RATING: R.

SUMMARY:  entropy -- the magnitude of disorder in a system.  This is a companion piece to Marguerite's heartbreakingly beautiful "Chaos Theory," which you really must read first.  Go ahead.  I'll wait. Spoilers for X2

DISCLAIMER:  These characters belong to Marvel and, unfortunately, Rupert Murdoch's evil empire.  This plot belongs to the lovely and talented Marguerite.

THANKS:  To Meg, for writing me the original and then letting me play in her sandbox.  To Em, for betaing as much as she could stand to. ;)

They were all responsible, to varying degrees, for what happened when Jean came back, for how it all unraveled.  Logan was sure, even during the worst of it, that they all blamed themselves:

Xavier, for not saving Jean.

Jean, for coming back wrong.

Scott, for not being enough for her.

Marie, for not being what Scott needed.

Logan knew that he wasn't the only one who blamed himself, but he'd been the one to set events in motion.  He'd made the choice, and the repercussions would echo among them for the rest of their lives.  It was, in the end, his fault.  

He'd had the best of intentions, meaning only to help a friend who needed him.  Logan didn't consider himself particularly brave, but he'd sacrifice his own wretched life to save a friend's.  

That's essentially what ended up happening, only he was still alive to suffer the consequences.

Maybe he could've lived with it if his decision had only ended up ruining his life.  But in helping a friend who needed him, Logan had hurt someone whose only involvement was to try to help everyone else.

***

Logan didn't remember much about Jean's memorial service.

Hell, he didn't remember much about the four days leading up the service.  Everything blended into the miserable silence that had descended upon the Mansion.  Logan was grateful for the silence, because containing his grief took all of his energy.  Jean wasn't his to mourn, but he had to fight every second of every day to keep himself from mourning her as a lover would.  He didn't have anything left over.  

Logan held himself in rigid control, passing the night in sleepless agitation, catching brief naps during the day when the others were around.  The only person who spoke to him was Marie, and although he knew she was trying to comfort him, her kindness threatened to break through the remnants of his control.

He couldn't accept comfort because he didn't deserve it.  And so he shaved and donned a suit and took a seat alone in a pew, all but snarling at Marie when she tried to sit beside him.  He knew, somehow, that he'd regret treating her so unkindly once he let himself feel again, but not even guilt could make it through his self-imposed numbness.

Nothing could.  Nothing until Jean appeared.  Alive.  Alive and smiling at them in that luminous way she had.  Beckoning him forward.

Breaking his rigid control.

The rest of the room, the rest of the world fell away as all of his grief, all of his anger, all of his relief flooded through him.  

He didn't know where he was or what he was doing as he stumbled forward.  He only knew that this expansive feeling in his chest was what he'd always imagined joy might feel like.

"We thought we'd lost you."  The words came from him, though he had no idea how he'd formed them.  Her eyes glowed copper; her pale skin radiated light.

"You did," she answered, her voice resonating in his head.  "But I came back."

And then he was beside her, her hand landing on his arm, pulling him forward with surprising strength.

She's real, he thought, his vision blurring as she leaned closer and closer.  Oh, thank God, she's real.  She's alive.

It was nothing like their first kiss.  She wasn't reluctant; she was the instigator and she kissed him like he was her lifeline, like he was her salvation.  Logan had wanted her for so long that he couldn't help but kiss her back with ferocity, pouring his relief and passion and, yes, love into it.

Finally, Jean pulled away, her mouth glistening as she grinned at him.

The rest of the world came back, bit by bit.

Scott, on his knees in the aisle, his mouth open in shock.

Marie, at Logan's side, urging him to move.

Kurt, awestruck and muttering, "Gott is truly gracious."

Xavier, in Logan's head, curtly ordering him to get hold of himself.

"Cyclops," Logan gasped, reality breaking over him in an icy wave.  He looked around, but Scott was gone.  "Shit."  Logan scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to get it together.  "He must be ready to kill me."  Justifiably, too.  Shame and anger were fighting for dominance, but underneath it relief so sharp it almost hurt -- Jean was alive.

"Bobby has him," Marie answered, an odd combination of compassion and irritation in her voice.  Her small hand tugged at his arm, urging him forward.  "I'm sure they went up to the main house."

Logan straightened, determined to take what was coming.  "Let's go."  He knew Marie was upset and he knew why, but he couldn't figure out what to say to her.  He had nothing to say to her.  After all, he hadn't wronged her.  Not like he'd wronged Scott.  And when Logan was wrong, he apologized.  

When they reached Xavier's private study, Logan didn't bother with social niceties.  He ignored Xavier, who was handing out brandy like Popsicles.  Instead, Logan concentrated on Scott, slumped in a chair, defeat in every line of his body.  Logan moved to Scott's side and placed a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "Listen to me."

"Fuck you."  Scott words were dull, almost slurred, but Logan suspected it was more shock than alcohol.  The brandy glass held loosely in Scott's hand was almost full.

Logan tried to find the words to explain, to break through Cyclops' simmering anger.  "I'm glad she came back to you."  It was true enough, if incomplete.

Scott choked on a dry, bitter laugh.  "You have got to be kidding me."

Logan flinched, but pressed on.  "She was confused.  She wasn't thinking straight.  She caught me off guard," Logan pointed out.  All true, but he didn't let himself wonder whether he would've responded that way if he hadn't been caught off guard.  "She's alive, man," he said, his own awe still evident in his voice.  "You gotta accept that gift."

What happened next wasn't particularly surprising.  Scott tossed his untouched glass of brandy aside and leapt at Logan, slamming him into a barrister's case.  Glass sliced through Logan's clothing, bit into his flesh in a hundred places, but he didn't move to stop Scott.  His shoulder separated, pulling out of its socket, and Logan swallowed a cry of anguish.  Rage shattered Cyclops' control, but it also gave him strength, and Logan felt his cheekbone give, his rib crack.  

Still he didn't fight back.  Scott needed to hurt something, and Logan would heal.  

But Scott's fury was too white hot to burn for long; he slumped to the floor, moaning.  "Oh, God," he whispered, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.  His eyes were squeezed tight, his glasses lost during his frenzied attack.

Wincing, Logan felt the last shards of glass being expelled from his back, felt his bones shifting toward alignment.  Healing hurt, the tissue pulling and straining to mend itself.  He cracked his neck back into position and checked his shoulder, which was mended underneath the shredded and bloodied suitjacket.

Logan glanced at Xavier, who was watching Scott with mixed compassion and disapproval.  Bobby and Marie wore matching wide-eyed looks of shock.  When he could put it off no longer, Logan glanced at Cyclops then away, fixing his gaze on the floor.  There was nothing more he could do here.  Scott would never accept comfort from Logan, even if he knew how to give it, and he'd clearly overstayed his usefulness as a punching bag.  "I'd better go."

Xavier nodded.  "That might be for the best."

"Wait.  Can," Scott started, his ruined voice soft and tinged with embarrassment.  "Can someone help me?" he asked, one hand splayed flat against the wall as he pulled himself to his feet.  "My glasses?"

Logan swallowed a hundred responses, instead scooping the shades from the floor and placing them in Scott's trembling hand.  "I think you hurt yourself," Logan pointed out, glancing at Marie.  She'd shown an impressive increase in her control during their ill-fated trip to Bobby's boyhood home, somehow pulling only enough of Pyro's powers to quell the fires he'd created before... well, it had almost looked as if she'd given his powers back.

Marie stood across the room from him, looking puzzled and a little annoyed.  She shook her head, just slightly, those wide brown eyes fixed on his face.  

Logan reached out his bare hand and raised his eyebrows.

Her mouth opened on a silent "O" when she understood his unspoken question.  "That won't work," she said quietly, sounding almost ashamed. "I can't make it... flow outwards."

"I saw you give some of Pyro's power back after you grabbed him.  You can do this," Logan told her.  "Just... try."

She looked skeptical, but glanced at Scott, who was trembling with pain and exhaustion, blood streaking down his wrists from his battered knuckles.  Marie tugged her glove off with her teeth, a sight that touched off some unidentifiable feeling in Logan's chest.  He didn't have time to dwell on it; she looked up at him and bit her lip as she reached out to touch him.

It was fire and pain and electric shocks all over his skin until she let go.  Logan sagged back against the wall, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.  His shoulder was out of its socket again, his ribs ached, and almost his entire back was covered with burning cuts.  The cacophony of pain left him too out of it to really follow what happened next.  

Marie walked away, there were voices, and then several books tumbled from the shattered barrister's case, landing almost at his feet.  Logan stared at the books, at the scorch marks.  His muscles were protesting, screaming for him to sit down, to lie down, to sleep until he got his strength back, but he forced himself to look up.  He needed to check on Marie.  

She wore Scott's visor, a small, proud smile on her face as she looked at Scott, who stood tall once more.  Logan glanced at Cyclops and was more than a little shocked at how young and vulnerable he appeared without his glasses.  His eyes were a startling, bright blue.

"Oh," Marie said, drawing Logan's attention once more.  She was staring at Scott, her expression shining with awe.  "Oh," she said again, and something inside Logan twisted.

"Thank you," Scott said, pulling Marie into a careful hug.  As Logan watched, too winded to intervene, she relaxed against Cyclops.  "I'm sorry," Scott said, his gaze on Logan now.  "That was... out of line.  Out of control.  Whatever."  His hand lifted, resting for a moment on the top of Marie's head before stroking slowly down her hair.  "I'm sorry."

Logan wanted to reply, wanted to say it was okay, but something hot and tight had settled in his throat and he couldn't speak.  Slowly, slowly, his healing started up again, and feeling his shoulder slide back into place in slow motion was excruciating.  Logan saw spots, but refused to utter a sound, clenching his jaw against the groan lodged in his throat.

Xavier spoke instead, "We've all been amazed at how much control you have shown the past few days.  You're exhausted, Scott.  It's understandable."

Scott nodded thoughtfully, still stroking Marie's hair.  "Keep those on until you're sure my mutation is gone," he instructed, releasing her.  "I can feel it starting to come back."  Scott stared down at Marie for a long moment, then closed his eyes.  "Bobby, could you go to the Ready Room and pick up a visor?"

Bobby disappeared without protest, and Scott reached blindly toward where Logan was still recovering.  "Logan?" Cyclops asked.  "You okay?"

"Will be in a minute," Logan answered, hating the weakness in his voice.  Hating the unease in the pit of his stomach.  "She took the stuffing out of me.  Plus, you got in a couple of good shots, there."

Scott shuffled slowly toward Logan, not lifting his feet.  Marie slipped a hand through his arm.  "Let me help you," she said.  "He's right here."

Logan studied her, forcing himself to straighten up even if he had to lean against the wall to do it.  The still-healing gashes on his back flashed in agony, but he ignored them.

Scott extended his right hand, an unspoken apology, and Logan shook it.  He didn't need an apology, probably didn't deserve one, but Scott needed to give one.  "Don't worry about it," Logan ordered, as the bleeding from his reopened wounds finally started to slow.  His shirt was damp with blood and sweat, and he was trying his damnedest not to tremble with exhaustion.  "Important thing is that Jean's come home."

Logan let his eyes slide closed, not wanting to witness the look on Scott's face.  He tuned out Bobby's excited voice as he returned with Scott's visor, ignoring the others until Bobby said, "Jean's changing clothes and she's about to come downstairs.  She's pretty pissed that you got rid of her stuff."

It was too much to happen in one day, and Logan wasn't sure he should be there when Jean reappeared.  But somehow he couldn't make himself leave.  Against his better judgment, he followed Xavier, Scott, Marie, and Bobby into the foyer, where they congregated at the foot of the winding staircase to wait for Jean's arrival.  

She looked unearthly when she appeared, all flowing material and that strange copper cast to her eyes.  Now that he'd gotten past the shock of her sudden reappearance, Logan really looked at her, noting the differences and the similarities.  Jean wore simple, tailored clothing; this woman moved like liquid, her strange garments swirling around her.  Logan tried to look past the superficial differences and see the woman he'd mourned, but the phoenix sweeping down the stairs toward them wasn't the same woman he'd known, not really.

"I guess I owe everyone an apology," she said as she reached the bottom.  "I haven't been like..." Her face paled, "this... very long.  When I'm having an emotional response, I can't really control it."  She glanced at Logan and away, her gaze stopping on Marie.  "What happened?" she asked with a small frown.

"Nothing," Logan managed, but Scott was talking too, "We had a... disagreement."

Jean's eyes slid closed and Logan felt the tickle of her powers skating across the edge of his thoughts.  He stiffened, but she was already speaking, "A fist fight.  Marie took Logan's power to heal--"  Jean's eyes flew open.  "Scott, you're hurt!"

Logan's insides clenched again, that horrible throb of jealousy.  It was completely unjustified -- she was Scott's; she should be upset that he'd been hurt.  But all of Logan's studied indifference, all of his practiced, controlled grief had been overrun when she beckoned him forward, leaving him full of this hot, burning desire.

"Nah," Scott shrugged off her concern.  "Good as new."  Carefully, he moved towards her.  "Jean, this is... I mean, I dreamed that you'd somehow be alive...  I just..."  He stopped, shrugging helplessly.

"Storm told me everything," Jean said, sounding like herself again.  "And even if she hadn't, I'd be able to sense what you've been through.  All of you."  Her bright smile seemed out of place as she glanced at each of them in turn, moving to crouch beside Xavier.  "I'm going to need your help to find my way back," she said, and Logan's unease grew -- her way back from where?  She was already home.  

No one else seemed troubled by the implications of her words, and Logan decided to keep his concerns to himself.  It probably wasn't the time; they were all still blown away by her reappearance.  But he promised himself that he'd keep an eye on her.

Xavier cradled Jean's face, smiling benevolently down at his star pupil.  Jean rested her forehead on his arm with a long sigh.  "I'm so tired, Charles," she whispered, and Logan actually ached -- she sounded like Jean, like the woman they'd lost.

"I can only begin to imagine," Xavier answered gently, stroking her hair.  "We can have all these conversations later.  In the meanwhile, you should go back to your room."

"Yes." Jean agreed, glancing over at Scott with a shy smile. "Come with me?"

"Oh, God, yes, of course."  Scott's joy and relief rang in every syllable as he helped her to her feet.  "I can't believe you're really here," he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist and leading her towards the staircase.

Logan straightened his spine, forcing himself to ignore the envy spiking through his veins.  Jean and Scott belonged together, regardless of that ill-considered kiss in the chapel.  He'd always known that she loved Scott, and that whatever she felt for Logan was based on affection and attraction.  She wouldn't have come back from the dead for him.

When Ororo and the others started discussing how she'd come back, how she'd survived, Logan slipped away, not making a sound as he headed for the door.  He needed to be outside, needed to be away from Scott and Jean's joyful reunion.  

His room was far too close to theirs for him to be able to stand it.

Logan headed for the garage and mounted the motorcycle he'd adopted as his own.  With a tight knot of dread still plaguing him, Logan roared off into the night, headed west.  Toward the mountains.

***

Logan returned to the Mansion just before dawn, his eyes gritty and tired from the wind and the late hour.  He ditched the motorcycle and retreated to his room, moving silently along the corridors, listening carefully until he was certain Jean and Scott were asleep and not... enjoying each other's company.

He shrugged out of his shirt, peeled off his jeans, and tumbled naked into bed.  Three hours later, he woke on the crest of a nightmare, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his back.

Wincing, he retracted the claws and closed his eyes, letting his hands heal before rolling unsteadily to his feet.  He showered and dressed and headed out into the hallway, stopping short when he saw Scott emerging from his room.  From their room.

Cyclops hesitated when he saw Logan, giving a curt nod.  "Morning."

He sounded worlds better than he had the night before, and Logan told himself to be happy for Scott.  He'd seen how deeply the man loved Jean, and how joyfully he'd greeted her return.  Logan dipped his chin.  "Morning."

Scott turned, heading for the stairs then stopped.  "Oh," he said, glancing back at Logan.  "The Professor's waiting for us.  Conference room."

A meeting about Jean.  Logan stifled a sigh.  No doubt the professor thought they could clear up any lingering confusion over Jean's reappearance with a quick team meeting.  The man had a blind spot when it came to Jean, and Logan had a bad feeling that the professor's willful ignorance would be quite an obstacle in this particular situation.

He briefly considered asking Scott if Jean had seemed... off, but the thought of having to listen to Scott answer, of seeing a satisfied smile as the other man remembered last night...

"Yeah," Logan managed.  "I'll be right down."

He didn't bother to eat, heading directly to the conference room.  Xavier had taken his customary seat at the head of the table, with Scott and Ororo flanking him.  Logan circled the table and dropped into the chair beside Storm, folding his hands carefully before him.  

Marie and Bobby entered, and Logan wondered why, exactly, they were there.  The professor couldn't seriously be considering letting them join the team.  She was too damn young.  Logan was about to ask the professor what he was thinking when Jean sauntered in, draped in red and black.  

If Logan didn't know better, he'd think the electricity in the air grew more charged.

Scott stood, pulling out the chair beside him in an almost courtly gesture, but Jean ignored him, sweeping to the end of the table to sit opposite the Professor.  

Logan's instincts were screaming at him, warning him that this was not Jean.  That she was... wrong.  He let his eyes drift shut and inhaled slowly.  She smelled like Jean, but... different.  Tempered by something new.

The only other time he'd ever sensed a subtle change like that was the faint metallic tang in Marie's scent after the Statue of Liberty.  That had faded, slowly, along with Magneto's ability to manipulate metallic fields.

But with Jean, the overlay was stronger.  Logan couldn't quite quantify the new component to her scent, but it -- well, for lack of any other way to explain it, the newness smelled permanent.  

Logan stared at Jean, watched the way she moved with a new grace and confidence.  He glanced around the table, taking in Scott's hurt expression, the Professor's placid calm, Storm's small frown -- none of them seemed to get it.  They just thought that Jean was acting strangely; Logan thought that maybe this wasn't really Jean.

Jean favored Xavier with a smile entirely devoid of warmth.  "I assume we're not going on a mission," she said dryly.  "I assume we're here to talk about me."

"We do want to welcome you home, Jean," Xavier answered mildly.  "In the midst of the confusion, it's entirely possible that we may have expressed our joy in some... rather unconventional ways.  But we are relieved, and overjoyed."

Jean nodded, her demeanor that of a royal granting an audience to her subjects.  It set Logan's teeth on edge.  Jean wasn't like that; she was compassion and warmth.

"What is it that you need?" Ororo asked Jean, her gaze calm and curious.

Logan crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair to watch the interplay.  Maybe Storm had an idea of the problem after all; maybe she'd be able to tease it out of Jean.

"Time," Jean answered, her voice sharp. "This was an enormous thing that happened to me.  I need time to process it."

"But you will rejoin the team," Xavier said, almost as if it were something so inexorably true that it didn't really need to be spoken aloud.

Beside him, Marie stiffened when Jean shook her head no.  Logan glanced at Scott, who looked pale and stricken, his mouth open to protest.

"I was never really part of the team," Jean declared, ignoring the others' instinctive protests.  "I never had a set function.  I never even had a name the way the rest of you do."  Here, she smiled at Marie, but something about it made Logan tense further, as if he'd have to protect Marie from Jean.  The thought was absurd, but he didn't have time to process it because Jean was still talking.  "Even Rogue walked in the door with her mutant identity intact.  I was only ever Jean."

Scott made an anguished sound and began to rise, but Xavier placed a hand on his arm.  "Let her finish," he murmured.

Logan couldn't take his eyes off of Jean.  She was glowing there in her seat, as if lit by some inner fire.  "Most of Jean Grey died that day, even though the force of the water didn't completely kill her.  I'm a phoenix, and I'm alive, but I'm a Dark Phoenix and that's going to be my name."

Logan froze, suddenly certain that he'd been right.  She wasn't Jean, at least not the Jean they'd all known and loved.  This woman was hard and polished, sparkling beautifully in the light -- perfectly faceted, but lacking Jean's essential warmth.  Every once in a while, a small bit of Jean showed through, but Logan wondered if that meant she was in there, or if it was simply a reflection of her former self.

Oblivious to his dark musings, Jean took a sip of water from the glass in front of her. "Just as my name has changed," she pronounced, "so has my life."

Scott slumped in his seat, curling protectively in on himself.

"I do love you, Scott," Jean said in that cold, distant voice.  "But love changes."  She smiled, but it was a little but cruel.  "It mutates.  You're all I've ever known."  

Logan could feel it coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop this.  To stop her.  Jean turned to him, lust radiating from her as she took him in with burning eyes.  "I need time to discover all the things I missed," she said.

He tried to shake his head, tried to say no, but he was paralyzed with shock and, he was ashamed to admit, hope.  Maybe she did love him.  Maybe he was wrong and Jean was really in there, and she loved him.

"I'm sorry you feel as if being here with us has deprived you," Xavier's said, his voice low with sorrow.  "That was never our intent.  Nor was it our intent to shelter you to the point where you felt excluded from the team."

"I've always been the good girl.  My whole life I've been perfect little Jean, the perfect scholar, the perfect mutant, the perfect lady, the perfect girl engaged to the perfect boy.  I'm done with perfect now," Jean said, and Logan felt every word like a physical blow.  He'd been right the night before -- she didn't love him.  Not even close.  

"I want a man, not a boy," Jean said, her gaze raking over Logan's form.  "I want Logan."

She followed up her declaration with a barrage of images playing like a pornographic slideshow in his head.  She wanted him to fuck her mercilessly.  She wanted him to make her hurt, to make her feel.  She wanted to break out of this perfect little life she'd built for herself and have what she thought was missing.

She wanted a relationship characterized by simmering lust, as opposed to enduring love.  She wanted a bad boy.

And she'd cast Logan in the role.

It hurt more than he'd thought possible to realize how little she knew him that she'd expect him to mindlessly fuck her.  

Worse, he understood that this... escapade was what she'd decided she needed.  And while she'd prefer Logan to be the one to fuck her, she was so determined that she'd settle for someone else.  For anyone else.

Logan tore his gaze from her predatory look, glancing at Scott, who sat utterly rigid in his chair.

"On the Blackbird," Scott choked out, "on the way home, I said I'd give anything if I could see you just once more."  He lifted his chin, the pain so clearly etched on his face that Logan had to look away.  "I said I'd give anything," Scott repeated.  "And I have to honor that."

The silence that fell was brutal, and Jean filled it with more images for Logan.  He wished he knew how to shield himself, but she was incredibly powerful.  Before, her probing in his mind had felt like a light tickle; this was an invasion.  His hands clenched his thighs as his tension level rose.

"I think," Xavier said finally, "that part of this discussion rightfully belongs to Logan."

Fuck.  He was supposed to discuss this?  With them all?  

"I'd say," Logan began, feeling the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders, "that this should be a private discussion.  But since there are telepaths involved..." He trailed off, shaking his head.  

Despite what the others might think, Logan lived by a strict honor code.  He'd been fighting a war for as long as he could remember, first by himself and then as part of this team of do-gooders.  He couldn't remember his past, but the rules of engagement were a part of him, something he couldn't shake.

In a war, you do what's necessary to get everyone back in one piece.  You never leave anyone behind.  Never.

He'd seen flashes of the real Jean hidden inside this woman.  And if there were even the smallest chance she could be brought back, he would do whatever he could to help.  

Even this.  

Even if it broke him in the process.

"What am I supposed to say right now?" Logan demanded, frustrated.

"I'm not one of the telepaths," Scott snapped, "but I've got a pretty good idea what you'd like to say."

"You got no idea," Logan exploded, and then he was standing, leaning over with one palm pressed flat against the tabletop.  Scott jerked to his feet, too, and Logan wondered if they were headed for a repeat of the night before.  Except this time, he wouldn't be holding back.  This time, he'd be the one who needed to hit something to vent his anguish.

But Scott wouldn't understand that, and there was no way to explain.

Marie's hand fluttered closer, settling on his arm.  Logan shook her off, so very close to the edge of his control.  "This doesn't involve you, kid," he managed, not sparing her a glance.  At the very least, he could keep Marie out of it.

Logan stared at Scott.  "If I agree to this," he growled, "and there's no guarantee that I will -- we need to make something clear."  He looked over at Jean, hoping to reach the humanity, the kindness, the Jeanness left somewhere inside of this strange new creature.  "I never got the chance to grieve for you because I never got the chance to love you," he said.  "If I'm what you want, I'm not gonna say no."

Scott twitched.  "Son of a--"

Logan cut him off. "But there are conditions."

Jean gave him a triumphant smile.  "How many conditions?"

"Three," he answered.  "Number one: this is temporary.  When you come back to your senses, it's over."  He didn't much like the way she shrugged off his concerns, but there was nothing he could do about that now.  "Number two: you're gonna work with the Professor, here, because the sooner that happens, the better."

"What's number three?" Scott demanded, his teeth clenched.

Logan knew Scott deserved this answer, because it wasn't about Jean.  It was about Scott.  Forcing himself to face Cyclops, Logan straightened his shoulders and answered, "I won't do this here, in this house."

Scott flinched, then lifted his chin and asked, "Afraid I might kick your ass?"

Logan had expected the hostility and didn't let himself react.  "I know what you think I am, Cyclops, and right now I don't give a shit except to tell you that you're dead wrong.  If being with me will help Jean, then I'll do it, but no way am I gonna cuckold a man in his own house."

Scott slumped into his chair, all resistance gone.  It was a horrible thing to see, but Logan wouldn't let himself look away.  He'd made his decision, and while he thought it was the best one, given the circumstances, he knew he was hurting people.  He was hurting Scott.  And maybe Marie.  But Logan couldn't think about her yet.

Instead, he watched Scott turn a desperate expression Jean's way.  "Is this what you really want, Jean?"

"It's what I need right now, Scott," Jean answered, gliding to her feet and moving to Scott's side.  She reached out, her palm landing softly on the top of his head.  "Thank you for understanding."

But he didn't understand, he couldn't.  And prolonging this conversation wasn't helping anyone.  Logan forced himself to move, forced himself to round the table and reach for the door.  He held it open for Jean, who brushed her fingers along his arm as she passed.

Logan watched her for a moment, before turning back to the shocked faces around the table.  There was nothing he could say to make it right, so he said only, "I'll help her get her things out."

Scott shook his head, a sound that might have been a chuckle tearing itself from his throat.  "Don't worry.  I won't stay in that room anymore.  You can burn the damn thing to the ground if it makes you feel any better."

"Logan," the Professor said, and Logan could hear the disapproval in his tone.  "Don't take her far.  There's a carriage house by the lake.  She can come here to see me, or I can go to you.  But don't separate us until I know for certain what her new powers are and how much of Jean is... recoverable."

The Professor's voice sounded in his head, I do understand your reasons, Logan.  I am not sure this is the best way, but I understand.

Logan didn't really think Xavier did understand, but nodded anyway.  He took an unsteady breath.  Unable to put it off any longer, Logan's gaze slid over to Marie.  She sat, spine straight, gloved hands clenched together on the table in front of her.  She was staring at him, and her eyes...

The expression on her face was so open, so raw, that Logan couldn't help but understand her feelings for him.  Now that he'd committed himself to this course, now that the damage was already done, he understood that he wasn't just breaking Scott's heart and his own.  Logan was breaking Marie's heart, too.

He clamped down on that line of thought as hard as he could.  He wouldn't let himself think about it; wouldn't let himself consider whether her feelings were returned.  Logan straightened his spine.  "You gonna be okay?" he choked out.

Marie's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, but she lifted her chin, just a little bit, and he'd never been more proud of her.  "Yeah," she answered, her voice trembling.  "I'm good."

She wasn't good.  Logan could read her better than anyone he'd ever met, and she wasn't anywhere close.  But there was nothing he could do about that now, so he just held her gaze, memorizing the way she was looking at him.  In case she never looked at him the same way again.

Finally, he nodded and tried to look away from her.

"Cy--" he began, but he wasn't apologizing to the team leader; he was apologizing to the man.  "Scott.  I'm sorry."

Scott didn't bother to look at him.  "Just get out."

Logan let his gaze skate past Marie as he turned to leave.  He was several feet down the hallway when he heard Scott speak again, his tone low and so sorrowful that Logan flinched.  

"Take care of her."

***

It was sheer torture, Logan learned soon enough, to get what you thought you wanted.  Maybe fantasy could never live up to the reality, or maybe he'd just never had the kind of imagination that could come up with a reality like this --  he had Jean's body, sure, but he didn't have her.

Logan carried his scuffed duffel bag and her tasteful luggage across the painfully green lawn, wondering if he was imagining the feel of hurt eyes watching him leave the Mansion.  Jean met him at the door of the carriage house, and he nearly dropped their bags onto the small porch.

Because Jean was wearing black lingerie.  Just black lingerie, with an oversized sheer scarf wrapped around her lithe body.  

So much for easing into things.  

Still, Logan brushed past her and kept moving, heading for the bedroom.  She just laughed and used her powers to wrench the bags from his grip and toss them carelessly towards the corner.  

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned to face her, to face the cold, brittle, wanton smile on her face when she said, "I've waited a long time for this."

There was nothing he could say that was appropriate, nothing that would make this into something it wasn't, something she didn't want it to be.  Because he'd wanted Jean since he'd met her, but not like this.

Logan stood still, determined to let her lead, but she pressed that long, graceful body up against him and said, "Fuck me, Logan."  Her hand slid possessively across his hip, his stomach, her fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans.  "Like an animal," she ordered, her breath speeding up at the thought, those copper eyes dilated with want.

Logan tore the scarf away, because that had no place here, with Jean.  He hoped to God she hadn't worn it on purpose; he hoped she wasn't that far gone.  Then he told himself to stop thinking.  He shut off the part of himself that was resisting this perversion of what he'd thought she could be to him and kissed her brutally, his grip on her so rough that he knew she'd be bruised.  

He knew she wanted to be marked, and he forced himself to let go, to give her what she thought she needed.  Everything he did increased her desire, increased the desperate enthusiasm of her response, and then they were on the floor.  He took her from behind, his knees grinding painfully into the tile floor, his eyes clenched shut.  

And when it was over, she stretched beneath him like a cat and turned her head to look at him.  "I always knew it would be like that with us."

He hadn't thought anything could have hurt more than that moment just before he'd left the conference room, when Scott and Marie stared at him with matching expressions of heartbreak.  But as he rolled off of Jean's sweaty, trembling body and collapsed onto the floor beside her, his winded breaths sounded a little bit like sobs.

Logan couldn't answer, so he just nodded.  For this, she'd shattered Scott's heart.  For this empty sham of a relationship with a man she didn't even know.  And he'd let her do it.

Eyes closed, Logan lay on the floor and tried to make himself believe he'd really just fucked Jean.  A part of him still couldn't believe it.  A part of him was mourning the death of his fantasy.  And a part of him still couldn't get the look on Marie's face out of his mind.

He tried to push his thoughts away, tried to exist in the sheer physicality of the moment -- the cool, varnished surface of the hardwood beneath him, the scent of sex in the air, the beauty of Jean's body awash in the dying sunlight.  It wasn't enough to keep the thoughts away.  To keep the regrets away.

He had a lot of time to think that night, lying stiffly beside Jean, who'd curled up under the blankets and dropped off to sleep almost immediately.  He watched her for hours, marveling at the difference -- in sleep, her face lost that fierce distance.  Asleep, she looked like Jean.  He wondered why that made him feel worse instead of better.

He must've dropped off to sleep at some point, because he jerked awake suddenly.  Panicked, his gaze swept the room until he identified his surroundings.

Carriage house.

Jean.

Jean, who was huddled in a chair by the window, wrapped in a quilt.  The emerging sunlight set her hair afire, bathing her in a soft, hazy light.  She looked young and lost, but still somehow like Jean.

Trying not to hope that she was better, Logan made himself relax against the headboard, the sheets pooled around his hips.  "Jean?"

"Logan," she said.  When she looked at him, her expression was a little bit dazed.  "Is this -- Is this real?"

"Do you want me to get the professor?" Logan asked, wishing that there were a scrap of clothing near the bed so he could go to her.  He had no qualms about nudity, but he didn't think she was in the right frame of mind to handle such blatant proof of how much things had changed.

Jean shook her head, just barely.  "Did we...?"

Fuck.  She didn't remember?  Logan clamped down on the panic.  He wondered how, exactly, he could give some sort of mental cry for help that would bypass Jeannie and yet reach the professor up at the Mansion.  Then he realized she might be picking up on his thoughts right now, so he forced himself to answer.  "Yes."  

Jean blushed, looking younger and less self-possessed than he'd ever seen.  "Oh."  She turned her face away.

"Are you--?"  He stopped before he said "back" or "sane" or a dozen other words that meant the same thing.  He shifted, uncomfortable with any situation that required tact.  "Do you want me to get Scott?"

Jean flinched.  "No."  Her blush deepened and Logan wondered if it had shifted from embarrassment to shame.  

"Okay," Logan answered, refusing to let his own hurt bleed into his words.  He'd heal, he reminded himself.  He'd heal from this.  The important thing was to get Jeannie back.

"I'm a little confused," Jean admitted, her voice low and a little unsteady.  "Everything's... jumbled together."  She seemed to steel herself before meeting his gaze.  "Can you tell me what happened?"

He owed her at least that much, even if it scared the shit out of him that she didn't seem to remember much.  The way he'd manhandled her...  

Logan swallowed down his urge to scream, to shower, to hit something, and recited a terse history of the past few days.  Jean nodded at some points, as if confirming what she already knew.  When he explained what she'd said to Scott, how she'd chosen Logan, Jean's eyes widened, sparkling with unshed tears.

It was then that Logan really noticed her eyes.  They were brown, not copper, not alight with strange fire.  They were Jean's eyes.

She was in there, somewhere, with the other personality she called Dark Phoenix.  Logan's relief left him weak, and he dropped his head back against the wall, letting out a sigh.  He'd made the right decision.  His instincts were right -- she was still Jean, at least in part, and if he could help her, he would.

But first he needed to make things clear.  So he sat up straight in the bed they'd shared, his movements catching her attention.  He met her gaze squarely and said, "There's something else you need to know."

Blinking, Jean seemed to be coming out of her fugue state, reacting more quickly to his words.  "What?"

"I'm only here because you asked me to be," Logan answered quietly, "and because I thought it might help you.  Whenever you're ready," he paused, because sometimes it hurt to be so goddamned honorable, "you should go back to Scott."

"I can't."  Jean looked away, a frown on her lips.  

"Why not?" he challenged.  She gave him a disbelieving look, but he shrugged it off.  "You weren't yourself.  Scott knows that.  He'll probably always hate me, but he'll never hate you."  He couldn't bring himself to tell her Scott loved her.  Not while he was still in the bed they'd shared.

"Doesn't mean he'll take me back after this," Jean muttered, and the anger and disgust in her voice twisted something inside of Logan.  She looked at him and winced, and he wondered just how much of his guilt was showing on his face.  "Oh, Logan, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.  I just--"  She stopped and blew out a frustrated breath.  "This is--"  She shook her head, her expression suddenly fierce.  "He's always known that I wanted you," she told him, her voice somehow richer, fuller.  "And it's always scared him."

Logan studied her carefully, eyes narrowing.  He sensed a shift in her mood, a shift in her, but couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.  "Don't worry about it."  

A slow smile drifted across her face, and he recognized the Dark Phoenix.  Her eyes were bright copper as she stood, letting the blanket drop to the floor.  Her entire body seemed to thrum and crackle with electricity as she paused, naked, in the sunlight.

"No," Jean said, gliding towards the bed.  "I've offended you."  She leaned forward, climbing up the mattress on her hands and knees to straddle him.  Her voice dropped to a lower, sexier register.  "I should be punished."

As Logan felt nails scratching across one shoulder, as he flipped her onto her back and pinned her with his considerable weight, he wondered which one of them, exactly, was truly being punished.

***

Each day slid by slowly, almost torturously, even as Logan learned to live with his new, skewed reality.  

Life with Jean was... difficult.  When she was herself, she was depressed and upset and still a little dubious about his motives; when the Dark Phoenix appeared, she was cold and calculating and insatiable.  She was just as brutal with him as she wanted him to be with her, never tender.  Never the way he used to imagine it might be with someone like Jean.  

He'd never imagined he'd end up a glorified stud service for one of the rare women who'd managed to slip past his guard.  

It was hell, but even hell can become routine.  

Before the sun was up each morning, Logan set out for the Mansion for an hour or so in the Danger Room.  Insomnia was a bitch, but it worked out for the best, since he could make the trip up to the main building without running into anyone if he got there early enough.  He worked his way though each Danger Room simulation with a grim determination, letting his rage and anguish out in adrenaline-fueled frenzies.

One day about a week after Jean's return, the program halted abruptly, leaving Logan with only air to sink his claws into.  He shouted his frustration and whirled to face the door, which slid open to reveal Scott, looking like hell.  

Like Logan, Scott wore a tank top and sweats.  He was noticeably thinner, even in a week's time; and Logan was willing to bet those damn glasses hid dark circles under Scott's eyes.

Still vibrating with the need to beat the shit out of... something, Logan held himself as motionless as possible.  He'd thought he and Scott had a tacit agreement -- avoid each other at all costs.  Obviously, Scott had chosen to interrupt Logan's workout instead.  From the way Scott stood, all coiled anger and dented pride, Logan suspected he knew the reason.

"Wolverine," Scott said coolly.

The choice was deliberate, calculated to address the street brawler, not the teammate, and Logan was just pissed off enough to accommodate him.  But he made himself think about Jean, about how she'd react to the further complication of her former lover and her current lover beating the hell out of each other over her.  Tempted as Logan was to take out his aggressions on a living, breathing person who would fight back just as angrily, he wasn't pissed at Scott.  And he had a feeling it would spiral out of control rather quickly, because Scott was pissed at him.

"Cyclops," Logan answered flatly, heading for the edge of the room where he'd left his towel.  He buried his face in the cool cloth and tried to regulate his breathing.

"Tired of fighting a computer yet?" Scott challenged, his footsteps bringing him farther into the room.

Logan stiffened.  "This isn't a good idea."  But he'd always had a temper and Scott was jabbing all of his buttons.  

"You're probably right," Scott acknowledged, but he was still moving closer.  

With carefully controlled motions, Logan turned to face Scott, his arms crossed across his chest forbiddingly.  Scott didn't look impressed; he merely reached up and clicked the dial on his visor to the locked position.  "No claws," he warned Logan.

Logan remained motionless.  "Scott--"

"Scared to get your ass kicked by a boy?" Scott taunted, but even the cruel tone couldn't hide his anguish.  He began circling Logan slowly, looking for a knock-down, drag-out fight.  But this wasn't a damn cage and Logan didn't want to have to tell Jean he'd fucked up Scott's face.

"No powers," Logan said finally, and he hated himself a little bit more for the anticipation thrilling through him.  "House rules."  Before Scott could demand different rules -- no rules -- Logan crouched into a fighting stance and moved away from the wall.  "Let's go."

They'd never actually faced off before, certainly not like this.  When it became clear to Logan that Scott wasn't going to make a move, Logan landed a solid punch to Scott's jaw, just to get things rolling.  

It was brutal and bloody and oddly cathartic.  They held nothing back, and at one point, Logan thought he heard Scott say Jean's name.  Overall, Scott did much better than Logan had expected, keeping his pinpoint control without sacrificing the raw power of his rage.  Logan held his own, but didn't press his advantage -- unbreakable knuckles laced with adamantium pack a hell of a punch.  

By unspoken agreement, they stopped after twenty minutes, breathing hard, sweating copiously, and, if Logan wasn't mistaken, reaching a détente of sorts.  When Scott showed up unannounced during Logan's morning workout a few days later, they didn't even speak, just laid into each other.  And so it went, every couple days for three weeks, until Ororo stalked into the room.  

Scott had just landed a brutal knee to Logan's kidney, and Logan retaliated by backing Scott against the wall to pummel his rib cage with punches.

"Logan!" Storm yelled, her voice sharp with disappointment.  "Scott.  This is not the solution to your problems."

Logan glanced over at Scott, figured he should field the question.  Scott straightened, breathing hard, and dragged a hand across his lip.  He gave Ororo a bloody grin.  "Maybe not, but it helps."

Storm muttered something uncomplimentary about men and shook her head.  "Please remember, Scott, that we have only one doctor on staff."

Fuck.  Logan could've kicked the shit out of Storm for bringing up Jean.  Scott's momentary good humor fled, and his relaxed posture stiffened as he stalked from the room.  

"Thanks," Logan snapped, striding past Ororo and out the door.  He slammed into the locker room and turned the water all the way to hot, wincing a little under the spray.  Damn it.  He knew from Scott's reaction that he wouldn't be back to another impromptu fight club session, and it pissed Logan off.  Scott needed an outlet, just like Logan, or they'd both go fucking crazy.

He pulled on his clothes with angry motions and stalked up to Xavier's study for their customary morning chat.  If the professor was surprised by Logan's attitude, he hid it behind a serene expression and a cheerful, "Good morning, Logan."

Logan dropped into a soft leather chair and fixed the professor with an expectant look.  "Any progress?"

He asked the question every day, and every day Xavier answered noncommittally, "Some."

It grated on Logan's nerves, the lack of information.  Xavier spent hours working with Jean, but kept the details from Logan on the pretext of ethical considerations.  Yet Logan, who spent far more time with her, was expected to share every last detail with Xavier so he could have a complete picture.  

The complete fucking picture obviously wasn't helping, because any progress Jean was making was minimal, in Logan's opinion.  There was more than a little irritation in his voice when he demanded, "Don't you think it would help her if I knew what you were thinking?  I'd know how to... treat her."

Xavier merely smiled.  "You already know how to treat her, Logan.  Jean is extremely grateful to you for that."

But not for his presence.  Not when she was Jean, anyway.  When she was herself, she resented Logan for not being Scott.  But she was so rarely herself that usually she looked at him with a mixture of pure desire and confused disappointment.  It was a living hell.

"I don't think Scott is particularly grateful," Logan muttered darkly.

"Scott is in a..." Xavier paused, eyebrows raised, "challenging place right now.  He's chosen you as the object of his rage because it's easier to hate his rival than his lover."

No shit, Logan thought.  But he didn't let himself be sidetracked.  "How much longer?"

"I don't know," Xavier answered.  "Every day Jean gets stronger, but the Dark Phoenix never seems to weaken.  It may be a while yet."

The most Xavier had told Logan was that Jean was, indeed, still a part of the woman who had survived Alkali Lake.  But there was another personality, the one who called herself Dark Phoenix.  Logan knew Xavier was trying to help integrate the two personalities, hoping that Jean would emerge dominant.  Logan's own experience with Dark Phoenix made him doubt the professor would be successful -- she was strong and determined and teetering on the edge of ruthlessness.  Worse, she seemed to take over whenever Jean grew upset; considering the situation, Jean was almost always upset.  

It was a vicious fucking cycle, and Logan was trapped right in the middle, subjected to a Dark Phoenix who wanted his body but not his love, and Jean, who wanted Scott but not Logan.  There was, undeniably, a current of attraction between Logan and Jean; had been since they'd met.  In another situation, maybe it could've been something more.  But she loved Scott, even now, and while Logan knew she wanted him, he also knew betraying Scott was tearing her apart.

Logan scrubbed a hand over his face.  No end in sight.  "So we just..."  He shook his head, "keep doing what we're doing?"  He wished he didn't sound quite so tortured.

Xavier watched him closely.  "No one would blame you," he began, his tone saturated with kindness, "if--"

"No," Logan interrupted wearily.  Because he wasn't the kind of man who took comfort in idealistic flights of fancy.  Jean needed him, and until that was no longer the case, he'd do what he could for her.  "I can't just walk away from her.  We don't know if that would help or hurt her."

Xavier tilted his head in acknowledgment.

After a few moments of heavy silence, the professor said, "You might consider stopping in to see Rogue.  She misses you, Logan."

Logan shifted in his seat.  "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Are you afraid a conversation would hurt Rogue, or yourself?"

Logan gave the professor a hard glare.  "This is affecting her, too," he bit out, and it was the first time he'd openly acknowledged her stake in all this.  "I don't want to--"  He stopped, picked another phrase, "rub salt in her wounds."

"Ah.  You're worried that Rogue might be upset to see you so happy with Jean."  Xavier's sarcasm was so dry, he nearly sounded sincere.  Before Logan could retort, the professor softened his tone, "Have you considered the possibility that you're hurting her more by avoiding her?"

Frustrated, Logan rose and turned to leave.  At the door, he paused, glancing back.  "Someone should watch out for Scott."

"And who," Xavier asked gently, "is looking out for you?"

Logan let out an unsteady breath.  Wordlessly, he pushed the door open and left, heading back down to the small carriage house, steeling himself for another day in hell.

***

For nearly a month after Ororo called a halt to Scott and Logan's occasional fights, Logan supplemented his morning workouts with wood-chopping sessions.  He knocked his own trees down, which was satisfying in a primitive sort of way, but what he really enjoyed was splitting the smaller sections into logs.  One after the other, he set them on end on a convenient stump and split them with one careful, powerful blow of the axe.

Controlled fury, focused rage.  Something about the combination of brute strength and pinpoint accuracy steadied him.  After two weeks, they didn't need any more firewood, but the mindlessness of the manual labor helped keep Logan on a more even keel

It also kept him out of Jean's way when she was working with the professor.  

On one particular day, however, when Logan was finally warm enough to peel his shirt off and toss it aside, the door to the carriage house opened far too early.  Logan tensed and turned, wiping the sweat from his brow with a bare wrist.  The professor exited, his expression grim, Jean following closely behind.  

"What's wrong?" Logan called.

Jean gave him that same distracted smile she used to give him before, and he realized that she was, for the moment, wholly herself.  "Scott," she answered, and the way she said his name told Logan everything he needed to know about how this would all end.  "Some students are hurt."

And Logan forgot all about Jean, forgot all about Scott, because Marie was a student and a student was hurt.  "Who?" he demanded, axe dangling from his hand.

Xavier shot him a reassuring look as he glided down the short ramp from the porch to the walkway.  "She's fine, Logan.  Rogue is unhurt."

Jean paused midstep, and when she looked over at Logan, her eyes glowed in that strange, coppery way that signified the Dark Phoenix.  Then she blinked and started moving towards the Mansion again.  "I'll be back."

Less than an hour later, Jean came stumbling back down to the carriage house, looking devastated.  Logan split the log in front of him savagely in two and left the axe buried several inches into the tree stump. He followed Jean inside, giving her a couple minutes to gather herself.

"Jean?"

"I'm all right, Logan," she answered, standing by the window.  She didn't turn to face him, but even from across the room, he could see her hands trembling.

Stopping just inside the door, Logan leaned against the wall and sighed.  "Something happen with Scott?"  Because he knew that Scott was hurting over this, but if he was going to start mistreating Jeannie...

"No," she answered quietly.  "Nothing happened."

Logan wasn't sure whether to let that blatant lie stand.  He studied the floor, absently noting scuff marks that were no doubt from his boots, then asked, "Do you need anything?"  Sometimes she drank tea when she was upset.  Logan wasn't much of a tea drinker, but from what he understood, the preparation involved heating up water and dropping in a teabag, which he could certainly handle.

"No," she said again, drawing herself up, pressing her hands flat against her thighs.  Her voice took on that clipped air she used when discussing medical matters.  "The kids will be fine.  Kitty's arm is broken, a clean break.  Flea's ankle is a little worse, but it should heal well.  I helped for a while, but Hank's here, so I left him in charge."

Logan didn't know who the hell Hank was, but he didn't think that was the important part.  She was leaving something out of the story.  "Okay."

"It's just hard.  Seeing what this -- what I'm doing to Scott."  Jean half-turned, backlit by the sunlight streaming in through the window.  Tears sparkled on her cheeks.  "I'm sorry, Logan.  It's just..."  She shrugged, sparing him a glance over her shoulder.  "Hard."

As he did every day, Logan cursed the situation.  He wondered how it was possible that all of the actors in this sick little drama were doing what they thought was right, yet everyone was hurting.  Logan watched Jean closely and asked, "Do you think it's time to think about going back?"

Startled, she turned her face to him.  "To the Mansion?"

Logan swallowed, trying his hardest to keep his voice flat and emotionless.  Because he'd always known it would end like this, but he didn't think it would feel so bad.  "To Scott."

"I... I don't know."  She'd avoided this conversation every time Logan had tried to start it, but today, she settled a little, leaning back against the windowsill.  She lifted her hands, palms up, a gesture of helplessness.  "I don't know what to do, Logan."  

He didn't let himself start to hope.  He certainly didn't let himself wonder what he was hoping for -- for Jean to choose him, or for Jean to go back to Scott.  "Why?"

"I..."  She seemed to be struggling to put her thoughts into words, but Logan was willing to wait.  Her fingers plucked nervously at the hem of her shirt.  After a long silence, she grimaced and said, "I have... feelings for you, of course, but I still... care about Scott."

Logan steeled himself.  "You love Scott."

She ducked her head, hiding her face from him.

Her silence was answer enough, and it wasn't news to him, but it still hurt.  He wanted to lash out, to hurt someone else the way he was hurting, but she still needed him.  "I'm not going to push you into anything, Jean."

She shook her head, just a little, and when she looked up at him, she looked lost.  "What if I want you to push me?"

Logan stared at her, unable to decipher her meaning.  He couldn't sense anything of the Dark Phoenix in her, but she started to move toward him, her expression open and wanting.  "Jean?"  His chest felt tight, constricted.

She stopped just in front of him, and it was Jean looking up at him like that, Jean leaning closer, closer, and then it was Jean kissing him.  It was softer than the Dark Phoenix, almost tentative.  Logan held himself stiffly, hands at his sides even as she wound her arms around him to pull him closer.  He kissed her back, but he was more focused on his internal struggle.

Half of him wanted to take her to bed, take Jean while she wanted him.

The other half wanted to push her away, because she'd never been fully herself with him before, and it felt like a new level of betrayal.  A betrayal of Scott and, somewhere in some unacknowledged part of him, Logan felt like maybe it was a betrayal of Marie, too.

Jean pulled back, obviously puzzled by his reaction, and asked, "Logan?"

Jean was willingly in his arms, and he was hesitating.  If anyone had told him a year ago that this would happen, Logan would've had quite a laugh.  He studied her face, still conflicted, wondering how he could possibly put what he was thinking into words.  

Xavier's voice in Logan's head saved him the trouble.  Logan, might I have a word with you?

Logan jerked away from Jean.  Her expression shifted to hurt, and he tapped his temple in explanation.  "Xavier."

"Oh," Jean said, and turned away.  He'd postponed the inevitable, but Logan didn't think his reprieve would last too long.  Jean moved away from him, ending up in front of the window once more, staring out into the forest.

"Yeah, professor, what do you need?" Logan asked.  He had no idea how to communicate with telepaths, so he usually just answered their queries aloud.  

The injured children, Xavier explained.  Rogue thought that, with your help, she might be able to transfer some healing ability.

Logan's eyebrows lifted, and his sense of guilt intensified.  Somewhere mixed in with his chaotic mess of feelings about Marie, he was both proud of her and a little bit in awe of her.  He knew how much she detested the aftereffects of her mutation, yet she was offering to use it to help others.

With one last glance at Jean's rigid back, Logan sighed and said, "I'll be right there."

***

Logan knew Marie wasn't hurt.  He knew it, which is why he was blindsided by the overwhelming relief he felt when he actually saw her standing there in the medlab, healthy and whole.  His breath let out in a whoosh and he had to curb the inexplicable urge to reach for her.

She was standing by the counter, brow furrowed as she skimmed what looked like a medical chart.  When she heard him come in, Marie looked up and flashed a tentative smile.  "Hey," she greeted, her voice soft.  She was clearly uncomfortable, her gaze slipping away from him.  She tapped the aluminum clipboard with two knuckles.  "I was just reading the kids' charts.  But Hank's writing is terrible."

Logan opened his mouth to answer her, but a very large, fast-moving figure swept into the lab, and his keen attention shifted to evaluate the new arrival.  The new, blue arrival.

"Logan," Marie said, "this is Hank McCoy."  Her fingers landed on his upper arm, squeezing gently, and Logan realized he'd stepped between Marie and Hank.  Between Marie and an unknown element.

For a moment, Logan held his protective stance, but Hank stepped forward to offer a disarming smile and an oversized hand.  "Good day, Logan."

The other man's pleasant, cultured voice was seemingly at odds with his large, blue, furry appearance.  A little thrown, Logan reached out and shook Hank's hand, automatically judging the strength of his grip.  It was, in a word, impressive.

"Hank's a doctor," Marie said, releasing his arm and leaving Logan feeling oddly bereft.  "Like -- like Jean."

Logan's gaze shifted abruptly back to Marie.  Her smile was brittle, but she might as well have pled aloud with him to pretend everything was normal.  They hadn't seen each other since it all started, and he didn't quite know how to categorize the strange rush of relief and longing he felt now that he was in her presence again.  But if she wanted to act as if nothing had changed, the very least Logan could do was oblige.  

He allowed himself one touch, his gloved fingers brushing her hair away from her face before he turned back to Hank.  "What am I doing here?"

But it was Marie who answered.  "I want to..." she lifted a hand uncertainly, "heal Flea.  I mean, if you want to try," she hastened to add.  "I know it hurts you, Logan--"

"Let's try it," he interrupted.  He'd much prefer that all-over fiery pain that was Marie's mutation to this constant, psychosomatic tightness in his chest.  At least the physical pain would end.

Hank was surprisingly unobtrusive for a giant blue man.  He stood several feet away, watching them quietly.  Marie glanced over at him before asking Logan, "Are you sure?"

"If you are," he answered immediately.

Marie's expression was still a bit tentative when she said, "I'd like to try."

Wordlessly, Logan tugged off his glove and held out his bare hand.

Marie gave him a genuine grin, the first he'd seen from her since before this all started, and the iron band around his chest loosened, just a little.  She gave him a gentle shove in the abdomen and said, "At least sit down."

Hank moved quietly for someone his size, appearing at Logan's side with a black leather office chair.  Logan tossed an arrogant smirk Marie's way and settled in, holding himself like a king on his throne.  Marie rolled her eyes, but she was trying not to smile when she stepped closer and asked, "You ready?"

Logan made himself concentrate on Canada, focusing on the bracing cold, the smell of an impending storm, the feel of fresh snow crunching beneath his boots.  He didn't want Marie to get anything about Jean, but more than that, he wanted to give her something of the trip she'd never ended up taking.  

When he nodded his assent, Marie reached out with trembling fingers.  For a brief second, he felt the warm, smooth skin of her palm as she laid it on his forearm.  Then there was fire in his veins and a horrible burning in his muscles.  

She released him, and he slumped in his chair, trying to focus on the activity around him.  The hurt kid.  Marie.  Hank.

Logan tried to pay attention, but his torso throbbed and his arms ached from his morning's session of wood chopping.  He wondered absently how people without healing factors could stand it.  Logan managed to get his eyes open partway.  Focusing took a little longer, but when he saw the devastated look on Marie's face, he didn't have to ask the question.

It hadn't worked.

Logan let his eyes drift shut again, willing his body to recover.  He followed the general drift of the conversation.  They were trying to figure out why it hadn't worked.  Something about prior touches.  Then Hank said, "inoculate the children, as it were, by your touch," and Logan found the strength to jump in.

"That's a great idea, Doc," he interjected, his tone savage, "except that everyone Rogue touches, she keeps up here."  Logan pointed at Rogue's temple, realizing somewhat belatedly that he'd stood up.  He swayed, just a little, on his feet.

Hank stilled, a curious expression on his face as he processed Logan's words.  "Ah," he said after a moment, "I didn't realize that -- my apologies for the suggestion."  The last was directed at Logan as much as Marie, and Hank moved up a couple notches in Logan's esteem.

"It's a good idea," Marie said bleakly, flashing a pale imitation of her smile, "but there's only so much room in there, you know?"

Hank smiled gently at her.  "I believe that there is an infinite capacity in your mind, my dear.  But, to be on the safe side, let us endeavor to keep the population under control."

Logan appreciated the man's understanding, but he sounded like he'd swallowed a stuffy old English professor.  Logan decided to concentrate on Marie, who still seemed crestfallen that she hadn't been able to help.  He wondered, yet again, how someone as generous and kind and good as Marie could care for someone as fucked up as him.  Before her, he'd never bothered with being solicitous, but something about her just brought it out in him.  "You gonna be okay, kid?"

She favored him with a wobbly smile, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears.  "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for tryin' this, Logan."

"I'm sorry it didn't help."  He paused, searching for something to say, something to prolong his visit.  Coming up empty, he gave Hank a warning look.  "Don't let her get up and run around for a while -- last thing we need is for her to crack her skull open."

Eyes closed, Marie grimaced.  "I wouldn't mind if it'd let all the people out."  A beat later, she was sitting up, one hand clapped over her mouth, those deep brown eyes of hers sparkling with tears.  "I didn't mean that!"

Logan took two steps toward her, but Hank beat him to Marie's side, scooping her unhesitatingly into his furry arms.  He murmured comforting words to her, but Logan didn't catch much of it, a little preoccupied by the sudden, bitter realization that there was no going back.

He'd been struggling to come to terms with his new situation with Jean, but he'd managed to forget that Marie had been dealing with the changes, too.  Logan had been typically self-centered, too preoccupied with Jean to notice that he'd all but dropped out of Marie's life.  Meanwhile, she'd adjusted to his absence; she'd learned to find solace elsewhere.  

The searing pain that accompanied Logan's realization froze him into place.

Marie met his eyes over Hank's shoulder and Logan forced himself to move.  With a curt nod, he turned and left.

***

END PART ONE

Continue on to part two.

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