was one of the only rooms in the mansion that wasn't filled with cutting-edge technology.

"Something... strange has been happening lately," she began. "It started right before Wolverine came back, I mean, *right* before. It was this buzzing in my head. Like static, or people whispering really quickly. Right after that started, he knocked on the door.

"The first time he woke up, he tried to sit up and ended up pulling the wound apart, and I *felt* it. Like I had the wound.

"And last night, I had the exact same dream as Logan, at the same time."

"Have you still been hearing the buzzing in your head?" Xavier asked.

Jean shook her head. "It's not as much a buzzing anymore. I can hear his thoughts sometimes, if I'm paying attention. Sensing his emotions is easier. I usually feel them all the time," she answered, biting her bottom lip. "What does that mean?"

Professor Xavier steepled his fingers. "You say you can hear his thoughts if you're paying attention?" Jean nodded. "Try something for me, Jean. Concentrate as hard as you can on Logan's thoughts. I'm not going to listen in."

Jean pulled her feet up under her and closed her eyes, first clearing her mind and then focusing on the faint tingle in the back of her mind. She had gotten used to the feeling over the past few days to the point where she just ignored it. Now, she brought it forward and examined it, turning it over in her mind, getting a feel for it. Each person's thoughts have a different feel, sort of a blend of texture, color and taste. Logan's thoughts were dark and heady, a bit earthy and completely masculine. Jean immersed herself in his thoughts and, quite suddenly, was not in her body any more.

Overwhelming -- she jerked out of the trance, gasping.

"Bad timing?" the professor said, trying to hide a smile.

Jean couldn't help blushing furiously, still feeling the heat of Logan's thoughts in her mind. "I guess you could call it that," she stammered.

"One more thing, Jean. May I enter your mind?"

She nodded and closed her eyes. Professor Xavier was very good at mind probes. Unless he was altering something, it was very difficult to tell that he was even there.

A moment later, he pulled out of her mind and she opened her eyes. "I believe that you and Logan have a psi-link," he said.

Her mouth dropped open. "What?" she exclaimed. "How? I thought... I thought it took a lot of effort to make one of those. I mean, I thought you had to do it purposely..."

"Not necessarily. I believe that some links can form spontaneously, or in times of stress."

Jean stared at him for a moment, then smacked her palm against her forehead. "The -- the mind probe."

"Possibly," Professor Xavier mused, "although it is unlikely that a link this strong could form from a violent probe alone. It is more likely that a few threads of a link already existed. The probe could have made it stronger."

"But why couldn't I feel it when he was gone?"

The professor rubbed his forehead. "This is all merely speculation, Jean. It's not as if I've had that much opportunity to study psi-links. It could have been immature. When he returned, your close proximity to each other could have made it strengthen. I honestly cannot tell you much more."

"Is... it permanent?" she asked, her mind whirling.

"I can't say. But the driver will be here soon, so you had better get ready to leave."

He raised his hands at her indignant look. "I am sorry, Jean, but I don't know any more about it. I'll be learning about this along with you. But you do need to get ready. Go on."

* * *

New York City
2:55 p.m.

* * *

"Holy crap! We're staying *here*? This is our suite?"

Jean dropped her backpack on one of the gorgeous sofas, grinning at the expression on Storm's face. "This is it," she replied.

"No way. This had to cost about five hundred dollars a night..."

"Seven-hundred and sixty-five, actually."

Ororo's jaw dropped. "Holy shit."

"I know. Having a wealthy benefactor does have its rewards."

Storm grinned hugely. "Oh, yes. This is definitely a reward."

There was a knock on the adjoining door, and it swung open, followed by a gaping Peter. "This place is amazing!" he exclaimed. "You should see our rooms!"

"How the hell can the professor afford this?" she heard Logan ask from inside the men's suite.

"Huge tracts of land," Jean replied, getting a grin out of Peter. "And a lot of good investments.

"Anyway, Worthington's having his little fête in the top floor ballroom here, and Professor Xavier just thought it would be more convenient if we stayed in the same hotel."

Ororo jumped up off of the couch she had been lounging on. "Whoa, it's nearly three. We'd better start getting ready," she said.

Peter gave her an incredulous look. "What? The party doesn't start until eight. It doesn't take five hours to get ready..."

Storm flipped her long ponytail at him. "When you've got this much hair, it does. Shoo!"

'Ro pushed the door closed and leaned against it, still looking star-struck. "Can we order room service?" she asked.

* * *

6:04 p.m.

* * *

"Yeah, and this is as close to a costume as you're gonna get."

"Oh, for god's sake, Logan, leather pants and a black shirt is *not* a Halloween costume," Jean argued, fighting with a hot roller that was tangled in her hair.

"Come on. Do you actually expect me to put on some stupid costume like Colossus in there?" Logan sniped back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's not stupid," Peter replied from the other suite.

Logan rolled his eyes. "What did you decide on, Petey?" Storm called from the bathroom. "You never told us."

Peter stepped into the doorway with a flourish, and Jean squealed. "Oh my god, Peter, that's *awesome*!" she exclaimed.

Storm stuck her head out of the bathroom and gasped. Peter was dressed as a Roman gladiator, complete with chain maille and leather armor, gladius sheathed at his belt and a shield on his arm. "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next," he said in a rather uncanny imitation of Russell Crowe.

Jean and Storm both burst into giggles, and Logan rolled his eyes. "Oh, the girls are going to be all over you tonight, Petey," Jean said.

Logan made a disgusted noise and stalked back into their suite. "I should have gone as Lucilla," Storm said thoughtfully.

Jean smirked and went back to pulling rollers out of her hair.

* * *

8:05 p.m.

* * *

"Jean! Storm! Come on! It's after eight already!" Piotr called through the bathroom door.

"You're supposed to be fashionably late to these things," Jean called back, fastening the last hook on her corset.

"Come on!"

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming," Storm replied, touching up her eyeliner.

"Do you think this'll catch that Worthington guy's eye?" Jean said, gesturing to her costume.

Storm grinned. "Well, if these pants don't, your stockings will."

Jean blotted her lipstick. "I feel vaguely whorish," she said.

"Yeah, so do I. But it's Halloween. When else can we dress like this and not get mistaken for hookers?"

Jean snickered. "That depends on how you view our uniforms..."

"Hurry up!" Piotr yelled.

"Keep your tunica on, Maximus! We're hurrying!" Jean said.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Storm said, leaning back against the counter.

"Shoot."

"What's the deal with you and Wolverine?"

Jean stared into the mirror, reshaping a ringlet. "I'm really not sure," she answered slowly. "I'm trying to figure everything out, you know? It's *so* complicated, and I don't even want to begin to figure it out, but I know I have to."

She could feel Logan's impatience tickling at the back of her mind. She hadn't told him about the psi-link yet, and she wondered if he could even feel it. He didn't give any outward sign of noticing it, but whenever she was thinking about him, his emotions would jump in her mind. She sighed.

Storm messed with her long hair for a moment. "Nice corset," she said, tactfully changing the subject.

Jean gave her a relieved smile. "Yeah, I couldn't get the blood stain completely out of the dress. Lovely, huh?"

Ororo made a face. "Let's go, before Peter dies of impatience."

* * *

Logan was halfway off of the couch when Jean walked into the sitting room. He froze, his mouth hanging open, staring unabashedly at her. She blushed. "What?" she asked, tugging at her skirt self-consciously.

He shook his head as if to clear it. "I thought I was hallucinating," he said.

Jean arched an eyebrow. "What?" she said again.

He grinned, and she felt a surge of heat flow from his mind into hers. "When I was hurt, I thought I saw a red-headed angel. Thought for sure I'd bit it. I guess it was you."

She blushed again, feeling an absurd rush of emotion at his words. "Yeah, I had my costume on," she said quickly, smoothing her skirt down again.

"You look beautiful."

His eyes slowly trailed up her body, starting at the floor and moving up her smooth, bare legs, past the short hem of her dress, over the corset and her pushed-up cleavage, lingering on her red lips. His gaze was almost tangible; it felt like soft fingers sliding all over her body. His eyes looked darker than usual, and she realized that he was wearing smudgy black eyeliner. 'Holy shit,' she thought. Jean shivered, arousal beginning to build in her loins, warm and heavy and throbbing.

Logan slowly closed the distance between them, breathing deeply. "You're turned on," he whispered when he was barely a foot away from her.

"I am not," she protested, albeit weakly.

"Yes, you are," he replied with a sly smile.

She tried to look indignant. "And how would you know?"

He trailed his fingertips over the soft skin of her neck, teasing the delicate arch of her collarbone. "I can smell it," he murmured, playing with a ringlet of red hair. "I can smell how wet you are."

A delicious shiver raced over her, raising goose bumps on her skin.

"Your cheeks are flushed," he continued, "your pupils are dilated. You're breathing hard."

Jean was milliseconds from pushing him down on the couch and fucking him until he forgot his own name when the bathroom door opened again, and Ororo entered the sitting room, fussing with her devil horns.

"Hey guys, are you ready..." she stopped in her tracks, gaping for a second. "I didn't walk in on anything, did I?" she asked impishly.

Jean rolled her eyes and pushed away from Logan, giving him a small smile. "I'm ready," she said, straightening her halo.

"No, you're not. You forgot your stockings, Jean," Storm said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Stockings?" Logan asked, sounding interested.

"Mm-hm," Storm answered innocently. "White, thigh-high stockings."

"I wasn't going to wear them--" Jean started to protest.

"No way. If I have to wear these pants, you have to wear the stockings."

"Oh fine," Jean said, mock-exasperated, and stomped back into the bathroom.

She emerged a few minutes later, legs hugged by sheer white stockings with seams up the back. Logan's jaw dropped again.

"Ta-dah," she said dryly. "Stockings."

He seemed to be speechless, a rarity for a smart-ass like him, but she suddenly got a very clear mental image of herself pressed against a wall, her stocking-clad legs wrapped around his naked hips.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he said.

Jean blushed. "Not actively," she replied, trying to make it sound off-hand and failing miserably.

Piotr stuck his head in the door. "Are we going or not?"

"Yes, we're going," Storm said, fussing with her earrings. "Keep your pants on."

"I'm not wearing any."

* * *

1 November
12:13 a.m.

* * *

Warren Worthington III was also dressed as an angel, though a bit more realistically than Jean. Huge white wings, much bigger than Jean's, trailed behind him, their base peeking out of an immaculate white Armani suit. Everyone was complimenting him on his costume, but Jean couldn't help smirking. If they only knew that Warren's wings were honest-to-god real.

She collapsed into her chair, taking a huge gulp of water. Piotr was right behind her, having successfully fended off yet another simpering girl. "So, did you get a chance to talk to him?" he asked quietly.

Jean nodded, pressing her water bottle to her forehead. "Yep."

"Was he interested in the school?"

Jean snorted. "I think he was more interested in getting into my pants. I don't think he's quite ready to blow his human status yet. I still can't figure out how he hides those wings in his clothes," she paused, squinting into the crowd. "Hm, looks like he's all over Storm now. But still staring over here. Interesting."

Piotr frowned and got up, immediately attracting another scantily-clad young woman. "I think she can take care of herself, Pete," Jean called, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

"I don't like him."

Jean quirked an eyebrow at Logan. "Why?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he replied darkly.

She caught a blast of primal, possessive emotion from him and couldn't help shivering. Making sure Worthington was watching, she slowly leaned forward, giving Logan an eyeful of cleavage. "Believe me," she breathed, putting her mouth against his ear, "you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Warren Worthington the Third."

Drawing back, she watched his eyes darken, persistently ignoring the little voice in her head that was screaming, 'What are you doing? Are you insane?' The decadent atmosphere of the party was affecting her. The dim lights, the pulsing music, the brush of dancing bodies, they all combined to make her really, really horny.

Logan came out of his seat so quickly that she nearly fell over backwards. He grabbed her arm and led her quickly out of the ballroom. He didn't say a word while they waited for the elevator, just stared at her intensely.

As soon as it dinged and the doors slid open, he pulled her inside and up against him, pushing a thigh between hers.

"Logan, there's a camera up there--" she whispered, squeaking when his hands slid down to cup her ass.

Her eyes widened when he pulled her tightly against him, rubbing his erection against her. Her shoes were tall enough so that she could almost look him in the eye, and their bodies lined up perfectly. She couldn't stop herself from letting out a high whimper when he shifted his hips, his cock just barely nudging her clit.

The elevator slid to a stop, the doors opening quietly, and Jean grabbed Logan by his shirt collar and practically dragged him down the hall. He wrestled his keycard out of the back pocket of his pants and, distracted by Jean's hands on his ass, jammed it into the lock upside down.

He cursed and yanked it down, flipping it over and sticking it back into the lock. The light flashed, and he shouldered the door open, wrapping his arms around Jean's waist and pulling her inside.

The door slammed shut, but neither of them paid any attention. Logan threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips against hers, his hot tongue sliding into her mouth.

She sagged against him, suddenly weak. She hadn't kissed him, or anyone else for that matter, in seven long months. She now wondered how she'd survived without it, without his surprisingly soft lips, his hot, slick tongue, the sandpaper-scratch of his stubble against her skin.

He moaned when she started sucking on his tongue, shivered when her fingertips teased his nipples through his snug black shirt. The pleasure and desire flooding across the psi-link made her dizzy.

The hand that was pressed against her back slid over her ass and around her hip, down her thigh and back up. He moaned again when his fingers crossed from silk stocking to bare skin, kissing her even more frantically.

She gasped and arched against him when he stroked her through the damp silk of her panties. "Oh, god," he groaned against her lips, "you are so good..."

He started bending her backward, and when she realized that he was trying to lower her to the floor, she wriggled free long enough to pull her angel wings off and toss them onto a sofa.

He bore down on her, and she collapsed on her back on the floor. Holding himself over her, he pushed her legs apart with his knee and slipped his hand back between her thighs. Catching his eye, she slowly untied the drawstring ribbon on her dress.

Logan growled, rubbing her clit through her panties, his eyes trailing over her up-thrust breasts. "Open your dress, Jeannie," he purred, his caramel-brown eyes smoldering. "I wanna see you touch yourself."

She tugged at his shirt, and he stopped touching her long enough to yank it over his head and toss it away. His hand was immediately back between her legs, pushing the crotch of her panties to the side, fingers sliding in her wetness.

Jean very nearly came at the first touch of skin to skin. He quickly dipped a finger inside of her, then brought it to his mouth, sucking her juices off of it, shuddering heavily.

She tried to loosen a knot in the ribbon that tied the drawstring neckline of her dress, but being so distracted by the blazing look he was giving her, couldn't get it loose. With one good tug, the ribbon broke, and she pulled the neckline of her dress open, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. "Go ahead," he murmured, his voice rough, "touch yourself for me."

Her own eyes narrowing to slits, she arched up, rubbing her breasts against his chest, until his hair had teased her nipples erect. Then, she fell back onto the carpet, cupping her breasts with both hands, squeezing them.

Logan growled, a low, raw, primal sound that welled up from deep in his chest. He stroked her a few times with the single finger, then added another, stretching her, and started flicking her clit with his thumb. Jean whimpered, pinching and tugging at her nipples. God, it was so good. She could feel her mind clouding over with lust.

With a sudden telekinetic burst, she flipped him onto his back, laughing at his surprise and indignation. He growled when she straddled his midsection, pressing herself against his stomach. He tried to reach up for her, but she pinned his arms to the floor with her mind. He was pretending to be annoyed, but she could feel just how turned on he was.

"So," she teased, leaning down over him so that her breasts were right in front of his face.

He leaned up and sucked one nipple into his mouth, making her gasp. "So what?" he asked between licks.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned, rubbing herself against him. "I forgot what I was going to say."

She could feel desire radiating from him, like heat from an open flame. He wanted her so badly, wanted to flip her onto her back, spread her legs and fuck her hard, and she wanted it, too. She desperately wanted him, wanted to feel his big cock splitting her open, wanted to come clenched around him.

He had distracted her enough to break her telekinetic hold on him, and he grabbed her hips hard enough to really hurt. The sudden flash of pain brought horrible memories to the fore, and like a blast of ice-cold water, they wrenched the orgasm that had been building in her body away painfully.

He sensed the sudden change in her, or possibly scented her sudden fear, and let go of her hips. "Jeannie," he asked, panting, "what is it?"

"I can't do this," she said, scrambling away, pulling her dress back up to cover her breasts.

He sat up, rubbing his temples. "What did I do wrong?" he asked quietly.

"It wasn't anything you did, Logan," she said, trying to stop her hands from shaking. "I... I'm just... I need time to figure this out. I... I'm afraid this is just about sex. I can't do this if we're just fucking. If it's going to work, I need more than that. I need time."

She felt a jolt of surprise and shame from him, and she watched him from the corner of her eye curiously. "What is it?" she asked softly.

His jaw was tightly clenched, and his mind was suddenly shielded.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, dreading his answer.

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "No, Jean, I'm not mad at you," he answered finally. "I'm mad at myself."

"Why?"

"Because you're afraid of me, and that's my goddamn fault."

Jean felt the sudden sting of guilt. She did care about him, but she just couldn't shake the memory of him covered in blood, standing over Cruor's shredded body. She couldn't... didn't want to see the violence in the man who brought her such pleasure.

"Let's try this," she said, moving so that she was in front of him. "We start over. We get to know each other. And we don't have sex until we're both sure that there's more than just lust between us."

She thought she saw him grimace, but the expression disappeared too quickly for her to be sure. "You got yourself a deal, darlin'," he said lightly, sticking his hand out.

She smiled and took his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her close to his body and kissed her so softly that it made her knees wobble.

He slowly pulled away, cupping her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. "But there's something I have to tell you first." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Don't look at me like that, darlin'. It's not anything bad.

"I just need you to know that I already know what I feel for you, but I'll give you as much time as you need to figure yourself out. I can wait for what's mine."

Jean tried to give him a stern look, but couldn't help shivering. He just had to test her resolve every chance he got. "I'm tired," she said softly, pulling her shoes off.

He looked faintly uncomfortable, and she smiled to herself. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked, stretching her legs out.

Logan gave a relieved sigh. "Yeah. Y'know, I don't--"

"You don't have nightmares when I'm with you. I know."

"How?"

"I'm psychic, silly."

"Is that the only reason you want to stay with me?"

"No," she replied, pulling herself to her feet. "You make a good pillow, too."

He huffed, but she could feel satisfaction flowing down the psi-link. She smiled and kicked his hand away when he tried to tickle the back of her knee. "Meet you in your room in twenty minutes, okay?" she said, padding toward the girls' suite.

"Aw, you don't wanna take a shower with me?" he said, smirking; his confidence seemed to have made a return.

She smirked back and closed the door behind herself.

* * *

1 November
9:15 a.m.

* * *

Jean woke up entangled with Logan again, though not quite as sexually as the previous morning. She shifted, trying to stretch her back out, and Logan's arms tightened around her, pulling her half underneath him. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily.

She smiled a little, gazing up at the ceiling. Back in the light of day, her mind seemed a little clearer, which, of course, made her feel even more confused. 'Just don't think about it right now,' she told herself, playing with Logan's hair. Now that she really looked at it, she could see that it was a bit longer, actually more even in length. He could probably get all but the very front locks back into a ponytail. She decided that she liked it like this. It spilled across her cleavage, incredibly soft.

"Peter?" Storm's voice was muffled by the door. "Have you seen Jean? She's not in her room."

"Oh, great," Jean said, rolling her eyes.

"Mmm... what?" Logan murmured, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her chest.

She winced. "Ouch. Beard burn. And it seems that every time I sleep in your room, someone catches me."

He pushed himself up on his arms, blinking sleepily. "So?"

"So, they're going to start talking."

"So?" he asked again, sitting on his knees.

Jean rolled her eyes at him and stretched her arms above her head. With a small smile, Logan reached out and trailed his hands from her ribs down to her hips. "Hey," Jean said, giving him a warning look.

"Sorry," he said, not looking the least bit apologetic.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I guess I should get all my crap together," she said. "The driver should be here at ten."

She left Logan sitting on his bed and, of course, as soon as she opened the door, she ran into Ororo and Piotr, who both gaped at her. Sighing, she closed the door behind herself. "Holy... did you..." Storm said.

"No," she said shortly, retrieving her angel wings from the couch.

Piotr grinned. "I was wondering why those were in here," he said. "And why Logan's shirt was on the floor."

She flipped him off and walked back into the girls' suite. Storm was hot on her heels. "Oh, come on. You didn't...?" she goaded.

"*No*," Jean repeated. "And anyway, it's none of your business."

Storm snorted. "Come on, Jean. What else would you have been doing in his bedroom?"

"Um, sleeping?" Jean said, going into the bathroom and dumping all of her stuff back into her duffel bag. "You should get your stuff together. The driver will be here in forty-five minutes."

* * *

12:16 p.m.

* * *

Jean pulled herself out of the limousine and started to shoulder her bag. Logan plucked it out of her hand and tossed it over his own shoulder, heading up to the front door. She watched him for a second. He had been very quiet during the ride from Manhattan, seemingly uncomfortable, giving her strange looks out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't been able to figure out why. Turning, she shrugged at Storm, who was staring at her.

"What happened?" Ororo hissed.

"Nothing, nosy," Jean replied, following Logan into the mansion.

It was quiet, thankfully. Jean was dead tired. She paused to wave at Hank, who was tinkering with the electronic guts of some cannibalized piece of technology, then started up the staircase. Logan had paused at the second-floor landing, and when he saw her looking at him, he turned and headed down the hall.

She felt slightly apprehensive and couldn't quite pin down the reason why. It wasn't anything that felt serious; just a faint prickle in her mind. The hall was empty in front of her, and she walked automatically to her room, wondering if Logan had just dropped her bag off.

As soon as she stepped through her door, strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the door, slamming it shut. She yelped in surprise, staring at Logan, fear clenching her stomach. He looked half-crazed.

"Why can I hear you in my head?" he growled. "I can hear what you're thinking. You're in my head."

Jean stayed absolutely still, not wanting to provoke him. "L... Logan, let me go. Please," she whispered, trying to sound calm.

He stared at her for a second, then his face twisted with misery and he let her go, reeling backward. "I wouldn't have hurt you," he muttered, sinking down to sit on the floor with his back against her bed.

She stayed pressed against the door, too frightened to move. "I know th--" she began.

"Then why are you afraid of me?" he snapped.

Tears stung her eyes suddenly, and she had to blink them back. She pushed away from the door and knelt in front of him, pushing her fear to the back of her mind. "You can hear what I'm thinking?" she asked softly.

He put his head in his hands. "Yes. You're in my head."

Jean closed her eyes and examined her own mental shields, found them frayed. Slowly, she began taking them apart, pulling at the seams, feeling him growing in her mind. He must not have been shielding at all. His thoughts and emotions began to tangle with hers.

He grabbed her wrists, squeezing them tightly. "What are you doing?" he said, his voice the same deadly growl she'd heard after his nightmare; his fear swelled in her mind with a bitter, cold taste.

"I need to show you something," she whispered, trying to stay in her trance-state. "Trust me. Please."

He hesitated for a second, then his grip on her wrists loosened. She slid her hands into his, twining their fingers, and pulled the rest of her shields away.

They flowed into each other like liquid, blending but somehow staying distinct. When she focused her mind, Jean could actually see the psi-link. It was a thick, coppery cord that tied them together, very similar to the silver cord that linked your mind to your body when traveling astrally. She touched it, and it suddenly jerked her forward, toward Logan but at the same time toward a yawning chasm.

His thoughts blended more fully with hers, a swirl of colors and tastes and smells. Memories. Memories that were not hers began flooding into her mind, warm memories of being with her, cold, broken ones... She was falling toward that chasm, drowning in horrible, ice-cold memories.

With a gasp, she pulled herself back into her body. She didn't remember moving, but she was in his lap, straddling his thighs, her hands on his face. She could feel raw emotion pooling around them, and his face held a look of ecstasy and terror. He let out a shaky sigh and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she realized that she was trembling uncontrollably.

"What was that?" he whispered, not opening his eyes.

"A psi-link," she replied quietly, closing hers.

"What's that?"

"A bond between two minds."

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer so that they were chest to chest. "It was... god, I've never felt anything like that. I could feel you... and warmth and healing -- I don't even know how to describe it," he said. "Is it always like that?"

She tried to laugh and realized that she was crying. "I don't know," she answered, sniffling a little. "But you're going to have to learn how to shield it."

"Why?" He sounded surprised.

"Trust me, you don't want to read someone's mind all the time."

He rubbed his cheek against hers, the longer hair of his sideburns tickling her skin, and she shuddered. "But it felt so good," he whispered, sounding as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Part of it had felt good. It was unbelievably good to be so close. His memories of her were so very warm, like a thick, comforting blanket. But there were things there, in his mind, that terrified her. So much violence and hatred, memories that were so bad they burned her with their coldness. Shattered memories that were almost unrecognizable. And she could feel something lurking within him, a beast that he fought to control every moment. Something that was so primal, so primitive that she could barely read it.

His lips brushed against hers, and she was so weakened that she couldn't move away. His tongue played at her bottom lip and she shivered, kept shivering, couldn't resist him, didn't want to. Part of her wanted him so badly, and another part was completely terrified.

#Jean? Is everything all right?#

She jumped and gasped, falling backwards, flat on her butt. "Professor?" she said, trying to not see the hurt look on Logan's face.

#I need to see you and Logan right away, if you're all right.#

She cleared her mind and put her shields back up, feeling a pang when Logan winced. ~I'm fine, sir. We'll be down in a few minutes.~

"The professor needs to talk to us," she said quickly. "It sounded urgent. We should go--"

"Wait," Logan said, catching her arms before she could get to her feet. "What's the matter? Did I miss something?"

"It's nothing--"

"Bullshit. If it was nothing, then why are you still crying?"

She didn't even realize that she was. "Please, can we talk about it later?" she whispered. "I can't right now. Please."

He lifted a hand to her face and brushed a tear away. "All right," he said softly, sliding his fingers back through her hair. "Later."

* * *

"Cerebro has detected a mutant in Arizona. She's a young woman by the name of Jubilation Lee. Apparently, she's an orphan--"

"How do you know that?" Logan asked.

Professor Xavier smiled a little sadly. "Her parents' deaths are very much on her mind. She's a runaway. As far as I can tell, she's moved from Los Angeles into Tucson. I want the two of you to fly to Arizona tonight and find her."

"Why both of us?" Jean asked. "If it's just recruiting, why does Logan have to go?"

She felt a burst of irritation from Logan and gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. The professor either didn't notice or pretended not to. "Because of this," he said, pressing a button on his computer console.

A blurry image appeared on one of the huge viewscreens above their heads. Jean couldn't figure out what it was at first, until Logan stiffened and hatred surged across the psi-link.

"Sabretooth," he growled.

"What?" she asked, confused.

The professor nodded gravely. "Then I was correct in assuming he is a part of Weapon X."

"The bastard joined 'em willingly. Wanted the chance to kill. If you think I'm vicious, you ain't seen nothing."

Jean felt a chill go through her body. "Is he after the girl?" she asked.

The professor shook his head. "Not as far as I can tell, but I am worried. I would like for you to leave as soon as possible. I don't want to take any chances." He tapped the console again and the image disappeared. "Go ahead and pack. The driver will take you to the airport. I've already had them file a flight plan. You'll fly directly into Tucson."

* * *

5:56 p.m.

* * *

Jean woke from a light doze to see Logan staring intently at her. "What is it?" she yawned.

"I wanted to explain why I reacted the way I did earlier," he said. "The last time someone was in my head like that, they took away all of my memories."

Jean winced. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling herself upright in her seat. "I didn't know..."

He shook his head. "How could you've known? It was just a gut reaction anyway. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

The jet hit some turbulence, and Jean gripped her armrests, white-knuckled. "Don't like flying?" Logan said with a small smile.

She glared at him. "No, I don't. And don't make fun of me."

"If you don't like flying, then how come you fly the Blackbird?"

She gave an exasperated sigh, then yelped when the plane hit another bump. "If I'm flying, I can deal with it. It's fun. I'm in control. But in these things--" she motioned around at the small luxury jet, "--I don't do so well."

He put an arm around her shoulder. "Well, then go back to sleep."

After a second's hesitation, she rested her head on his shoulder, pushing the armrest up between the seats. He was warm and comfortable, and Jean soon fell back asleep.

* * *

7:36 p.m. (Mountain)

* * *

Jean held onto Logan's waist and leaned back, letting the cool wind whip against her face. They were heading to a motel outside of Tucson, having decided that it was too late to look for the girl tonight. They'd search the mall where she'd been living in the morning. Logan had insisted on bringing *his* bike along, instead of renting a car.

"Sonora Inn?" Logan called back to her, slowing the bike down.

"That's it," she replied, squinting into the dusky evening.

He pulled off of the highway and into the parking lot of a surprisingly nice motel. They were out in the desert -- a safer location in case Sabretooth found out that they were in Tucson, according to Logan -- and Jean had expected some dusty, Norman Bates place. The Sonora Inn was a pretty, two-story stucco building with pale green accents. There was even a well-kept if abandoned swimming pool.

She was even more impressed when she emerged from the office. Friendly employees. She usually got crap from desk clerks about looking so young. "Room 125," she called to Logan, who parked the bike in front of their door.

Twenty minutes later, they were sprawled on the king-sized bed -- which Logan had given her a smirk about -- watching TV and waiting for a pizza. Logan rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. "Jean, can I ask you a question?" he asked, staring at her intently.

"Sure," she replied, crunching on an ice cube.

"How did you find out you're a mutant?"

She stiffened with surprise and discomfort, and he noticed. "Bad question?" he said.

She shrugged and swallowed what was left of the ice. "I started hearing voices in my head when I was thirteen. My mother and step-father--" she spat the words out like they tasted bad "--took me to some psychiatrist, and they all decided that I was schizophrenic. Undifferentiated schizophrenia. So, they dumped me in some shit-hole mental institution."

Logan was watching her carefully, with a strange look on his face. She frowned. "Don't look at me like you're afraid I'm still crazy," she snapped. "And I don't want pity."

"I'm not afraid you're crazy, and I'm not giving you pity," he retorted, then said more gently, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

"No, it's okay. I guess it's something you should know," she said, staring at the TV without really watching it. "And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm still kind of messed up about it, you know?

"At first, I knew that I wasn't schizophrenic, but being in a place like that... I guess I did start to lose my mind a little. I mean, you're surrounded by honest-to-god crazy people. They have conversations with nothing... a lot of them were violent. This mutant stuff doesn't scare me much, because I saw so much stuff in that place. Stuff I'll never be able to forget. I hope that place burns to the ground.

"I'd been there for about five months when this guy, one of the nurse's aides, took me into a storage room and raped me."

She felt violent tension roll through Logan, a surge of protectiveness and anger. She swallowed hard. "He didn't finish, though. I realized then that I wasn't hearing random voices in my head. It wasn't gibberish anymore. I was hearing thoughts, his thoughts. So, I thought that I wanted him to die."

Logan sat up suddenly, as if he wanted to move, do *something*, but just leaned against the headboard beside her.

"All of the sudden, he started twitching, like he was having a seizure. Then, he just fell over. Dead. I didn't know how, but I knew I had killed him. So, I ran and hid in my room.

"They found him later that day. Turns out I'd popped several blood vessels in his brain. They saw the blood on him, but didn't do anything. The goddamn nurses saw the blood on my pants and *didn't do anything*. They knew he raped me, and they didn't do anything." Her voice broke on the last word, and she realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Logan reached out to her, but she shook her head. "If you comfort me, I'm just going to cry harder," she said with a watery smile. "I'm okay. I just haven't talked about it in a while."

"Who else knows?" he asked quietly.

"The Professor. Scott. I told Hank a few months ago."

She wiped her eyes. "Anyway, I snuck into one of the offices and called my dad, my real dad's office, but he wasn't there. They connected me to his satellite phone. He was in Lhasa--"

"Lhasa?" Logan said. "Your dad was in Tibet?"

Jean smiled, a real smile that made her eyes light up. "Yeah, he was on a dig. He's an archaeologist.

"Anyway, I got in touch with him in Lhasa, and told him what had happened. It turned out that my mother had never told him about my 'schizophrenia' or about my being in the mental institution. He went through the roof. Grabbed the first flight he could to Kathmandu and came back to New York. Took me out of that place. He and my mom had a knock-down-drag-out, and I went back to China with him for a month or so, while he finished that dig. Then, we came back here and the Professor found me."

"You came to the school then?"

She shook her head. "No, not then. My telekinesis had started to manifest, and I think Dad realized that I was a mutant. One day, Professor Xavier came to Dad's house. He taught me how to shield, how to use my telepathy, and started me on control exercises for my teke. I went back to school in Annandale-on-Hudson. Dad had been home-schooling me, and they had me take this equivalency test thing. I was fourteen and I should've been in a freshman, but they put me in the eleventh grade.

"Things actually went pretty well. I was back with my mother, but they were afraid of me because I was a mutant. She and Step-Dad just kind of left me to my own devices. I had a few boyfriends, some really good friends. I had a normal life, and then my bitch sister, Sarah, told some of the biggest loudmouths in town that I was a mutant.

"I managed to graduate without getting killed, but it was hell. Mom and Step-Dad kicked me out of the house the day of graduation. After a month or so on my own, Professor Xavier found me again, and the rest is history."

"Tough break," Logan said.

"Not as bad as some, worse than others."

After a long pause, she asked, "Do you remember when you found out?"

He shook his head. "No. Don't remember."

Something in his tone was so lonely that she felt terrible for just asking. She had started to apologize when someone knocked on the door. "Pizza!" she announced, crawling off of the bed, glad for a distraction. "Thank god, I'm starving."

A few minutes later, she had a mouthful of melty cheese, but Logan was just picking at the bits of hamburger. He looked like he wanted to say something, but just kept opening and closing his mouth surreptitiously. "Spill it," she said with a smile.

"Um. Well, it's... personal."

She stifled a laugh because she could sense that he was genuinely embarrassed. "Spill it," she repeated.

"So... when we had... sex... it didn't..."

"Traumatize me?" she finished, then patted his hand. "No, it didn't. I figured out a while ago that sex and rape are two different monsters. I don't associate the two."

He nodded, then started to look troubled again. "Then what happened after the Halloween party?"

Her slice of pizza stopped halfway to her mouth. "Um... It wasn't that," she said.

"It sure seems like it now."

"Logan--"

"We were making love. And all of the sudden, you freak out on me."

She put her pizza back down in the box. "It's hard to explain--"

"I would never, *never* have raped you, Jean," he said vehemently.

"Oh, god, I know that, Logan! I didn't think that you were going to!"

"Then what happened?"

She chewed on her bottom lip. "I got scared, okay? I know that you'd never rape me, or anyone else, but... sometimes it just comes back. And I... I still don't know what to do or think, okay?"

She knew exactly why she had panicked, but she wasn't about to tell him that. How can you just come out and tell something that they scare the shit out of you sometimes, that you can't trust them? She probably didn't have to anyway. The knowing, disturbed look on his face as he went back to eating made her think that he'd already figured it out.

* * *

11:14 p.m.

* * *

Jean was dozing off, half paying attention to the TV, when she felt Logan staring at her again. "What is it?" she asked.

"You killed someone. So, why am I so horrible for doing the same thing?"

Jean was so surprised that she was speechless for a moment. "I never said you're horrible--"

"No, but you think it."

Grimacing, she tightened her mental shields. "Don't go poking around in my head, dammit."

"Answer the question, Jean."

She sat up, annoyed. "Because it's different. I didn't want to kill him--"

"Yes, you did. You sat right there and told me that you did. Were you lying?"

"I didn't enjoy it. You enjoy killing."

Logan snorted. "Bullshit. You're glad he's dead, and you're glad you're the one who killed him. How does that make you any different from me?"

"You killed for money. I did it out of self-defense."

He was suddenly in front of her, his eyes flashing with anger. "I started out killing to defend myself. You don't know what it's like, being in Weapon X. They take away any kind of conscience you have, twist you into a machine. You kill because they tell you to kill. Once I got out, things didn't change back all that fast. Maybe you need to understand what you're talking about before you judge me," he growled.

Jesus, she'd never even thought about that. Feeling like a complete idiot, she started to get off of the bed, but he caught her arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have--"

"Stop apologizing," she interrupted, her cheeks burning with shame. "I'm the hypocritical bitch here. You don't have anything to apologize for."

He sighed impatiently and pulled her into his arms. She let him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Okay," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "So, let's just stop apologizing to each other. How does that sound?"

"Good," he said softly, stroking her hair; it sent shivers down her spine.

Reaching out with her mind, she turned the television off, and Logan jumped. "Did you do that?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was me. Don't worry, the motel isn't haunted."

He laughed quietly and scooted up to the head of the bed, pulling her with him. "Ain't we the pathetic pair? Can't stop saying we're sorry," he murmured.

Jean smiled against his shirt and fell asleep.

* * *

2 November
11:32 a.m.

* * *

Hands and mouth and teeth, on her skin. Firm, but gentle.

'This is a good dream,' she thought.

Jean woke to the feel of a hot, wet mouth playing at the back of her neck. It felt damn good, and she unconsciously pressed herself against the solid body spooned behind her.

"Logan," she mumbled as strong arms wrapped around her waist and teeth grazed her skin. "Logan, quit it."

When he didn't stop, she gave him a mental poke and found that he was still mostly asleep and, surprisingly, his mental shields were completely down. Even more surprisingly, when she touched his mind, something grabbed hold of her and pulled her forward, just like when she had touched the psi-link. It was dragging her back toward the chasm, only this time, it didn't look quite like a chasm. It was more like sinking down into a pool of water, looking into a deep, dark-blue hole. Warm currents flowed around her, but the underlying, bone-numbing cold was still there.

Pulling her mind into sharp focus, she dug in her psychic heels and started making for the surface. "Logan," she said quietly, over and over.

After a long moment, he started, arms tightening around her. "Jean?" he murmured.

"You might want to make sure your shields are up," she said, waiting for him to wake up fully.

Slowly, he released her and sat up, yawning. "They were down? I'm sorry," he said, and she felt his mind close off a bit.

"I thought we were going to stop apologizing all the time."

"I was having a great dream," he continued, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I bet you were having it, too."

"Ha ha," she said sarcastically, but couldn't help smiling, too.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower," he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jean flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. ~Professor?~ she thought, hoping that he'd catch her telepathic call.

#Yes, Jean? Is everything all right?#

~Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you about the psi-link.~

After a moment, the professor replied, #Go ahead.#

~I think -- I'm not really sure, though, but I think -- jeez, I don't even know how to describe it. It's like it's trying to link us. No, link isn't the right word. Combine is more like it.~

#How exactly is it doing that?#

~If we both let our shields down, or if I touch his mind when his shields are down, I feel like I'm being drawn into his mind. The first time, it got to the point where I could hardly tell his thoughts from my own. And it's changed. The first time, it was like I was falling into a pit, but this morning it changed to water, like I was sinking into a trench or something.~

The professor was silent for a long moment. #Perhaps it changes because it doesn't want to make you apprehensive. I've a feeling that the pull you're feeling is coming from both your and Logan's subconscious.#

~I guess it makes sense.~

#When you mentioned his memories a moment ago, I sensed fear.#

Jean swallowed hard. ~Yeah. There's some really dark stuff in there, Professor. So much of his memory is missing, like it was just ripped out, but most of what's left in there is horrible. So cold.

~What do you think I should do?~

#I am really not sure. Let things follow their natural course, I think, would be the best piece of advice.#

She sighed. ~Thanks, sir.~

#You're welcome. And thank you for letting me know.#

She felt the telepathic link close at the same time the bathroom door opened. Logan came back into the motel room with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth. "Ya wan' me t'get somefin' t'eat?" he said around the toothbrush.

Jean snickered. "Sure," she said, rolling off of the bed.

He leaned against the vanity, giving her a wide berth as she staggered by him into the bathroom. She heard him spit into the sink. "You know, you're cute in the morning," he called.

"Shut up," she replied, turning the shower on.

* * *

When Jean came out of the bathroom, combing her damp hair, Logan was back with a box of donuts. "Krispy Kreme! Orgasm donuts," she exclaimed, grabbing one.

Logan smiled slightly, watching her devour the donut. "We should go as soon as you're ready." he said, leaning back on the bed.

"Time to find malls in Tucson." She brushed sugar off of her mouth. "I guess we can ask the desk clerk."

* * *

5:40 p.m.
Park Place Mall

* * *

"This place sucks."

"Ooh, a Borders--" Jean exclaimed.

"No shopping," Logan said, looking around. "We're supposed to find the girl. And having Sabretooth in town makes me want to find her quick and get the hell out of here."

"I know, I know," Jean said, gazing longingly at the bookstore.

"What does she look like again?"

"Petite, Asian..." she answered, pulling up the mental image Professor Xavier had given her of the girl and sending it to him. "Like that."

"Okay," Logan said. "Now, how the hell are we supposed to find her?"

"We look," she said, reaching for a paperback.

Logan took her arm and pulled her away from the book display. "Come on. No shopping," he said.

"There," he said suddenly. "That's her."

Jean turned around and spotted her sitting on a bench outside of The Gap, wearing a bright yellow windbreaker, digging through a backpack. "I'll go talk to her," Jean said. "You stay back and keep watch. If she tries to bolt, head her off."

"Aye-aye, Cap."

Jean nonchalantly strolled over and sat down on the other end of the bench. "Hi," she said, fiddling with one of her earrings.

The girl gave her a suspicious look. "Who the hell are you?" she said, zipping up her backpack.

"You're Jubilation, right?"

The girl came off of the bench and broke into a dead run, heading for the nearest exit. "Crap," Jean muttered to herself.

~Logan? She just took off.~

'On my way,' he thought back at her.

Jean took a few seconds to make the two salesgirls that were watching forget what they had seen, then darted out of the mall.

Outside, she couldn't see anything at first. Clouds had built while they were inside the mall, and it was dusky. A flash of yellow caught her eye at the back of the parking lot, so she headed in that direction. ~Logan, where is she?~

'Headin' out into that empty lot over there. What the hell did you say to her anyway?'

~Nothing. She's just really jumpy. Keep following her. I'll be there in a few seconds.~

Focusing her telekinesis, she levitated herself off of the ground and flew over the parking lot. Within seconds, she had caught up with an open-mouthed Logan. "You... you're flying," he said incredulously.

"Yep," she answered, touching down on the gravelly ground. "Just learned how to a few months ago. Come on."

The girl was very fast and Jean finally had to put a telekinetic hold on her. "Let me go!" the girl screamed, fighting the invisible hold on her.

"I'll let you go if you promise you won't run again," Jean said. "We're not going to hurt you. We just want to help, okay?"

"What-*ever*!"

"Look, we know you're a mutant."

Suddenly, stark terror replaced the girl's haughty defiance. "P-please, don't hurt me--" she whispered.

"We weren't planning on it, Jubilation. We're mutants, too. We just want to help you out, get you to someplace safe. Do you promise you won't run?"

She considered it for a second. "You're really a mutant, too?"

Jean smiled. "How do you think I'm holding you still?"

"I won't run, I promise. You just, like, scared me back there."

Jean released her hold, and true to her word, the girl didn't run. "Um," she said, messing with the zipper on her jacket, "you were callin' me Jubilation. I go by Jubilee. Can't stand Jubilation."

"Sorry," Jean said, smiling. "I'm Jean, and this--" she turned and Logan was gone, "Well, the guy that was here a second ago is Logan. We're from a school for mutants in New York. Since you're on your own, we thought that--"

Suddenly, Logan reappeared out of the scrub. "Jean, take the kid and get back to the bike now," he said.

"Is he here?" Jean asked, her stomach clenching.

"Go!" he barked, eyes darting over the abandoned lot.

Frowning, Jean grabbed Jubilee's wrist and started running. "Hey!" the girl exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"Stay quiet," Jean hissed. "There's someone here that we do *not* want to run into. He's with a group that abuses mutants. Professor Xavier will explain it all to you in New York."

"Who's Prof--"

A sudden roar and shout of pain split the air, and Jean skidded to a stop. "Jubilee, run back to the parking lot. Find this motorcycle--" she sent a mental image of Logan's bike "-- and stay by it. Go, now."

Jubilee's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded and kept running. Jean turned around and headed back toward Logan.

* * *

It was like watching a terrible dance. Jean wanted to do something to help, but she couldn't think of anything that she could do that wouldn't break Logan's concentration. It was vicious, but it was smooth and graceful. She stood riveted beside a stunted cactus.

If Logan was a big man, then Sabretooth was huge. He had six inches on Logan and at least seventy pounds, but Logan was obviously the faster of the two. He darted around the bigger man, dodging punches, slicing with his claws, trying to kick Sabretooth's legs out from under him.

Sabretooth roared in pain and staggered back. Logan's claws had gone straight through his bicep. Suddenly, he looked straight at Jean, and her throat spasmed with fear.

"Aw, lookit that. Is this yer little cunt, Wolverine?" he said, his voice gravelly and horrible. "Maybe I'll let her live so she can carry yer body back. After I have some fun with her--"

"You touch her, Creed, and I'll rip your throat out," Logan growled dangerously.

A sudden wave of fear from him came down the psi-link. Despite her own terror, she couldn't help examining it. Fear was not something that she expected to feel from Logan during a fight. She poked a little deeper into it, and realized that it was fear for her. He didn't give a damn what happened to himself, but he was terrified that something might happen to her.

Sabretooth feinted a move toward her and Logan slashed, leaving three long gashes in the bigger man's chest. "Oh, yer gonna pay for that," Sabretooth said. "I won't kill ya yet. I'll let ya bleed while I fuck yer bitch--"

He suddenly leapt at Jean, and she lashed out instinctively with her telekinesis, blasting him back twenty feet. She followed it up with a psi-bolt, knocking him unconscious.

Logan darted forward. "Wait!" Jean shouted. "Let's just go, please."

He stopped and slowly turned to look at her. The sheer rage in his eyes made her shrink back. "I'm gonna kill him," he said.

"No, please. Let's just go," she said softly. "He won't wake up for at least a day. I might have overdone the bolt a little."

He stood there staring at her for a moment, blood dripping from his claws. Then, he retracted them and stalked back toward the parking lot.

Jean followed him silently, her mind racing. He would have killed for her, killed to keep her safe. He knew damn well how she had reacted the last time he'd killed to protect her, and he was willing to risk everything that he wanted, the one good thing in years of bad to keep her safe. Her mind raced and everything was suddenly so clear.

* * *

Jubilee looked more than a little impressed when Logan stomped up to the bike with Jean in tow. "Dude!" she exclaimed. "Is that blood?"

Logan ignored her question and pulled a grease rag out of a saddlebag. "I'll call the pilot," Jean said, trying not to sound as shaky as she felt. "He can file a flight plan and we can get on the plane within an hour."

Logan nodded curtly and climbed onto the bike. Jean could feel the berserker still gripping him, eating away at his control, but he kept it tightly tamped down. Jubilee hopped on behind him without any hesitation and Jean slid on in front, leaning to the side so he could see around her head, pressing her body back against his. She felt a sudden surge of heat roll through him, but he clamped down on it so tightly that it pushed her mental probe out.

She quickly sent telepathic messages to the pilot and Professor Xavier, informing them of what needed to be done. "Let's go," she murmured.

They sped out of the parking lot.

"What about..." he said, having to yell over the wind.

The blood on his ripped shirt was making her back wet. "Don't worry about it. No one will notice." She paused, suddenly realizing that they weren't headed for the motel. "Where are we going?"

"Airport."

"What about our stuff?"

"We can fly back later."

"Why?"

"'Cause Sabretooth'll be expecting us to fly out of Tucson. Easy for him to trace flights."

"Oh. But--"

"We'll leave tonight. Go somewhere else."

"Oh."

* * *

Half-an-hour later, Jubilee was safely on the professor's jet. "Professor Xavier will let you know where to pick us up," Jean told the pilot.

"No problem," he replied. "You be careful, Miss Grey."

She jogged back over to Logan and the motorcycle, who were both skulking in the shadow of a hangar. "We've gotta get moving," he said gruffly.

She climbed onto the bike behind him, again feeling a surge of heat from him. She closed her eyes, tasting it, and realized that it was sheer animal lust. Every time she came close to him, the berserker surged almost violently. She felt hot suddenly, despite the cool wind.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He let out a heavy, shaky breath. "I told you to go back to the bike," he growled angrily. "I didn't want you there. He could have killed you--"

"But he didn't. He was the one that messed you up in New York, wasn't he?"

Logan nodded silently. "Jet-setting motherfucker, isn't he?" she commented.

He twisted around to face her suddenly, grabbing the back of her neck. "You should have let me kill him, Jeannie. He knows your face now."

A strange blend of fear and desire washed over her, starting from where his hand gripped her neck tightly and shivering through the rest of her body. She leaned forward impulsively to kiss him, but he let go of her suddenly, turned around and started the engine.

"Sorry," he muttered. "It takes a while to get back to normal."

Jean didn't want him to get back to normal. She was seeing this side of him for the first time; she wanted to see all of it, not just the fighting rage. She knew there was more to it than that. It tickled at her mind, teased her, whipped her into a frenzy of curiosity and want.

She kept touching him on the ride back to the motel, kept the beast near the surface. She wasn't afraid of it anymore. His shirt was ripped open, and she slid her hands inside, feeling the smooth skin where he had healed. She could feel it pushing at his weakening shields when he met her outside of the motel office with their stuff. "There's another motel about half an hour down the highway," she told him. "We can stay there tonight and keep going in the morning."

"Fine. Get on," he said, hands twitching on the handlebars.

She slid on behind him, putting her helmet on and then pressing herself tightly against his back, wrapping her arms around his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he gripped the handlebars so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He kicked off and they sped onto the highway.

* * *

8:35 p.m.

* * *

Logan disappeared into the bathroom without a word as soon as they got into the motel room. Jean dropped her bag into a chair and leaned against the desk, trying to catch her breath. Logan's shields were failing and he was flooding into her mind. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system and it bled into hers. Similar to fight-or-flight, but it was more like fight-or-fuck. It staggered her to feel just how much he wanted her. And it wasn't just random lust; it seemed to be keyed to her. He wanted *her*, nobody else.

Jean couldn't have resisted even if she wanted to. Which she most definitely didn't.

She pulled her boots off and tugged her jeans off. Her shirt and bra came off on the way to the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He was hidden behind the shower curtain, but she could feel him stiffen. "Get out, Jeannie," he said, but there was more pleading in his voice than threat.

"Why?" she asked, feeling her heart pound.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he whispered, so quietly that she could barely hear it over the shower. "That would just make me like him. That guy that raped you."

She could sense that his control was rapidly crumbling. "It wouldn't. And I can take it," she said breathlessly, slowly sliding the curtain open. "I want you. All of you."

She stepped into the steamy bathtub, pulling the curtain shut behind her. Wetness surged between her legs at the sight of him, his naked body slick and wet, his back to her. "Not now," he muttered.

"Yes," she breathed, sliding a hand down her body and between her thighs, unable to help herself. "Right now. Please--"

He spun around so suddenly that she barely saw him move, grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them against the wall level with her shoulders. "You don't know what you're asking for. Once it starts, it won't stop. *I* won't stop. Not until I get what I want," he growled, his dark eyes flashing, and she suddenly felt like prey caught in the predator's teeth.

Time for the prey to fight back.

"I know what I'm asking for," she replied, tugging at his grip until he released her wrists. "I want you to fuck me right now."

He groaned helplessly and pressed against her, his cock hard and huge against her belly. "You don't understand. If I let it loose, I can't control it," he whispered.

She slid her hands over his broad shoulders, down his hard, muscular chest and ridged belly and wrapped her hand around his erection, felt it throb against her palm. "I understand," she whispered, stroking him slowly. "I can feel it. You're trying to keep it under control, but it wants me."

She took a deep breath, smelling him on the steamy air, feeling half-crazed with lust. "It wants to mark me. Fuck me. Make me yours, so no other man can ever touch me again. Just you. I want it. I want you to let it loose on me. I'm strong enough to take it. I trust you," she said.

His control was gone. He fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her forward, crushing his mouth to hers. He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her against him.

Tongue forcing its way into her mouth, he leaned back and groped for the faucet, shutting the water off, then steered her out of the tub. Jean was dizzy with want, with his kiss, with the feel of his wet, naked body pressed against hers.

He pulled her out of the bathroom, and she thought he was aiming for the bed. She gasped when he shoved her up against the wall instead. "Are you sure you want this?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.

She felt like banging her head against the wall in frustration. "Yes! God, *please*, Logan, I need you--"

She yelped when he suddenly swept her legs out from under her, guiding them around his waist and propping her up with his hips. The head of his cock pushed against her opening, spreading the wetness that was steadily leaking from her. He thrust his hips up sharply, and he was inside her.

Jean let out a sharp cry at the sudden flash of pain. He was so big and seven months was a long time to go without. Logan steadily pushed in until he was deep inside her, as far as he could go, then stopped moving completely, pressing his forehead against the wall, breathing like a sprinter.

"God, you're so tight," he gasped, and she could feel that he was fighting the beast, fighting to keep it under control.

She didn't want him to control it. Her blood was running hot, and she needed him to be as out of control as she felt. She needed to see that side of him, the berserker.

Digging her fingernails into his shoulders, she sank her teeth into his neck, almost deep enough to draw blood. He snarled, and she felt it slip through his fingers.

He started thrusting hard, at a brutal pace, so hard that it felt like he was trying to pound her through the wall. She was incredibly wet but too tight, not quite ready, and each savage thrust hurt. It hurt, but the pain was good. It melded with pleasure, twisting and coiling deep inside of her, building until it was all she was aware of. Her entire world narrowed to their writhing bodies, his fingers digging into her hips, his thick erection splitting her open.

She braced herself against the wall and his shoulders and started meeting his thrusts, working herself on him. He moaned in her ear, biting at her throat, then turned his face to hers, taking her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Jean whimpered into his mouth, grinding against him frantically. God, she was so close and completely out of control. His shields were completely gone, and he was battering at her, body and mind. She could feel her own shields cracking under his assault, but she didn't care. She wanted to feel him again, wanted to feel that complete mingling of souls. She wasn't afraid of it.

Logan suddenly cried out, a deep, guttural, animalistic sound, and pushed himself into her as deep as he could go, pinning her to the wall. His cock swelled and pulsed inside of her, and her shields crumbled like dust.

She was sucked immediately into his mind, into a whirling fury of memories and emotions and *Logan*. Nothing else existed except him and her and the blinding pleasure of two minds mating, becoming one. She could barely feel the cold of his memories; it was almost completely drowned out by white-hot ecstasy and the deep, pervading warmth of love.

Jean gasped for breath and let him overwhelm her.

* * *

She had no idea how long they held onto each other, shaking and moaning. Logan slowly sank down to his knees, arms wrapped tightly around her. "Oh, god," he moaned, shuddering with an aftershock, "Jeannie. God, I love you."

If she hadn't been shaking like a leaf, she probably would have gotten up and danced. Instead, she laughed and tangled her fingers in his soft hair, tilting his head and kissing him deeply. ~I love you, too.~ she sent down the psi-link, and he smiled against her lips, using his grip on her to work her on his still-hard cock.

She drew in a sharp breath, and he pulled away from her mouth. "Did I hurt you, baby?" he whispered, eyes suddenly full of worry.

"Yes," she said, kissing him before he could frown, "but I liked it."

He chuckled and started mouthing her shoulder. "It's been a long time," she continued, running her hands over his muscular shoulders, "and you're a big boy -- ah!"

She gasped when he bit down on the tendon between her neck and shoulder. He looked back up at her, grinning wolfishly. "You liked it, eh?" he purred, licking the corner of her lips. "You like pain, darlin'?"

She giggled a little nervously. "In small doses," she answered, sighing as he buried his face in her neck.

Jean moaned with every small bite he placed on her neck, squirming on his lap, squeezing his erection inside of her. He gave an appreciative growl and hooked his hands under her thighs, rising swiftly to his feet. He carried her to the bed and she flipped the covers back with her mind.

He sat on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, still setting his teeth into her neck. She felt him slip into her mind, smooth as water, cool and hot, earthy and feral. 'I like this,' he thought, and she smiled.

Logan wrapped his arms around her waist and pushed her down, sliding his erection even deeper inside of her. She moaned and let her head fall back. It still hurt a bit, but the pain was just good. He lifted her and pushed her down again, starting to pump in and out of her slowly but forcefully. The angle was different from before, and each thrust sent a shock of pleasure through her.

The wildness was still running through them both, burning through their veins. Jean could feel it rising from deep within herself, mingling with Logan's own, which was closer to the surface. Hers was hidden, but it responded to him. It wanted to mark him as her mate. She couldn't help her surprise at finding such primitive needs inside of her. She must have kept it hidden well to not have even noticed it herself.

She didn't want to be civilized. She wanted to mate, to fuck like animals, to lay claim and have claim laid upon her. Growling, she pulled herself upright and gripped his shoulders, letting her nails cut into his skin, and started riding him hard.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin, groaning when she began bucking her hips back and forth, bringing herself closer to orgasm. His mind slid through hers like quicksilver, his emotions and everything that he was feeling blending with her own thoughts until she honestly couldn't tell where she stopped and where he began. Hard muscle and wiry hair, soft, soft white skin, hands gripping so tightly that the skin under them bruised, sharp points of pain. It was the most exquisite sensation, to feel him inside of her and also feel being inside of her, feeling stretched and opened, and tightness and incredibly warm and slick...

Logical thought escaped her. She drove herself down onto him and he thrust up to meet her. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed her whole body into him, muscles rippling and clenching, coming intensely. She could vaguely hear her own cries, echoing off of almost bare walls, but she could feel his orgasm, feel the tight grip of her sex around him, the sudden gush of wetness onto his groin, the spasming contractions and his hot, hot semen spurting inside of her.

Logan gave one last cry and then fell onto his back, pulling her down with him. She slid one of her arms around his ribs and rested her head on his chest, fighting to catch her breath. His heart pounded under her cheek, and she could feel his hands trembling slightly as they slid up and down her back.

"What changed?" he asked after a long moment, his voice slightly slurred and still very breathless.

Jean took a deep breath, smelling the sex on the air. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled. "Somethin' had to have changed. I don't think you'd have just jumped me if it hadn't."

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest, looking him in the eye. "I asked for time to figure things out. I used it. I was stupid, I guess. Part of me knew all along that I'm in love with you, but another part was scared. Of you. But I realized that I have to take all or nothing, you know? I... I love all of you. Too much to settle for nothing. Even the violent part of you, because it's *you*. If I didn't -- well, it would be like you loving me, but not the psychic part.

"I saw it when you were fighting Sabretooth. You would have killed him to keep me safe, even if seeing you do it drove me away from you."

He looked up at the ceiling. "It's not a rational part of me. It's dark and brutal, and I can't control it when I let it loose--" he paused, realization dawning. "That's why you were scared of me, isn't it? You saw it in my head..."

He looked absolutely miserable. Jean pushed herself up so she could look at him better. "Yes, it scared me, but I know you'd never hurt me. It would never--"

"How can you want me, when you saw it? When you saw what it can do?"

She snorted impatiently. "I trust you," she said, emphasizing each word. "I love you. It's a part of you, and I know that it would never hurt me. Believe it or not, it makes me feel safe, to know that you'd do anything to protect me. And... it turns me on. It's so primitive... god, now I'm blushing."

He smiled, a genuinely happy, amused smile, and slid his hands into her hair, pulling her down to kiss him. His tongue slid slowly against hers, languidly. She sighed softly, kissing him back, pouring her love down the still wide-open link.

* * *

14 November
11:01 a.m.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Inn at Loretto

* * *

"You're still in bed, darlin'? Lazy."

Jean rolled onto her back, pushing the sheets down to her hips, and stretched luxuriously, giving Logan a good view of her naked torso. She was still a bit saddle-sore from their two week ride to Santa Fe, taking backroads to keep Sabretooth off of their trail. Well, she was sore from other things, too.

Raising an interested eyebrow, he dropped the takeout bags on the dresser and stalked over to the bed. She giggled and tried to scoot out of his range, but he caught her and pulled her back to him.

With a wicked grin, he pinned her to the mattress and started playing with her breasts. "So," he said nonchalantly, "did you miss me?"

She moaned and squirmed, pressing her thighs together. "Mmm... of course," she breathed. "Where -- mmm -- where did you go, anyway?"

Instead of answering, he leaned over her and licked her nipple, then started sucking gently, teasing the other one with his fingers. She gasped and arched up, tangling her fingers in his hair. "Your hair -- oh! -- is wet," she said, holding his mouth to her breast.

He lifted his head, pushing against her grip. "It's snowing," he replied, then moved over to suck on her other nipple.

"Oh! Oh, it is?" she said, writhing underneath his mouth and hand.

"Mm-hm," he answered without stopping.

After a few minutes of torture, she was moaning and thrusting her hips up at nothing. Giving her nipple one last, hard suck, he sat up and pushed the sheet off of her completely, then slid his fingers between her legs. Jean gasped loudly and bucked against his hand. "Ooh, you're wet," he murmured, stroking her slit.

"Oh, fuckmefuckme, please..."

That devilish grin was back. "I think I wanna make you come with my tongue first,"

"Please!"

He chuckled evilly. "If you insist, darlin'..." he said and started to slide down between her legs.

"Take your clothes off first."

He looked back up at her. "Hm?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Strip."

He sat back up, giving her an impish look. "And what if I don't wanna?"

She raised herself up on her elbows and smirked at him. "I want to suck your cock, and I can't do that if you're wearing pants, can I?" she replied sweetly.

His mouth fell open and his eyes darkened. Jean raised her eyebrow suggestively at him, pleased that she'd broken through his calm, teasing facade, and he came off of the bed in a flash, stripping naked in a matter of seconds. She got a fleeting if pleasant glimpse of his gorgeous, muscled body before he practically tackled her, pinning her to the bed and kissing her hard.

She slid her hands over his back and down to squeeze his ass. He groaned and rubbed his cock against her belly, the leaking tip leaving a damp trail on her skin. "God, you smell good," he murmured, pulling away from her mouth to nibble at her earlobe.

She laughed. "I need a shower."

"No you don't. You smell good. Like sex," he whispered in her ear. "I can smell my cum on you. I like that."

She shuddered. "Turn around," she breathed. "I want to suck you off."

He let out a low growl. "I love it when you talk dirty, baby," he said, then turned and settled over her, taking her ass in his hands.

Jean licked her lips, spread her legs, and reached up for his cock, sucking it into her mouth. It had taken a few blowjobs for her to get used to the technique again, but Logan hadn't complained a bit. He moaned as she moved her head up, letting him slide in as deep as she could take it.

She slid her mouth back down and licked at the head for a few seconds, then started bobbing her head, sucking steadily. Logan shuddered, then bit down lightly on the inside of her thigh, making her squirm. He licked lightly at the joint of her thigh and groin, then swiped his tongue over the length of her sex once. She moaned around his cock, running her hands up the backs of his thighs to dig her fingernails into his ass.

His fingers tightened on her hips in response, and he pushed his tongue into her, fucking her with it before starting in on her clit. She jumped and shuddered, sucking harder.

Logan finally had to pull his mouth away, resting his forehead against her thigh. "God, Jeannie, that feels so good," he panted, lightly thrusting into her mouth.

She increased her pace, lapping up salty precum as it leaked from his cock. "God... god... baby, I'm gonna come," he whispered, breathing hard. "I'm gonna come, Jeannie..."

He froze, but she kept moving, sucking him in deep and swallowing around him, sliding her fingers back to press against his perineum. He came with a shout, semen gushing into her mouth. It was too much for her to handle, and she pulled her head back, swallowing and gasping for breath. His cock spurted a few more times onto her breasts and belly. She was already turned on beyond belief; she slid one hand down and spread herself open with her fingers, then pushed his head back down between her legs with her mind.

He growled and bore down on her with his tongue, flicking her clit hard, pushing a couple of fingers inside of her sex.

Fire rushed through her, and she arched up against his body, gasping his name. He moved off of her when she collapsed back onto the mattress, turning and settling beside her. It took a long moment for her to catch her breath. "God, you're good at that," she breathed.

He grinned smugly at her, then dipped his head to suck at her wet nipple. "Logan!" she exclaimed. "You--"

He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue into her mouth, and she could taste his semen in his mouth. He finally pulled away, staring at her intensely. "Jesus," she said, closing her eyes. "Do you have any idea how fucking sexy that was?"

She heard him chuckle, then felt the bed shift as he got up. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Nowhere."

The bed dipped again, and he pressed the length of his naked body against hers. "Open your eyes, babe."

She sighed and opened them. "Here," he said, somewhat awkwardly, handing her a small, wrapped box.

"What's this?" she said with a smile.

"I... well, I missed your birthday. So, I got you something."

A silly grin plastered itself on her face. "Oh, Logan, you didn't have to--"

"I wanted to. Open it."

Still grinning, she ripped the paper open to find a black velvet box. "Logan, what did you--" she began, but he interrupted her.

"Just open it, Jeannie."

She flipped it open and gasped. Inside was a simple, wide silver band inlaid with a thunderbird in a red gemstone. "It's beautiful," she whispered, pulling it out and sliding it onto her finger. "And it fits!"

Logan laughed. "Good. I saw it this morning and it made me think of you. Happy late birthday."

She rolled onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she said, kissing him. "I love you."

His arms tightened around her. "I like hearing you say that, darlin'."

"Get used to it," she replied with a grin, pulling herself up.

The drapes slid open at her mental command, and she rose up on her knees to see out of the window. "Ooh, it is snowing," she murmured, getting off of the bed to look.

"I didn't make it up," Logan teased, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jean looked down at the part of the hotel that was sprawled under their window, watched fat snowflakes gather on the pink-orange adobe. "Kind of early for snow," she said thoughtfully.

Logan slipped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his warm body. "I always liked watching it snow," he said quietly, pressing his face against the side of hers. "I can kinda remember mountains... and so much snow. I think I was a boy then."

She squeezed his arms, then started walking him backwards, stopping only when the backs of his legs hit the bed and he sat down. She turned around, just looking at him for a moment, the pale, snowy light making his golden skin look silvery.

He was still half-hard, so she pressed herself against him, reaching down and stroking him back to hardness. He sighed in pleasure, kissing the side of her neck, lapping at her damp skin, running his hands over her back. When he was completely hard, she bent down and kissed him on the lips, then turned her back to him and sank down in his lap, onto his cock.

He moaned, hands moving to her hips, pressing her down all the way, then lifting her up only to press her down again. She let her head roll back onto his shoulder, adjusting to the size of him inside of her. God, it felt so good.

He moved his hands up to her breasts, and she looked down, admiring the way they looked in the light, the contrast between their skin tones. Hers was positively white, marred by faint bruises on her hips and waist from where he hadn't been able to control himself. His darker hands cupped her breasts for a second, then smoothed them down her flat stomach, over her hip bones and down to her thighs. He pressed them out so that she had to move her legs outside of his, bracing her weight against the solid bulk of his body. One hand moved to her waist, holding her still as he began to thrust slowly in and out, and the other slipped between her legs, fingers sliding down to and around where his erection penetrated her, then back up to tease her clit.

Jean drew in a sharp breath, letting it out on a moan, working her hips as much as he would let her. She could feel his presence swelling at his end of the psi-link, so she took her shields down, let him slide into her mind the way he was sliding into her body.

Sensation suddenly doubled, and his thrusts quickened. An orgasm began to quickly build deep inside of her, wet warmth building low in her body. She stared out the window at the falling snow, losing her mind, losing herself in him, gasping and crying out his name when she came hard, her body arched back against his.

He whispered things in her ear, things she couldn't make sense of in her current state of mind, and then he pressed her down hard, coming deep inside of her.

"I love you," he whispered, breathing hard.

She smiled. Things were looking up.



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