SUMMARY: Entropy, continued.

***

"We're eating at the Mansion tonight," Jean informed Logan when he returned to the carriage house later that afternoon.

Logan, who was more in the mood for a brutal cage fight followed by red meat and about a keg of beer, managed only a grimace.  He needed to get away from this for a while, for a few hours at least.  He needed some time to get his head on straight.  He needed some time to erase the image of Marie crying in Hank's arms.

"Are you okay?" Jean asked, sounding so much like herself that Logan spared her a glance.  She looked a little better, curled up loosely in the armchair near the window, a mystery novel in her hands.  

The sight made something inside of him twist and burn, but he didn't have the energy to try to figure out why.  "I'm fine," Logan answered.

The soft smile she gave him was vintage Jean.  "You're a terrible liar."

Logan surprised himself by smiling back.  "Only to telepaths."  For a moment, things felt almost normal, almost the way they had been before.

Jean rolled her eyes.  "You've got a little black rain cloud over your head, Logan.  I don't need telepathy to see that."

Remembering the source of his foul mood, Logan sobered.  The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the scene with Marie, since examining it too closely might lead him to some conclusions that he didn't have the energy to deal with yet.  "How're you doing?" he asked instead.

Jean tucked a bookmark into her novel and placed it flat on her lap.  "About the same.  Logan, can I ask you a question?"

He hadn't thought he could get more tense, but he was wrong.  Logan turned away from her and walked stiffly across the small kitchen to the refrigerator.  "I might not answer."

"Fair enough," Jean said, and she sounded worried.  It took Logan a moment to realize her concern was for him.  "How is Rogue doing with--?"

"She's fine," Logan snapped, snagging a bottle of Guinness from the bottom shelf.  He wrenched the top off and tossed it onto the counter.  Turning, he leaned back against the sink, arms crossed, beer bottle dangling from one hand.  

Jean watched him closely, not moving from her seat.  "Are you sure?"

"We're not going to talk about this," Logan answered, tilting the bottle to his lips to take a long sip.  It was cool and bitter and tasted a little bit like regret.

Jean shifted, turning to face him fully.  "Logan, I know this..." she stopped, considering her words, "situation has been difficult for you."

"Jean--"

"No, let me say this, Logan.  Please."  

She stared him down for a few moments, but her eyes were her own, and he was so damn tired of being the strong one.  Jean -- the real Jean -- had as much of a stake in all this as Logan himself, and maybe she was strong enough to make some decisions.  Logan dipped his chin in the barest of nods.  

Jean exhaled slowly.  "What you said to me that first morning, that you're here because I wanted you to be -- is that still true?"

Logan wasn't sure where she was going with this, but it couldn't be anywhere good.  "Yes," he answered reluctantly.  "I'm here as long as you need me to be."  He'd made a promise, and he wasn't the kind of man to make promises lightly.  He would stay until she told him to go.

Jean took a moment, studying him so closely it was starting to make him uncomfortable.  "So you're not here because you want to be," she surmised, a twinge of hurt audible in her voice.

Logan froze.  This was exactly why he didn't have these kinds of conversations.  "That's not what I meant."

Her smile was brittle when she said, "But it's true.  No," she said, waving off his protests.  "It's okay.  I'd rather we get this out in the open while I'm..." she shrugged, "still me."

Logan couldn't think of a single thing to say.  Because whatever selfish reasons he may have had for agreeing to this plan, their current situation brought him neither satisfaction nor peace.  And when the rest of it was stripped away, she was right -- he didn't want to be here.  Not anymore.

"You know that I still... care about Scott," Jean began.  "And I know how much it hurts me to see the way he looks at me and the way he looks at you."

This was familiar conversational ground.  This Logan could handle.  "Scott loves you, Jeannie," he said, wondering absently when it stopped hurting so much to tell her that particular truth.  "That's not going to change.  He's hurt, yeah, but all of his anger is for me."

Jean nodded, acknowledging the simple truth of his words.  "I know that."  She hesitated, her head tilted a little to the side as she studied him.  "And I also see the way Rogue looks at you and the way she looks at me."

Logan tensed, his grip so tight around the neck of his beer that he thought it might shatter.  He forced himself to set the bottle down on the countertop with careful, controlled motions.  The soft clink of glass meeting tile was the only sound in the room.

Jean's expression was soft and caring when she said, "I know that Rogue loves you--"

"No," Logan interrupted fiercely.  He was already moving toward Jean, unable to bear the thought of what she wanted to discuss.  "No, Jeannie.  No fucking way are we having this conversation."

"Logan--"

"No," he interrupted, louder this time.  He'd never tried to intimidate her before, but he wasn't above doing it now.  Logan stopped behind the couch, glaring down at her, a little surprised to realize that he was growling.  His look was a challenge, and Jean must've understood it.  

She tilted her head back as he towered above her.  "I'm going to take a walk.  Dinner's at 5:30."

Logan's brief nod was his only movement as she uncurled her long frame from the chair, retrieved a sweater from the couch, and headed out the door.  Once he was alone, Logan downed the rest of his beer in a couple long swallows, and then headed outside to chop more wood.

***

He had a sizable pile of logs on the ground beside him before Jean came back, but for the first time, the mindless labor didn't do a damn thing to settle his nerves.  When she disappeared into the carriage house, Logan fished a cigar from the pocket of his discarded shirt and lit it, trying his damnedest to calm down.

After he finished the cigar and took a long, burning hot shower, Logan and Jean headed up to the Mansion.  As they grew closer, Jean's nervousness surfaced.  She reached out and grasped his hand.  He was more than a little surprised, but he tightened his grip, tugging her closer as they approached the Mansion.  That familiar tightness in his chest was back, but he ignored it and opened the door for her.  

When Logan and Jean entered the dining room, his gaze immediately found Marie.  She was flushed, her fingers tangled together on the tabletop, and when she caught his eye, she quickly looked away.  Logan scanned the rest of the table quickly, noting that Scott looked -- predictably --  like shit.  

Xavier gestured Logan to two empty seats about as far away from Scott as it was possible to get.  As Logan passed Marie, he held her gaze, doing his best to smile at her.  When he drew closer to Scott, he stopped dead and inhaled.

Marie.  

That burning feeling in Logan's chest intensified.  

Scott smelled like Marie.  And sex.

Logan was too shocked to react, even when Jean slid her hand back into his and gave him a little tug.  Struck dumb, he followed Jean to their seats and all but fell into his chair, his stunned gaze fixing on Marie.  She was still a little flushed, her eyes downcast.  Conversation swirled around him, but he didn't hear any of it.  He just stared at Marie and waited for some kind of confirmation of what he knew was true.  What couldn't be true.

Scott.  And Marie.  

Logan couldn't move, couldn't speak, caught somewhere in between icy fury and fiery pain.  Because of all of the horrible outcomes he'd imagined from this crazy scenario, Scott and Marie hadn't even registered as a possibility.  Scott was in love with Jean, and Marie was--

Well, now that it wasn't true anymore, Logan could admit that he thought of Marie as his.

As he stared across the table at her, Marie reached for her wine glass and knocked it over, sending a stream of blood red wine across the tabletop.  Her cheeks flushed even darker, and she looked horrified.

Before Logan could summon words, Scott asked, "Marie, are you all right?"

Logan stiffened in his chair.  She'd told Scott her name?  Logan couldn't breathe correctly, his focus shifting between Scott and Marie, trying to read the undercurrents.

"Jean," the professor said, his tone unusually harsh.  "Don't invade the girl's privacy."

Logan jerked his head around, his incredulous gaze settling on Jean.  She'd been prying in Marie's mind?  Could she have figured out--?

"Especially," Jean remarked with a hint of viciousness, "since the girl is now a woman."

It was a physical blow, this confirmation of Logan's suspicions.  All around him, the others reacted to Jean's inappropriate revelation, but all Logan could do was glare at Scott.  How fucking dare he touch Marie?  

When Bobby jumped up and shoved Scott against the wall, threatening the older man in his fury, Logan thought he probably should've have done the same.  He would've liked to take Scott outside and beat him senseless.  

But Logan felt like if he moved, something fragile and delicate inside of him would shatter.

"Bobby," Marie shouted, her voice trembling with anger and humiliation. "Stop!"  But Xavier took care of it, sitting the boy down in his chair.

With a heartfelt sigh, the professor mused, "It's not unheard of for people placed in close quarters to develop affection for one another.  After all, that's what originally brought Scott and Jean together."

Beside Logan, Jean held her peace.  When he managed to spare her a glance, he could tell from the way she pressed one hand against her temples that Jean and the Dark Phoenix were struggling against each other.  Even if he knew what to do to help Jean, he wasn't sure he had the energy to spare.  And he still couldn't move.

Tapping one large blue finger against the tabletop, Hank said, "Marie and I were talking about that just a few hours ago.  It did not occur to me in any way, shape, or form that she would misinterpret my words."  He turned a disapproving look Scott's way and added, "She may be of legal age now, Scott, but older and wiser heads should have prevailed."

"I don't disagree with you," Scott answered quietly, dropping his face into his hands.

"Chaos theory," Hank murmured. "Change one thing, change the entire world."

One choice, Logan thought.  One choice and the whole fucking world is wrong.

Finally, Logan was able to voice his fury.  Because he may have set them on this path, but Scott had no fucking right to touch Marie.  "Chaos theory, my ass!  How could you do it?"  Logan realized he was standing, scowling, claws at the ready.  "You sick bastard, how could you do it?"  That horrible heat throbbed in his chest, expanding, making it hard to draw breath.

Scott lurched to his feet, staring Logan down.  "Why do you care?" Scott shouted, nearly as enraged as Logan.  "Jean wasn't enough?  You want her, too?"

God, yes, but that wasn't an option.  "I promised to protect her," Logan said instead, his disgust at himself ringing in his voice.  "Hell of a job I'm doing."  He glanced at Marie, that hot panic in his chest kicking up a notch when she blushed and looked away.  What the fuck had Scott done to her?  "I oughta open your fucking intestines, Cyclops."

Scott slammed a fist into the table, rattling the delicate china.  "Why, so you can go after her next?" he demanded.  "How much of what I care about will you try to take from me?  How much of my life are you going to destroy?"

Logan actually took a step to the left, fully intending to round the table and pound out his anguish.  Then Jean spoke.

"It's my fault," she said softly.  Logan froze and looked down at her where she sat, eyes closed, mouth tight.  "The Phoenix," Jean explained slowly, "there's a link that she uses to strengthen herself."

"Who, Jean?" the Professor asked, covering her hand with his.  "Is it Scott?"

"No."  Jean shook her head and opened tear-filled eyes.  "It's Rogue."

Logan hadn't managed to tear his gaze from Marie, and that hot, tight, throbbing pain in his chest intensified when she started to tremble, her face white.  "Why me?" she asked, her voice shaky.  "Why is she linked to me?"

"Because you slept with her fiancé," Bobby suggested cruelly.  Marie turned and slapped him across the face.  Logan wasn't ashamed to admit he was proud of her for that.  Little fucker had no right to speak to her that way.

"No," Jean said slowly.  "It was like that from the start.  It was when she -- we -- got close to Rogue that I started to lose control of myself.  Maybe it's the bond she has with both Logan and Scott, I don't know, but I can't make it stop when I'm around her!"  Jean pushed her chair back and lurched to her feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Marie.  "She's the catalyst!" Jean half-shouted before running out of the dining room.

Scott rounded the table, following Jean, but Logan flung an arm in the other man's way.  "Let her go," Logan ordered gruffly.  "Let her think it out."

"He's right," Xavier confirmed, nodding slowly.  "This is the first breakthrough in months.  If she gets enough of herself back to talk to me -- really talk to me, this time -- then perhaps we can put an end to this whole disaster."

Scott shoved Logan away and stood there, glaring at his rival.  "You got what you wanted.  Now get out of my way."

Logan barely suppressed an enraged growl.  "Scott--"

"Don't!"  Scott held up his hands, his cheeks flushed with anger.  "Don't ever call me by that name."

"Okay."  Logan called on every last ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from beating Scott to a bloody pulp.  "Cyclops," he snarled.  "Whatever, whoever, it's just a matter of time before we get Jean back and you get Jean back.  If you want to spend the time in between with a woman, I can't say as I blame you.  Just not her."  Logan tilted his head toward Marie.  He hadn't meant to say that last part, because he had no claim on her, not the kind of claim that would keep Scott or anyone else away.  Logan swallowed hard and made himself add, "Or if it's her, then let me tell you this: you hurt her, I kill you.  Is that clear?"

Scott laughed, the sound bleak and bitter.  "Death, killing," he spat, "it's all you think care about.  Life is just something to pass the time until you can kill someone else."  Scott reached out and laid a hand on Logan's throat, fingers digging into Logan's skin.  "You can only juggle life and death so many times," Scott hissed, hatred pouring off of him, his grip tightening across Logan's windpipe.  "I just hope I get to be there when you finally fuck it up."

"Maybe I already have," Logan answered roughly, not letting himself think about what his words meant.  He flicked Scott's hand away and walked over to Marie.  "Marie," he implored, his voice sounding strange to his own ears as he knelt beside her chair.  He was still having trouble breathing right.  "Marie, look at me."

She turned to look down at him, those big brown eyes shining with tears.  "What?" she whispered.

He'd never felt this way before, like he was on a fucking tightrope and one word from her would send him hurtling back to earth.  Logan swallowed, trying to figure out what he needed to say to her, and how he'd be able to say it.  Because he'd gladly die for her, but standing around watching while she fell for someone else -- that didn't seem like anything Logan could do.  

Not now that he'd finally, finally realized just how much he lost when he chose this path.

"I told you I'd take care of you, that day on the train with Magneto," he started.  "And I meant it.  It's been crazy, kid, I won't lie to you.  And I got swept up in all the craziness right along with you.  But this is something I can't help you with.  You have to decide if this is what you want."  Logan stopped, working up to what he needed to say.  The words that would make this impossible situation real.  "If he's what you want.  If he is, then I won't say another word to you or anyone else about it."  

If Scott was what Marie wanted, Logan wasn't sure he'd be able to say another word, period.  But she deserved happiness more than anyone Logan had ever met, and he'd done nothing but hurt her.  If she'd found something -- someone -- that made her happy, Logan would have to learn to deal with it.

Logan watched intently as Marie glanced at the others, those tears still shimmering in her eyes.  She didn't shed them, not even as she reached out and placed trembling hands on Logan's cheeks.  From the look on her face, he knew what was coming even before she said a word.

"He needs me," Marie whispered brokenly.  She leaned closer, her breath warming his neck, her eyes pleading with him to understand.  "I think he'd die without me."

The wave of anguish that broke over Logan was ten times worse than the horrible tight panic.  Now he felt the pain all the way to his bones.  Blinking away the heat in his eyes, he stared up at Marie, waiting for -- something.  But he'd made the choice weeks ago that had set them on this path, and he had no damn right to complain about where it'd led them.  

Logan let himself savor the feel of her hands on him, the leather gloves warm from the heat of her body.  He let himself lean just a little closer when he answered, "I think you're right."  The worst part was, she was right.  Scott was falling apart; maybe Marie could help put him back together.

Channeling his anger and protectiveness, Logan pulled away from Marie's touch and rose to his feet, standing with one hand on her shoulder.  He'd failed her before, but he wasn't planning to do it again.  One glance around the table confirmed his suspicions -- the others were watching her with varying degrees of disapproval.  

He glared at the others, one at a time.  "Marie's had to pick up a lot of pieces lately.  Between all the people marchin' around in her head and women returning from watery graves and such, she's probably more stressed than we know.  So if Cyclops--" He tripped a little over Scott's name-- "doesn't mean her any harm, then I don't see that it's any worse him being twenty-six and sleeping with her when she's eighteen than when Jean was twenty-six and Cyclops was eighteen."

Logan waited, one eyebrow raised, for their reaction.  Because he wasn't above kicking anyone's ass at this point.  In fact, he would welcome a knock-down, drag-out fight, and even the slightest provocation would do.  Logan lifted his eyebrows and glared some more, waiting for someone to agree with his proclamation.  Or disagree so that he could work off some of his rage.

Finally, Hank tried his best to convert his grimace into a smile for Marie.  "Come see me about protection."

The words sliced into Logan, but he didn't let himself react.  He'd heal from this too.  He would.

Marie dropped her head onto her arms, hiding from the others as she wept.  "I'm so sorry," she sobbed.  "I didn't mean for anything like this to happen.  We've just been so... so lonely."

Logan dropped heavily into a chair, cursing himself for the fool that he was.  All of this was preventable.  Every last thing that had gone wrong, he could've stopped before it started, if he'd only been paying attention to something other than his own misery.  Now Jean was clawing her way back to herself and Scott was sleeping with Marie.  

It was too fucking much.

Logan ignored the others, his eyes drifting closed as he tried to bring himself under control.  He ignored Bobby's departure, ignored the professor's grand pronunciations, ignored everything until Scott said, "I'll walk her to her room."

Logan rose, taking two steps forward, blocking the door with his body.  He'd promised Marie he wouldn't say another word about it if she chose Scott, but -- God, it hurt.  Even the thought of--

"Her.  Room," Scott repeated slowly, chin lifted.  "I'll be right back."

Logan forced himself to take one small step back.  It was the only concession he could make, and he nearly lost it when he Scott's hand landed at the small of Marie's back.

Turning his head away, Logan squeezed his eyes shut.

"Logan?" the professor said quietly.  "I believe we should meet in my study."

Shaking a little from the strain, Logan glared at Xavier.  He was at the very edge of his considerable control.  He'd let Marie choose Scott, he'd let Scott leave with Marie, and he'd managed not to kill anyone.  Yet.

But Logan knew his limits, and there was no fucking way he would sit in a small room with Scott smelling of Marie.  Logan didn't have the energy to worry about Jean or about the Dark Phoenix, not right now.  He shook his head.

Xavier watched him for a moment.  "I understand, Logan."

Logan took two steps toward the door, then paused, staring back over his shoulder at the professor and Ororo.  "You'll watch Jean tonight?" he asked.

Ororo nodded, her warm brown eyes sympathetic.  "I'll stay with her down at the carriage house.  And Logan?"  He paused, looking back.  "Drive carefully."

Fat chance.  Logan gave a curt nod.  "I'll be back tomorrow," he said, and let his anguish fuel his flight.

***

It was close to noon when Logan roared back up to the Mansion on a brand new motorcycle.  It'd taken a hell of a lot longer than he'd thought to compartmentalize all the shit in his head.  

He loved Marie.  He understood that now.  He'd never felt this kind of deep, unconditional longing before, and he told himself that was why he'd managed to misinterpret it for so damn long.  Not that it mattered.  Because time waits for no man, and he'd figured all this shit out a few months too late.

Once, Marie had loved him.  But any chance they might have had was gone, and dwelling on it wouldn't do any of them any good.  So Logan drove south to Philly and found himself a sleazy dive of a bar, drank himself into a very fleeting oblivion, and made a few thousand bucks in the cage.

When he emerged, bruised but already healing, Logan had straightened some things out in his head.  He didn't love Jean.  Jean didn't love him.  Whatever they had was nice, but temporary.  It was also the only tie left holding him to the Mansion, and the sooner it was severed, the sooner he could leave.

Because Logan healed from anything, even a high-speed, head-on collision with a large old oak tree somewhere in New Jersey.  He didn't let himself think too hard about how that particular accident had come about.  Scott's bike was a total loss, but it had only taken a few hours for Logan's body to knit itself back together.  If he could heal from that, he could sure as hell heal from a broken heart.  And he didn't have the fucking patience to moon about like a lovesick puppy.  

Do the job and leave.  That was Logan's new motto.  It worked surprisingly well for several weeks, even in the face of Jean's newly agitated state.  Logan stayed calm and fucked her when she wanted it and brought her to see the professor when she needed it and didn't let himself feel a goddamned thing.

And he never, ever said Marie's name.  

The only times he even came close were when he closed his eyes and tried to pretend Jean's body was a little smaller, a little curvier.  

He kept his stony façade in place without incident for several long weeks, until one morning when Jean took a walk and the professor showed up early at the carriage house.

It didn't occur to Logan until later that Xavier had arranged to speak with him.

Logan was chopping wood.  It was obscene how many cords of wood he had in haphazard piles already; he had a half-hearted plan to sell the wood for money to bankroll his eventual escape from this gilded prison.  He'd already spent most of the money he made in Philly on his new bike.  And he'd paid Scott for the totaled motorcycle, because he'd be damned if he'd be indebted to the man who -- to that stupid prick.

"Good morning, Logan," the professor greeted, gliding as close as he could get on the pathway.  Which wasn't particularly close, since Logan's tree stump was right along the edge of the forest, surrounded by low brush.

Logan paused in his pointless labor, wiping a forearm across his sweaty brow.  "Morning."  It certainly wasn't good; nothing was, not anymore.

"Jean didn't answer the door," the professor commented mildly.

Leaning on the axe, Logan shrugged.  "I think she headed down to the stables to take a ride."  In truth, he'd been relieved to have another few hours to himself.  Somewhere along the way, Logan had forgotten what true solitude felt like.  Since he was facing a lifetime of it, he figured he should get back into the practice as soon as possible.

"Ah."  Xavier clasped his hands in his lap and watched Logan.  "Would you care for some tea?"

Grimacing, Logan shook his head.  "Not particularly."

"Fair enough," Xavier answered with a small smile.  "Keep an old man company while he has a spot of tea?"

Looked like the professor would push until Logan agreed.  With a brief nod, Logan turned back to the stump, lifted the axe, and split a log with one powerful stroke.  He left the pieces where they fell and the axe buried a couple inches into the tree stump, and then turned to follow the professor inside.  

"Tea?" Logan asked, already filling the small kettle with water.  He placed it on the burner and retreated to the bedroom to find a shirt.  When the kettle began to whistle, Logan tossed the t-shirt over the back of the couch and pulled the kettle from the stove, pouring the steaming water into an oversized mug.  "Earl grey okay?"

"Quite," the professor answered.

Logan heard the amusement in the professor's voice and gave the older man an annoyed lift of one eyebrow.  "Sorry.  No scones."

Xavier smiled, but didn't answer as he accepted the mug.  It was déclassé compared to the professor's bone china, but Xavier didn't seem to mind.

"Any progress?" Logan asked.  He could barely muster the energy to hope, these days.

"With the Dark Phoenix?" the professor queried, parking his chair beside the proper armchair in the small living room of the carriage house.  "Some progress.  The revelation that Rogue is the link should've brought us further than it has; instead, Jean seems less stable than before."

Logan nodded, pulling the t-shirt over his head, the soft cotton clinging to his damp skin.  "She's still pretty good when she's down here.  She's Jean for hours at a time."  He dropped into the wingback chair, leaning his head back.

Xavier nodded thoughtfully.  "Interesting."  

Logan scrubbed a hand over his face.  "Is this ever going to be over?" he asked, surprised to hear the despair in his own voice.

"I hope so," the professor answered, his kind blue eyes watching Logan intently.  "For everyone's sake.  But Logan, surely you know that your part in this--"

"No," Logan interrupted, eyes open and fixed on the professor.  Because he'd fucked up everything else, but maybe he'd be able to live with it if he at least managed to help Jean find her way back.  "If Jean needs me here, I'll stay."  

Xavier didn't answer right away, taking a small sip of his tea.  "I would like to talk to you about that, Logan."

Tensing, Logan stared back at the professor, trying to read the older man's inscrutable expression.  "About what?"

"About your presence here."  Xavier paused, taking a delicate sip of tea.  "Very good," he commented, lifting the mug in salute.  

Logan waved off the compliment.  "What about my presence?"

"The Dark Phoenix, as you know, has a psychic link with Rogue."  Xavier hesitated, obviously weighing his words.  He carefully placed his mug onto the end table beside him, then folded his hands in his lap.  "I'm not entirely convinced that is the only psychic link upon which the Dark Phoenix is feeding."

Logan let that sink in for a moment.  He didn't like the implications.  "You're suggesting that I'm feeding her somehow?"

"Perhaps," the professor answered.  "This is trial and error, Logan, but I believe there may be other... influences at work with Jean and the Dark Phoenix."

Frowning, Logan repeated, "Other influences."

"From what we've figured out so far, the Dark Phoenix feeds off of dark emotions -- anger, fury, fear, anguish.  Rogue's experiences over the past year make her a likely candidate to feed the Dark Phoenix."

Logan winced.  "You mean Magneto."  That fucking bastard.  Logan had incredibly detailed plans to kill him, but hadn't yet had the opportunity to follow through.  When he left the Mansion, he'd put that at the top of his to-do list.

"Among other things, yes," Xavier answered smoothly.  "But there are others who are close to Jean who have experienced tragedy.  Scott's grief may play a role.  And Jean spends the majority of her time with you."  

Xavier was too polite to say more, but Logan knew what he meant.  Logan's head was a fucking nightmare of darkness and death and despair.  "You're saying the Dark Phoenix might be feeding off of me."  In which case, Logan's presence this whole fucking time might have been doing more harm than good.

"It is possible," the professor acknowledged.  "In order to test my theory, Logan, I'm going to need to ask you a couple of questions."

Logan was immediately on full alert.  "What do you mean?"

Xavier reached for his mug and took another sip of tea, letting Logan's trepidation build.  "I know this may be difficult for you, Logan, but I'd like you to tell me about Rogue."

He was up and out of his chair before the professor finished, stalking toward the kitchen.  "No."

"Logan--"

"I said no."

"Would you let me explain the reasons for my request?"

Everything in Logan wanted to refuse.  Because he'd been pretty successful at tucking away all those inconvenient feelings, and dragging them out into the light wasn't high on his list of ways to while away the hours.  But if something Logan knew could provide the missing information that Xavier needed to bring Jean back to herself, this whole fucking nightmare would be over.  "Explain," Logan ordered curtly, pacing in tight circles in the small kitchen.  

Xavier moved his chair closer, stopping just outside the kitchen so as not to crowd Logan.  "If I can get a clear lock on what's bothering you--"

Logan let out a bitter chuckle.  "What's bothering me," he muttered.

"--I may be able to recognize those same emotions in the Dark Phoenix, which would help us to understand better her method of operation."

It sounded reasonable enough, as a proposition.  But since it required Logan to sit around discussing his feelings, he was none too keen on the idea.  "Can't you just poke around in here?" Logan asked, a little bit desperately, gesturing toward his temple.

Xavier raised his eyebrows.  "I wouldn't have thought you would accept the intrusion."

Logan considered that.  "I'd rather that than--"

"Talking about your feelings?" the professor finished for him with a small, knowing smile.  At Logan's nod, Xavier said, "Would it be easier if I posed some questions to you that you could answer?"

After a long, silent moment, Logan nodded his reluctant agreement.  "I'm not making any promises.  Let me get a beer," he said, pulling a bottle out of the refrigerator.  When he tossed the cap onto the countertop, he leaned back and nodded.  "Shoot."

Xavier tilted his head toward the living room.  "Would you be more comfortable--?"

"No."

"Very well.  Logan, since our return from Alkali Lake, you seem to have gained some measure of peace with your unknown past.  Is that a fair assessment?"

Turning, Logan stared out the window over the kitchen sink while he considered the professor's question.  "To an extent, yes, that's fair."  He hesitated, trying to put his conclusions into words.  "Stryker was the man who made me into this," Logan said, popping the claws on his right hand, watching the sunlight glint off the metal.  "And now he's dead.  Maybe it's better that my past died with him.  I don't--"  Logan stopped, sheathing the claws.  "Doesn't seem like I was much of a good guy."

"I don't think that's true, Logan.  People don't change their fundamental nature, and you are fundamentally a good man."

Logan grimaced, waving off Xavier's words.  "I don't think so.  Anyway, maybe it'll be better in the long run that I don't know what I was.  Clean slate."

"Except for the nightmares," the professor suggested.

Logan glanced over his shoulder at Xavier.  "Yeah.  Except the nightmares.  I don't think those stop, ever."

"Perhaps not," the professor agreed.  "But your previous restlessness, your need to find your past -- that seems to have..." he smiled, just a little bit, "mutated into a manageable curiosity."

Nodding, Logan turned around, leaning back against the counter.  "Sounds about right."

Xavier cupped his mug of tea in both hands and fixed Logan with an intent stare.  "Am I right in assuming that you feel very protective of Rogue?"

"Yes."

"Is there any particular reason why you would feel that way?"

Logan glowered.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I was attempting to pinpoint the source of your protectiveness.  Did the events at Liberty Island--?"

"No."  Logan shifted uncomfortably.  He didn't like to think about this stuff, never mind talk about it.  But if it would help Jean, he'd try.  "It was before that."

Xavier gave him a small smile.  "When she saved your life in a bar?"

Logan actually grinned at the memory.  "She didn't save my life, but she meant to."  That night in the bar, he'd sensed her sudden fear even before she'd yelled a warning.  She'd been terrified, but she'd tried to protect him without regard for her own safety.  Maybe she hadn't saved his life in the traditional sense, but if Logan was honest with himself, she had saved it, just by her presence.  

Maybe that was why her absence was a physical ache that never seemed to go away.

"No, it was after that.  On the train," Logan explained.  "She was running scared, and I promised--"  His voice cracked a little, and Logan covered by taking a sip of beer.  A long sip.  Then he exhaled sharply and said, "I told her I'd take care of her."

Xavier let that hang in the air for a long moment.  "I see.  You are a man of your word."  He looked down, studying the teacup in his hand.  "Your fierce desire to save her from Magneto--"

"That wasn't just about some promise I made," Logan interrupted angrily.  "I didn't do that so I could feel good about keeping my word.  She's--"  He stopped, shrugging helplessly.  "She's so good and innocent and -- she deserves better from life than what she's got so far.  I've done nothing but fuck up everything I touch, even before I met her, and if dying was the only way to save her life..."  Logan shrugged.  "Her life's worth way more than mine.  So that's why," he finished awkwardly.

Xavier let the silence spool out, sipping at his tea for a while before venturing a guess, "Your feelings for Rogue are paternalistic, then."

Logan winced, because if what he was feeling was paternalistic, he was one sick bastard.  "You're not listening."  

"By all means, please explain."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I understand that, Logan, but even with my shields up and engaged, I can sense a deep, abiding anguish in you--"

Logan pushed away from the countertop, stalking right past Xavier and out the front door, pausing on the small porch to inhale large lungfuls of fresh air.  He heard the gentle whirring of the professor's chair stop just inside the door, but Logan didn't turn.  "Every time I try to do something for her, I end up hurting her."

"I'm not sure I follow," Xavier answered.  "You have never intentionally harmed Rogue."

"I never would," Logan vowed.  "But that doesn't mean I haven't hurt her.  She's--"  Logan shook his head, his unseeing gaze fixed on the edge of the woods, now peppered with freshly cut trees.  "I was so caught up in my own nightmares that I stabbed her through the chest.  I stabbed her, and I could smell her blood on my claws.  You should've seen the look in her eyes.  I--"  He stopped, unable to translate it to words.  He shrugged and began ticking points off on his fingers.  "I scared her so much that she ran away.  I was too self-centered to realize Magneto was after her.  I was too slow to find her before he forced himself into her head and then put her in some fucking torture device.  The only way I could save her was to force myself into her head and leave her with some seriously twisted nightmares--"

"Logan--"

He waved off the professor.  "She asked me to stay here, but I left anyway.  And when I came back, she was--"  Logan shook his head.  "And then Jean died, and then she came back and she was wrong, but she said she wanted me, and I never realized what Marie--"  Logan cut himself off, not able to voice his feelings, even now.

Xavier didn't speak for several long moments.  "Logan, you have done nothing but protect Rogue to the best of your ability--"

"Clearly my abilities are overrated," Logan interrupted bitterly.

"You saved her life."

"Only after putting it in jeopardy in the first place."

"Logan, you had nothing to do with Magneto's plans--"

"I should've been able to protect her better," Logan answered, his voice soft now, almost defeated.  "And then this," he said, gesturing at the carriage house.  "I never thought it would hurt her the way it has."

Xavier whirred his way closer, coming to a stop just beside Logan at the porch railing.  "Perhaps you should talk to her--"

"No."

"Logan, she misses you."

It scratched and burned his throat, but Logan said it anyway:  "She has Scott."

Xavier sighed quietly.  "The... arrangement between Rogue and Scott reminds me quite a bit of you and Jean."

Logan's entire body tensed and he turned slightly to stare down at the professor.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Rogue cares for Scott a great deal.  And regardless of what you might think, Scott genuinely cares for her.  But they are not happy."

Logan leaned heavily against the railing, that stupid fucking pain in his chest squeezing so tightly that it hurt to breathe.  "That's not true."

Xavier watched him carefully.  "You placed Jean's well-being above your own.  Why is it difficult for you to accept the possibility that Rogue has done the same with Scott?"

No.  Oh, God, no.  That couldn't be true.  All the careful work Logan had done to wall off his feelings was coming undone.  "She loves him."

"Perhaps she does," Xavier agreed.  "There are many ways to love another person, Logan.  There are many kinds of love."

Logan cursed himself for the small glimmer of hope he felt.  It was foolish to let himself believe this situation could end up right.  It was more than foolish.  It was utterly ridiculous.  "It's none of my business," Logan said gruffly.  "If she really loves him, no one has the right to get in the way of that.  Even me."

It wasn't until after he'd spoken that Logan realized he'd all but admitted that he loved Marie.  Fuck.  It felt like someone had sucked all of the oxygen out of the air; his lungs burned.

"Logan--"

"I can't talk about this anymore," he said, vaulting over the railing and stalking towards his axe.  

The professor watched him go, not moving from his place near the small ramp.  "Very well, Logan.  You've given me a lot to think about.  Please tell Jean I'll come see her tomorrow morning."

Logan grunted his approval and brought the axe savagely down, splintering the tree trunk into two pieces.  He didn't stop his furious motions until he heard Xavier retreat back up the path toward the Mansion.

Could the professor be right? Logan wondered.  Could Marie be acting out of some stupid, misguided notion that Scott's well-being was more important than her own?  

Logan raised the axe over his head and brought it down with a heartfelt, "Fuck!"

***

The next morning, Logan left a quiet, withdrawn Jean and headed up to the Mansion.  He'd given up on chopping wood; it was no longer working.  And despite his concerns that he would bump into Scott or Marie, he'd decided it was worth the risk to work out in the Danger Room for an hour or four.  His absence would also give the professor and Jean some time alone to work.

Logan didn't let himself think about why he had a pair of leather gloves shoved into his back pocket.

It was after breakfast; probably he could snag a bottle of water from the kitchen without running into anyone.  Logan moved quietly through the halls, feeling a little ridiculous for treating his former home like an unfamiliar, hostile environment; but if excessive paranoia would keep him away from Scott, it was worth it.

The sharp scent of burnt food -- eggs? -- distracted Logan as he neared the kitchen.  He breathed carefully through his mouth, still tasting carbon on his tongue.

Voices registered as Logan drew closer to the kitchen.  The professor's cultured, clipped tones and -- Oh, God.  Marie.

Logan stilled, listening.  They were in the kitchen, but the professor had an appointment to keep with Jean.  Surely they'd leave soon, and Logan could--

"Kind?" Marie said, clearly incredulous.  "Sensitive?"

Logan cocked his head, listening to the distinct sound of Xavier's chair whirring.  Moving closer to Marie?  Heading for the door?  Logan flattened himself against the wall.

"Kinder than you give him credit for, Marie," the professor answered softly, "and more sensitive than he would ever admit.  A heart like his, once won, is easily broken."

Logan felt his temper rising.  What the fuck had Scott done to her?  If she was already upset by that stupid, uptight bastard, Logan would cheerfully--

"That night on Liberty Island," the professor continued, "those stab wounds -- they
were from his own claws."

Oh, shit.  They were talking about him?  Logan didn't know what to do -- tactical retreat?  Storm the kitchen and make them stop?  For lack of a better option, he stayed where he was and listened, hands clenched into tight fists.

"Magneto had him pinned with his hands across his chest, and the only way he could get free was to use the force of his claws to push himself away from the copper wall," Xavier recounted.  

Logan winced, remembering the feel of being skewered by his own claws.  

"He stabbed himself because he couldn't bear to hear your screams," the professor said  "He let his wounds return to bring you back to life.  These aren't the actions of a casual bystander."

Ducking his chin, Logan tried to figure out what to do.  Xavier was saying too much.  Far, far too much.  He had no right to say these things to Marie.  No right to--

"I thought it was Sabretooth," Marie murmured, almost too low for Logan's sensitive hearing to pick up.  "That's what he wanted me to think, wasn't it?"

"Damn it," Logan muttered, tugging on his gloves.  Just in case.

"Logan came to for a few moments when we were getting ready to transport him," the professor explained.  "He made it absolutely plain that you were not to know.  I think even then he knew he would have to earn your respect and your love by more mortal means than those."

Logan was already moving fast, desperate to halt this conversation before it ended up in more painful places.  He cleared his throat loudly, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene.

The professor's expression was unreadable as he glanced at Logan from his position in the middle of the kitchen.  Marie stood near the island, one ungloved hand resting on the tile top as she stared at Logan with wide eyes.

The sight of her, the memories the professor had just dredged up -- Logan had to fight the urge to grab Marie.

"I must go to Jean now," the professor said quietly.  "And the two of you must talk."  He paused in front of Logan, who glared down at him.  Talk to her, Logan, Xavier suggested.  It will do you both good.

And then Xavier whirred away, leaving Logan alone with Marie.  When he mustered the courage to face her, she'd busied herself cleaning -- egg? -- off of the wall.

"How much did you hear?" Marie asked, her voice a little unsteady.

Logan had no idea how to play this.  "He ratted me out about Liberty Island," he said.  "That's when I came in."  He leaned against the refrigerator, watching Marie closely.  Still not sure what to say, Logan decided the truth wouldn't hurt.  "I wish he hadn't."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Marie turned to face him.  "I'm glad he did."

"Okay, then."  Slightly uncomfortable with the conversational topic, Logan folded his arms across his chest and nodded toward the dish towel in her hand. "Did your eggs just explode or something?"

She looked a little bit embarrassed, but shrugged.  "I threw them."

"Why?" Logan asked, head tilted slightly.  Because she was usually pretty calm, and if Scott had upset her, well, Logan would take some serious pleasure in beating the shit out of his rival.

But Marie didn't answer, didn't look like she could answer.  And Logan knew, suddenly, that whatever had upset her in the first place had to do with him.

He stopped fighting his urges, stopped listening to his better judgment.  Instead, he finally, finally let himself do what he really wanted to do.  Logan moved slowly, inexorably toward her, taking the soiled towel from her hand and tossing it onto the island.  He kept hold of her wrists, lightly, and she stared down at their joined hands.

"Marie," Logan said, and the words were falling from his lips without his prior approval, "if you want to be with Scott, then I'm not going to say or do anything to get in the way.  But you have to tell me."

Marie's breathing sped up, grew a little erratic, and Logan tightened his grip on her.  She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye to say, "I don't know."

The professor was right.  God damn.  Logan tried not to let himself hope for the impossible.  "Marie--"

"But he needs me, Logan," Marie interrupted all in a rush.  "You never needed me, you were just killing time until you could come back and sweep Jean off her feet.  Well, she came back and swept you off your feet instead, but it's the same difference."  She wrenched her hands away from him, her words angry and growing louder.  "You got what you wanted.  Don't you dare come in here and try to confuse me, try to divide my loyalty, because I'm not gonna do it, do you hear me?  I will not betray him!"

Every word out of her mouth hurt, and the pain coalesced into anger.  How dare she talk to him about loyalty?  "You betray him," Logan growled, "every time you fuck him and wish it was me."

Eyes wide and shocked, Marie shook her head just a little and said, "I don't!"

Logan leaned in, inhaling her scent, noting the panic and desire and anger all mixed up in a confusing wave.  "I know you do," Logan told her, throwing aside caution and good sense in favor of brutal honesty.  "Because it's the same for me and Jean.  And I'm willing to bet that Scott's said the wrong name more than once."  Logan could tell the barb hit its target by the way she flinched.  He pressed his advantage.  "Maybe he turns it into 'Je-Jesus' the way I say 'Ma-My God,' but he does it.  He's a guy, Marie.  He screws up even if he is the almighty great leader Cyclops."

"Stop it," Marie whispered, her voice tight with tears.  "Just stop it.  I can't talk to you right now.  You make me crazy."

Regret was sudden and sharp.  He had no right to talk to her like that.  Not when the entire situation was his fucking fault in the first place.  Logan's head dropped, and he was unable to look her in the eye.  "I'm sorry," he said, and it wasn't just for right now.  He was sorry for it all, for every last choice he'd made that brought them to this impossible moment.

Logan reached for her, clasping her bare hand in his.  His eyes were burning with strange heat, but he ignored everything but her face as he brought her small hand to his lips for a kiss.  

When he released her, he stared down at her for a long moment, memorizing her features, committing to memory the open desire in her eyes.  Then he turned and walked away.  

He'd hurt her enough.  He'd had enough.

It was over.

***

Several hours later, Logan was splayed, drunk, under a tree near the small pond on Xavier's property.   Three empty bottles of Jack Daniels lay nearby, and Logan opened one eye at the noisy approach of -- Kurt?  Hank?  Someone blue.

Growling, Logan let his eyes close again.  "Go away."  

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Logan.  The professor sent me to fetch you to him in an expedient manner."

Hank.  It was Hank.  "Go.  Away."

The sound of glass clinking against glass caused Logan to open his eyes again.  With a small frown, Hank delicately picked up the empty bottles and held them in one oversized hand.  

"I'm drunk," Logan stated unnecessarily.  "I'll be sober again in a half hour.  Leave me the fuck alone."

"While I'm not privy to the details, Xavier has a plan that requires your participation," Hank said, arms crossed, glaring down at Logan like a disapproving school marm.  "From the few details that were divulged to me, I believe that the professor and Jean have made a breakthrough of a kind.  Do you still wish to laze about down here when a possible end to this indecorous situation is finally at hand."

Logan blinked, letting his soggy brain process Hank's unnecessarily obscure statements.  "Xavier figured out how to fix Jean," he surmised, half-sitting up.

Hank frowned.  "I would not have phrased it quite like that, but--"

"I'm right."  Groaning, Logan rolled to his feet.  He swayed a little, cursing the dizziness as he steadied himself with one hand on the trunk of a tree.  "Let's go."

"Do you require assistance?" Hank asked.

Logan glared at him.  "No," he answered sharply.  Inhaling slowly, Logan willed his body to metabolize the alcohol.  

The trip back up to the house passed in a blur, as Logan concentrated carefully on walking.  He was rarely drunk and it never lasted long, so he'd never had to master the art of handling his liquor in the traditional sense.  He supposed in another situation, his unsteadiness would be amusing.  

Today, it was merely a hindrance, keeping him from his goal.  The professor.  And possible salvation.

Well, partial salvation.  

Logan was torn -- he wanted to be freed from his obligations.  More than that, he wanted Jean to come back to herself, whole and healthy.  But if he got his wish, if Jean got well, Scott would break Marie's heart.  

"Fuck," Logan muttered, tripping over a tree root.  When Hank glanced back, Logan bared his teeth.  "Shut up."

The rest of the short walk passed in silence, and Logan made his way to Xavier's study and collapsed gratefully on the leather couch.  His head was clearing rapidly, and the weakness and dizziness had dissipated.  

When the professor whirred into the room, he wrinkled his nose in disapproval.  "You smell like a distillery, Logan."

"I'm fine," Logan snapped.

Xavier raised an eyebrow.  "Are you able to participate in--"

"Your grand plan to kill the Dark Phoenix?" Logan interrupted, uncharacteristically eager.  "I'm in."

"Logan, I need you sober and--"

"I'll be stone sober in about five minutes," Logan answered.  "What's the plan?"

The professor studied him closely for a long moment, then moved to the sideboard and fixed himself a brandy.  He poured clear liquid into a tumbler and wheeled to Logan's side.  "Drink this."

Logan was about to comment when the scent registered.  "Thanks," he said, sipping the water gratefully.

"Jean was wrong about Rogue," the professor began.  "I am now convinced that Jean's link with Scott is what brought her back from Alkali Lake."

Logan processed that.  "You mean Scott wanted her back so badly that he pulled her back from death?"

Xavier smiled softly.  "Something like that, yes.  I believe his nightmares at the time were a manifestation of the incredible task his subconscious had undertaken.  I'm sure Scott had no conscious idea what he was doing.  Nevertheless, his guilt over her death and, after her return, his inability to be what she needed--"

Logan flinched.

"--in turn fed the Dark Phoenix.  I don't believe Jean's psychotic break happened until she was faced with Scott upon her return."

It made a certain kind of sense.  Nodding slowly, Logan said, "Okay.  But how does that help us now?  Sounds like the only way to kill the Dark Phoenix is to cut off her source of power."

Xavier's expression turned grim.  "That is precisely what we must do.  I believe I can sever the psychic link between Jean and Scott without harming either of them.  Then Jean will be able to control the Dark Phoenix as she weakens and, eventually, dies completely."

Suspicious now, Logan put his empty tumbler on the end table and crossed his arms.  "Why do you need my help for this?"

Xavier watched him closely.  "Rogue will play a crucial role--"

"No," Logan snapped, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.  "You keep her out of this."

"She is a decoy, Logan, that is all.  The Dark Phoenix believes Rogue to be the catalyst, so we will use Rogue's presence to lure her to Cerebro."

Logan tilted his head, not trusting Xavier a bit at the moment.  "That's not all."

If Xavier were a lesser man, he might have shifted uncomfortably under Logan's intense stare.  Instead, the professor simply held Logan's gaze and dipped his chin slightly.  "You are correct.  There is a possibility that, because Rogue and Scott also share a link, she might be... affected by the events--"

Logan's eyes narrowed.  "Affected?"

"This is all somewhat theoretical at this point, Logan.  I cannot promise you anything.  I don't believe Rogue will be harmed, but I want you there in case I'm wrong."

Logan wished desperately for another few bottles of whiskey.  "This doesn't sound like a very good plan," he growled.

"Perhaps," the professor conceded with a lift of his shoulder.  "But Rogue has already agreed."  Checkmate.  And he knew it, too, barely pausing before he turned his chair toward the door.  "We begin in twenty minutes."

Logan staggered to his feet.  "Wait just a goddamned minute.  What happens afterwards?"

Xavier turned back, honestly puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

"To Marie," Logan clarified impatiently.  "You do your thing and Jean's herself again.  What happens to Marie when Scott goes back to Jean?"

The professor watched Logan carefully.  "Logan, I'm not sure things are quite that simple."

Taking two steps forward, Logan stared down at Xavier.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

Xavier took a few moments before answering, clearly choosing his words with care.  "Time hasn't stood still for any of us, Logan.  Choices were made, and these choices will color the future, whether Jean is herself or not."  Xavier reached up and laid a palm on Logan's forearm, just for a moment.  "I cannot tell you how things will play out, but I cannot sacrifice Jean's sanity to protect Rogue's heart.  Even if I were so inclined, Rogue would not let me."

Turning away, Logan stared absently at the barrister's case that had been shattered mere months ago, back when this all started.  Whoever repaired it had done a remarkable job.  "Of all of us," Logan muttered, "she's the one who did nothing wrong.  Why is it that she's the one who'll end up hurt?"

"I don't know," the professor answered honestly.  "But Rogue is an incredibly strong young woman.  I am confident in her ability to recover from this... situation."

Logan couldn't bring himself to answer.  After a moment, Xavier whirred out of the room, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.  Which was precisely where he didn't want to be.  He wanted more than anything for Marie to be unhurt, for Marie to get whatever she wished.  But it didn't look like that was a possibility.

"Dammit," Logan muttered, wishing for a solution.  Any way events unfolded, someone he cared about would be hurt.

***

Logan was the last to join the wary band of participants in the underground hallway.  Scott stood beside the professor, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, not looking at Jean, who was leaning against the wall.  Logan strode toward them, his gaze settling on Marie, who looked pale but determined, standing in the empty space between Jean and Scott.  

"Logan," Xavier greeted.  "Good, we're all here."

Logan stopped a few feet away, standing behind the professor.  He was there mostly as a witness, and he didn't want to get in the way.  Xavier moved closer to Cerebro, activating the retinal scan.  The door to Cerebro opened, and then Jean -- no, the Dark Phoenix -- was moving, a blur of motion as she yanked Marie and Scott through the opening.

"No!" Logan roared, skirting Xavier's wheelchair and reaching the entrance to Cerebro just as the door clanged shut and sealed.  "No!" he repeated, popping his claws.  He didn't know what, exactly, was happening, but the Dark Phoenix must know something of their true plans.  Cornered animals were the most dangerous, and that bitch had Marie.

"Logan!" Xavier commanded.  "Wait."  He wheeled closer, commanding the door to open.  But the computerized voice didn't greet him, and the retinal scan didn't activate.  "Damn," the professor muttered, his eyes drifting shut.  "Oh, no."

"What?" Logan demanded, his entire body thrumming with the need to do something.  Anything.  "What's wrong?"

"She knows," the professor said, worried blue eyes opening to meet Logan's.  "The Dark Phoenix knows what we have planned.  She wants to--"  He stopped, and shook his head.

"She wants to what?" Logan roared, lifting the claws, preparing to slice his way through that fucking door if necessary.

"The Dark Phoenix wants Rogue's body," Xavier said.

Rage.  Uncontrolled rage broke over Logan, and he attacked the door with ferocity, screaming with the pain as his claws scratched harmlessly across the adamantium surface, jarring him all the way to his bones.  "Fuck!" he growled.  "No."  

He was sweaty and trembling when the professor's calming presence in his mind registered.  "Don't fucking do that," Logan ordered, whirling on Xavier, pointing with three deadly blades.  "Stay outta my head."

Xavier retreated with a conciliatory nod.  "Very well.  But I need you with me.  We need a plan."

"Fat fucking lot of good your planning has done so far," Logan snarled.  "That bitch is trying to kill Marie!"

"Scott, no!"  Jean's voice, loud enough for Logan to hear through the thick walls of Cerebro.  He stilled, leaning closer.  "Don't do it!" Jean pleaded.

Jesus, was Scott actually going to kill Jean?  Logan's first reaction was relief, because one life to save another was an acceptable, honorable trade.  Especially when the saved life was Marie's.  Then he felt guilty for so easily accepting Jean's death.  The idea didn't leave him feeling hollow like it once had, and he cursed himself for his selfishness.

No sounds registered for too fucking long, and he didn't hear Marie at all.  Logan was nearly insane with impatience, his frame vibrating with tension.  He pressed his ear against the cool metal door, absently eyeing the scratches he'd left.

"She can't be linked to me anymore," Scott said, his voice thick and unsteady.  "She's too dangerous."  Scott's voice sounded even more desolate when he said, "Jean.  God, forgive me."

Logan's gaze shifted to the professor, whose eyes were closed.  He was probably trying to save Jean, his favorite student.  As Logan watched, Xavier opened his eyes.  "I can't influence Scott's behavior, not from out here.  Cerebro is a formidable barrier, and purposefully so," he said.  "Unfortunately, I can't control the Dark Phoenix either."

Logan turned away, because inside Cerebro, Scott was crying now, and talking.  "And I need you to forgive me, too, Marie," he managed.  "My darling, beautiful Marie, forgive me."

The words sent a wave of relief through Logan -- surely Marie was still alive if Scott was apologizing to her.  Then panic hit -- why was Scott apologizing?  What exactly was he planning to--?

And then Marie was screaming, and Logan's control shattered.  He clawed at the door ineffectually, then withdrew the claws and pounded helplessly with his fists.  "Marie!" he hollered.  "Marie!"

From inside Cerebro, Jean's panicked shouts registered.  She was yelling Scott's name, then screaming for help.  "Please!  Charles!  I need your help!"

Logan spared a quick glance for the professor, who sat rigid in his chair, tears streaming down his face from under closed lids.  Inside Cerebro, Jean's shrieks turned to the Dark Phoenix's cruel laughter, then back to screams.

"Door," Marie gasped, and Logan managed to breathe.  Marie was alive.  Oh, thank God, Marie was alive.  "Logan," Marie said.  "He can save Scott."

The door to Cerebro slid open, and Logan was already moving straight toward Jean, who stood in the middle of the catwalk, half-blocking the sight of Scott's prone body.  She turned her tearstreaked face to Logan, but he was already pushing past her.

Marie.

Jesus.  Marie was lying on the floor, face pale, head thrown back, Scott's glasses covering her eyes.  

Oh, Jesus, don't let her be--

Marie's face turned towards him as Logan slid to his knees beside her.  "Marie?" he gasped, his trembling hand smoothing across her forehead.  "Marie, is he...?"  

"He's dead," she whimpered, tears leaking out around the edges of the glasses.  "I want him back, Logan.  I want him back!"

Logan tore the leather of his gloves pulling them off, and then reached for her without hesitation.  He put one hand on her forehead, the other along her neck, letting himself savor the feel of her skin in the seconds before her mutation kicked in.  He held on, his battered knuckles singing with pain.

And then Marie pulled away, crawling slowly toward Scott's body.  Logan shook off the effects of her mutation, ignored his broken knuckles, and rose unsteadily to his feet.  He scooped up Marie and brought her to Scott's side, lying her down gently on the catwalk.

Marie's small hands trembled as she placed them on Scott's cheeks, but nothing happened.  

"It took a while with you," Logan murmured.  He crouched behind her, one hand on her shoulder  "Don't give up, Marie!"

Jean knelt on the other side of Scott, crying and praying all at once.  "Please, please..."

"Reach out with your mind, Marie," Xavier encouraged from his vantage point behind Logan.  "Find him and bring him back."

"He wanted to go," Marie said, her small body shaking with sobs.  Still, she held on.  "That's the difference, he wanted to go, and he's too far, I can't find him, oh, my God, I can't find him!"

It took a long time before she was willing to let him go.  Logan carefully gathered her into his arms and rose, carrying her to Xavier's study.  

***

Three days passed in a slow, mournful silence.  Logan slept in the library, undisturbed by all except Kurt, who stopped by once to offer what solace he could.  Logan told him to take his prayers and shove 'em where the sun don't shine.

Logan figured he was already going to hell, so cursing man of God wouldn't make a bit of difference.

On the morning of the fourth day, the day of Scott's memorial service, Jean slipped through the double doors of the library and stood, silent, waiting for his acknowledgment.

Logan tossed aside the book he hadn't been able to concentrate on anyway, and rose to face her.  "Jean."

"Logan," she answered softly.  She looked awful -- pale and gaunt in the sunlight that streamed in through the high windows.  "Are you staying?"

Logan glanced away, his gaze traveling over the spines of the books on the shelf beside him.  "No."  He'd thought about it, but he couldn't stay.  Not now.  Probably not ever.  

"I wish you would," Jean said.  

He could tell from the tone of her voice that whatever half-assed relationship they'd had these past few months, Scott's death had ended it.  Logan thought it should hurt more.  Instead, he felt mostly... numb.  "I can't," he answered.

She watched him, her hands clasped together in front of her.  "I don't want you to go because of me."

In other circumstances, he would've called her egotistical, scoffed at the very suggestion.  But the events of the past few days had stripped away all pretence, so he simply shook his head.  "It's not you.  It's me."

And Marie.

He couldn't say it, but Jean seemed to understand anyway.  She nodded.  "Are you going to the service?"

The edge of Logan's mouth turned up in what should've been a grin.  "I don't think Scott would want me there.  Best way for me to pay my respects is leave."

"I think he understood, by the end," she answered quietly.  "He was hurt and angry, but he understood why you--"  She stopped, unable to finish.  

Logan held her gaze.  "Thank you," he said eventually, and if it had been a few months earlier, he would've gone to her and embraced her.  Instead, he added, "I'm sorry, Jean.  About Scott.  He was a good man."

She ducked her head, but not before Logan saw tears sparkling in her brown eyes.  "He deserved better than what I gave him."

"That's not true," Logan argued immediately.  

"I should've been strong enough to save him," she answered.

Logan considered her words.  He didn't think it would help, but he'd been so focused on Jean's well-being for so long, he owed it to her to try.  "Jeannie."  At the sound of the nickname he hadn't used in months, she looked up with wide, startled eyes.  "Scott sacrificed himself to save you.  He loved you enough to value your life above his own.  You have to honor that sacrifice."  He paused, watching her carefully.  "You understand?"

"I know," Jean answered.  "I'll try."  She reached for the door, pausing with one hand on the knob.  "Logan," she said, turning so her face was in profile.  "Don't leave without saying goodbye."

He knew what she meant, but Logan wasn't sure he could face Marie.  He escaped the Mansion instead, walking slowly down to the carriage house that he'd shared with Jean.  Mindlessly, methodically, he packed his clothes into his duffel bag, casting one last, anguished look around the small house.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Logan headed back to the Mansion.  He checked his watch.  It was a little after two; Kurt meant to start the memorial service at three, but Logan planned to be gone by then.  His restlessness was back, and that almost didn't even matter.  Even if he wanted to stay, he didn't belong here anymore.

But he owed her the courtesy of a goodbye.  He knew he did.  Logan knew she'd be in Scott's room, and told himself that putting his relationship with Marie to rest there would be strangely fitting.

Her scent reached him first, and Logan stumbled to a halt as he approached the Mansion, turning toward the garage.  She was in there.  Marie.  And she was obviously waiting for him.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Logan walked around to the side entrance and opened the door.

Inside the sizable garage, Marie stood leaning against the wall next to his motorcycle.  Her pale face was scrubbed clean, and she wore jeans and an oversized shirt.  Logan looked a little more closely and recognized it as one of Scott's shirt.

He was surprised to realize he still had the capacity to feel pain.  He'd thought he was past that, drowning in that dull numbness that had cocooned him for four days.

He was wrong.  Seeing her -- it hurt.  God, it hurt.

Logan forced himself to move closer, unable to take his eyes from her pale face.  With red eyes and without a trace of makeup, and she was still beautiful.  Nervously, she reached up and tucked those white strands back behind her ear.  She watched him approach almost warily, her arms crossing beneath her breasts.  

"You're leaving," she stated flatly.

Dropping his bag next to the back wheel of his bike, Logan nodded.  "Yeah."

Marie looked away, her face angled down.  "I figured you'd run."

"Did you really think I could stay?" Logan demanded, surprised by the anger in his voice.  

"Why?  You can't watch Jean bury the man she loved?" Marie asked cruelly.

Logan inhaled slowly, telling himself to calm down.  "You know that's not why."

She looked up at him, her expression carefully neutral.  "Then tell me why."

"Whatever was between Jean and me was always supposed to be temporary."  It was the closest he could come to the whole truth.  "I made my choices, and I still don't believe I was wrong."  Logan shrugged.  "But time doesn't stand still."

She laughed a little bitterly.  "No, it doesn't."

"Things change."  Logan took a breath.  "There's nothing more for me here."

It was the truth, but it was also a plea.  He wanted desperately for her to contradict him, even though he knew before he spoke that she wouldn't.  Marie couldn't bridge this horrible chasm between them anymore than he could.  

So it didn't surprise him when she lifted her chin and said, "Maybe you're right."  But it did hurt, like something inside his chest was burning.

Logan nodded once, unable to keep from staring down at her face, trying to memorize her beautiful features.  Because he could recognize goodbye when he heard it.  Finally, he managed, "Take care of yourself, Marie."

She met his gaze unflinchingly.  "Will you be okay?"

He actually grinned at that.  "I heal."

Perhaps his comment was so unexpected that it got past her defenses.  Whatever the reason, she smiled back at him, and for a moment, it was like the past few months never happened, like the connection they'd shared since he'd killed her and brought her back to life was untarnished.  Then her smile began to fade and she reached up with one gloved hand, running her fingers along his jaw.  "Not from this," she murmured.  "Not automatically."

Logan shrugged off her words.  "I'll be fine."  Swallowing hard, she withdrew her hand.  He missed her touch immediately and maybe that's why he said what he did.  "You don't have to stay here."

He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, but he had absolutely nothing left to lose.  So he didn't take them back, didn't try to explain them away; he just stared down at her, waiting.  

This time, it would be her choice.

Marie's eyes slid closed, squeezing tears out to track silently down her cheeks.  She shook her head slightly, then opened her eyes and met his gaze, letting him see all of her pain, all of her anguish.  "I can't leave," she said simply.

He nodded.  "And I can't stay."

So simple, for an ending.

They stared at each other for another beat, and then she tried to smile.  "Take care of yourself, Logan."  With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the garage.  

He busied himself with his duffel bag, securing it to the motorcycle with almost obsessive attention to detail.  He was about ready to leave when he heard the familiar whir of Xavier's wheelchair.  

Logan stood, frozen, unable to deal with any more.  "Watch out for her," he ordered gruffly.

"Of course," the professor answered kindly.  "Logan, please remember, you are welcome back whenever you--"

"I can't come back," Logan interrupted.  Because he was a man who preferred reality to idealistic flights of fancy, and every choice had its consequences.  "You know I can't."

Xavier held his peace, saying only, "Be careful, Logan."

"Thank you," Logan answered.  

With that, he rolled the motorcycle out into the driveway, checking in the bright afternoon sun to make sure it was fueled up and ready to travel long distances.  He slung a leg over the bike, steadying it between his thighs as he gave in and looked back at the Mansion, his gaze unerringly finding Scott's window.

Marie was standing at the window, watching him.  Their gazes held for a long moment, until Marie reached up and placed one gloved hand to her mouth, then held it against the glass.

Logan swallowed hard and started the engine.

THE END

Feedback cherished.

Comments