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

Xavier, for not saving Jean.

Jean, for coming back wrong.

Scott, for not being enough for her.

Marie, for not being what Scott needed.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking his rigid control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan reached out his bare hand and raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she'd cast Logan in the role.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even this.

Even if it broke him in the process.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott twitched. "Son of a--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take care of her."

---

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

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

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

So much for easing into things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carriage house.

Jean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

---

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

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

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

It was hell, but even hell can become routine.

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

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

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

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

"Wolverine," Scott said coolly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan remained motionless. "Scott--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xavier tilted his head in acknowledgment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong?" Logan called.

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

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

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

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

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

"Jean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan steeled himself. "You love Scott."

She ducked her head, hiding her face from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you are," he answered immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hadn't worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

"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 -- some*one* -- 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