"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."

---

{Jean}

When Logan came back, he made it clear that he wanted her. She stared out the window, stealing a few moments to watch him as he mowed the lawn, shirt off, muscles rippling.

She closed her eyes and imagined him pressing her against the wall, wrapping her legs around his hips, taking her hard. She opened her eyes with a gasp, worried that she'd been projecting.

She wondered what kept her tied safely to Scott. Love, yes. But also fear.

She and Scott were settled, comfortable. Logan offered wildness -- lust, sex, no commitment beyond the moment. Jean needed commitment. She needed stability after years of being driven crazy by the voices in her head.

She was afraid that once they satisfied their desire for each other, there would be nothing left, and they would drift aimlessly apart. Better she stay with Scott, whom she loved, and fight the demons of complacency and familiarity. Better the devil you know, she thought, than the unknown dangers and eventual heartache of an affair with Logan.

She turned away from the window as Scott entered the room. "Let's go upstairs," she said huskily, reaffirming her decision, her commitment to this man who held first place in her heart, if not always in her fantasies.

---

{Logan}

He wanted Jean. He'd never made a secret of it. When he came back, he hugged the kid and, ignoring the hurt in her eyes, made straight for the redheaded doctor.

He didn't let up on his pursuit, couching it in the friendly flirtation he used on the other women at the mansion, but there was always a spark in his eye that told everyone that this was no game to him.

He spent more time with Rogue as the months passed, teaching her to defend herself, and, though he didn't know it, teaching her more about himself and the ways to his heart. Ways even he didn't know existed.

He found himself at her side after her nightmares, drawn by the unbreakable bond between them. She was etched indelibly on his heart, and he fought with every animal instinct in him to break free from her hold on him.

He was afraid. In the darker moments of his sleepless nights, he could admit that to himself. He had no past and, therefore, could conceive of no future. He could make no more promises to the girl with the ancient eyes, the girl who had possession of his very soul. He was afraid, and he decided that lust, a heated affair with no commitments, was better than this aching feeling he thought must be love.

Better the devil you know, he thought, and so he chose to act on lust, and lock away the love he felt for Rogue. Better to hurt her this way, when she could still get over it and move on, than to begin something he was sure could only end badly.

He watched as she turned more and more to that new kid, Remy, and swore that if the punk ever hurt her, he'd find himself face-to-claw with a very angry Wolverine. He'd made a decision, and, judging from her behavior with Remy, it was the right one. Now, if he could just figure out why he no longer enjoyed flirting with Jean. If he could just figure out why he had this pain in his chest that his healing factor apparently couldn't touch.