SCOTT: She's home.
JEAN: She's sick.
ORORO: She'll write.
HANK: She shouldn't. She's under the influence of cold medication; she needs rest.
ROGUE: Ah'm with Ororo. She'll write.
LOGAN: I hope not.
(all heads turn)
SCOTT: You're her favorite, why don't you want her to write?
LOGAN: She killed me in the last two fics about the mansion. I need a break.
SCOTT: She's killed me, too, you know…
JEAN: Boys…
LOGAN: Once. She killed you once.
SCOTT: She had some maniac drill into my head, too.
LOGAN: Big deal. I've been struck by lightning, bit by a dog, drugged, stabbed, blown up with a grenade rifle,…
ORORO: Boys…
LOGAN: …torn apart by Magneto, drowned, shot in the throat five times with darts, had the metal put back, shot in the heart,…
ROGUE: Shhh, she's sleeping.
LOGAN: Did I mention drowning? What? She's asleep? Good. Keep her that way. God knows what she'll write if she's on cold medicine. I'm not sure I can take it.
ROGUE: She did make it to where Ah can touch you now, you know.
(silence)
LOGAN: (whispering) If you ever were to write a smut fic…
SCOTT: What's he saying? Is he trying to convince her to kill me off?
JEAN: Relax, you're one of her other favorites.
HANK: Perhaps it would be best if we were to simply let nature take its cou= rse and heal her sinus congestion and chest cold. After all, she's sure to come back to us. Her family and the house can't occupy all of her time.
ORORO: She'll write.
LOGAN: (still whispering) Remember what I said about the smut fic...