Fragile But Repairable

Fragile But Repairable (In Repair 4)

by Eiluned (unseelie@903internet.com)

Date finished: 31 October 2001

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

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

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

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Wolverine comes back, and everything is turned on its head. Ultimate. Logan/Jean. Angst, Drama, Romance. Fourth story in the In Repair series (follows Just F**king, On Guilt..., and Damaged). Split into three parts for AFF.net.

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

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

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

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

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

Sting, "Be Still My Beating Heart"

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

U2, "Walk On"

Xavier's School for Gifted Children
25 October

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" Ororo said, steadying Jean.

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

"What was that?" Hank asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The professor nodded. "They do."

"What do you think did this to him?"

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

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

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

"Of course," she replied shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Language, Jean."

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

"He was there to save your life."

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

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

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

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

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

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

26 October
9:22 a.m.

"You're still here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's gross."

"You're such a weenie, Peter."

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

"How are you doing?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One hell of a birthday present, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A lapse."

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

"Not really."

"You're in love with him."

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

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

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

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

"I--"

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

"How?" Jean asked in a small voice.

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

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

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

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

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

27 October
3:57 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyes slipped shut.

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

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

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

"Why come back?" she muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jean cracked a small smile. "Deal."

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

"Of course."

She was quiet for a second, trying to figure out how to ask withooundounding rude. "Why do you keep harping on me? About Logan, I mean," she asked, speaking quickly. "I know that I probably messed up, but so did he, and I'm getting tired of hearing about it all the time."

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

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

"You mean, the same mistake you made."

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

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

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

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

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

28 October
11:40 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you think you're going?"

He stopped, sighing. "Out."

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

"Yup," he replied, just as emotionless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

29 October
10:14 a.m.

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

"You should palm it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2:20 p.m.

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

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

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

'Goddammit,' she thought.

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

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

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

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

30 October
9:45 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a free country."

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

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

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

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

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

Jean shivered again and hurried out of the kitchen.

31 October
2:03 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Logan, wake up," she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What's my name?"

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

Jean huffed. "Wolverine..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot desire roared through Jean like a wildfire.

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

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

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

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

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

'Do you really believe that?'

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

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

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

'Shut up,' she told herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you--"

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

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

31 October
8:17 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jeannie?" he muttered, blinking rapidly.

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

"Nope," she replied.

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

"It's all right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:28 a.m.

"Jean? Jean, are you in there?"

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

"Jean? Wake upHankHank's voice filtered into her mind.

"Jeannie..." a low, sleepy voice rumbled in her ear. "I think someone's at your door."IrriIrritated, she sat up, disentangling herself from Logan and the sheets. She leaned over him and picked up the alarm clock, then panicked.

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

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

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

"Mind if I tag along?"

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

"Yep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Selfless altruism?" he teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

11:09 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New York City
2:55 p.m.

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

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

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

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

Ororo's jaw dropped. "Holy shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6:04 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8:05 p.m.

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

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

"Come on!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hurry up!" Piotr yelled.

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

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

"Shoot."

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

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

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

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

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

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