Guess we’ve been talking too long
We know what we need
Separately

I think I’ve always known he didn’t really love me. That he only chose me because he couldn’t have her. I was able to lie to myself at first because he pursued me so relentlessly. He’d boldly profess his emotions, corner me in corridors between classes –in full view of teachers and students alike – to ignite the flame of desire no other man (not that there have been that many other men) has ever been able to illicit from me. It was, pardon the cliché, a whirlwind romance and I was swept up in the passion and wonderment of it all.

Really, that should have been my first clue that something was amiss.

Logan’s not a very talkative or open man by nature. So when he started spouting off sappy endearments and publicly displaying affection towards me, I should have known it wasn’t real. That I was just a substitute for the one he couldn’t have.

But he was a fantasy – my fantasy – come to life. How could I resist?

You say the honeymoon’s over
I don’t wanna push
But what about us?

When we first got together, I thought it’d tear the team apart. Everyone seemed to be against, even the Professor himself. Everyone but her. She was hurt, confused, and just this side of angry, but never once did she protest against our being together. And Logan fought so valiantly for us that I was once again able to put aside the whispering voices of doubt in my head.

Until I came back to our room one night to find him drunk off his ass and downing his second bottle of tequila (apparently, he’d finished off all the whiskey already).

Fearing he’d had another nightmare or a breakthrough with his past – he’s had a couple of them through the years and they’d never been pretty – I rushed to his side, ready to offer whatever comfort I could. When he tried to shrug me off, I should have listened. Maybe then I could have continued on in my world of denial where he loved me as truly as I loved him.

After my fifth attempt to get him to talk, he smashed the empty bottle on the ground and stalked away from me to stare at himself in the mirror. It was the first time I can ever remember being afraid of him.

“That cock—sucking, tight-assed, son of a bitch proposed to her. And she said yes.”

I didn’t need to ask who he was talking about.

It’s ringing in my head
It’s not what you say
It’s what you haven’t said

He asked me to marry him not too long after. Took me to the nicest restaurant in New York City and, while the string quartet he’d hired played our song (All You Need Is Love), he got down on one knee and popped the question with a gorgeous Tiffany solitaire diamond ring. It was over the top, clichéd, and so obviously forced that it made me cry. But I’m fairly certain he and the scores of clapping patrons all assumed they were tears of joy because I mumbled, “of course I will” and accepted the ring.

That was when I first started to hate her.

So what about us?
What about love?
What about saying
That we’ll never give up?
Don’t wanna blame ya,
We’re in danger
So what about us?

We had the two longest engagements the Mansion has ever seen. In the four years since then, couples have come and gone and come again. Ororo finally gave into the charming Cajun newcomer, Remy. Jubilee and Kitty had a double wedding with John and Piotr, respectively. Even Hank settled down with a sweet human activist for mutant rights (Heather, if I remember correctly). But for the two most notorious couples at Xavier’s, nothing changed. Or if it did, it changed for the worst.

With every look of longing that Logan sent to her, the hatred and anguish inside of me grew. It’s pathetic, really, how I clung so desperately to the false affection he tossed my way. I should have yelled at him, screamed until my voice went hoarse, should have pounded that impenetrable torso until my fists bled, but I was powerless to do anything but love him. And besides that, I had no real argument to present to him. They spent little time together as it was and I knew for a fact he’d never cheated on me. How could I charge him with something I couldn’t prove? Something he would surely deny?

So I did the only thing I could and threw myself into the task of repairing what was left of our relationship.

Guess we’ve been trying too hard
We misunderstood
What’s good for us
I’m tired emotionally inside
Night after night,
We fight till we cry

It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be to convince him to go see a relationship counselor. Even if he wasn’t in love with me, he still cared. It still hurt him to see me so upset. So he sat through the hours and hours of therapy. The results were not what I expected.

The therapist asked how often we had sex. I’d blushed and said three times a week. She nodded and went on to ask what the last romantic thing we’d done for each other was. Logan was the first to answer, saying how I’d booked a nice hotel room for us not two weekends ago. I mentioned that he’d taken me out to dinner and dancing just last week. She smiled encouragingly and continued on with similar questions.

We saw the therapist once a week for three months before she told me, in one of our private sessions, that she thought Logan was more attentative and doting than most men today and was it possible it was my own insecurities and paranoia that was the real problem?

I wanted to cry and scream and throw extremely breakable and expensive objects at the wall. How could I possibly explain that, with Logan, it wasn’t the flowery words or extravagant actions that meant something? It was the silences and small touches. And for us, both were unbearable and had been so for quite some time now. But I didn’t voice any of my thoughts. Instead I held my tongue, falsely conceding that perhaps she was right.

Neither Logan nor I ever went back for another session.

I don’t know what’s wrong or right
Is every word you say
What’s really on your mind?

So what about us?
What about love?
What about saying
That we’ll never give up?
Don’t wanna blame ya
We’re in danger
So what about us?

Her powers went haywire yesterday. No one saw it coming. Not even the Professor. She just started screaming all of a sudden, how she could hear everyone and they just wouldn’t shut up. For the first time in a while, I felt sympathy for her. Because being flooded with the voices of other people in your head? Definitely something I can relate to.

But then random objects started floating in the air and I knew the shit was about to hit the fan. A fork flew across the room and would have impaled Jubilee if Kitty hadn’t been able to react so quickly. The chandelier was ripped from the ceiling and dozens of lit candles crashed to the ground, the fire worked into a rage so quickly that the whole mansion would have burned down if it hadn’t been for the combined efforts of John and Bobby. And I was so busy trying to help protect the younger students that I didn’t see the massive chair rapidly approaching until it was too late.

When I woke up a day later in the med bay, I wasn’t surprised to see Logan by my side. From his rumpled and burnt clothes and the dark smudges that adorned his skin, I could tell that he hadn’t left my side since the accident and it warmed me from the inside out to know that he still cared about me at least that much. My mind started whirling with thoughts of a reconciliation. Maybe now that he’d almost lost me, he’d finally come to his senses and focus on what he did have instead of what he didn’t.

But then I saw that, though his chair was parked dutifully next to my bed, his gaze never wavered from the form laying across the room. She was guarded carefully by her own fiancé, who was standing vigilantly by her side, despite the cast on his arm and brace on his leg. She looked like a fallen angel and I hated her even more for being able to look so beautiful after all the ugliness she had wrought.

I closed my eyes and rustled my sheets a bit, giving Logan plenty of indication that I was “waking up.” When I opened my eyes again, he didn’t disappoint. His worried gaze was fixed firmly on me and he smiled gently, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my head.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

I wanted to ask if it would have been easier for him if he had.

When we love, we lie
When we talk, we hide
Maybe I’m searching blind
I’m worn out,
Confused
What are we to you?
What are we doing?
What are we doing?

It took a few weeks, but I made a full recovery. Logan was almost smothering in his attempts to help me, but I rebuffed him enough that he finally got the point. I could tell it hurt him, how closed off I’d suddenly become, and I hated to do it. But self-preservation had finally kicked in. And I realized that, no matter how strong my feelings were for him, I couldn’t go on living as his second choice. It was killing me inside, making me bitter to know that every thing he did for me he wished he could do for her.

So after the wounds had healed (the physical ones at least), I made a decision and did the one thing I thought I’d never do.

What about us?
What about love?
What about saying
That we’ll never give up?
Don’t wanna blame ya
But we’re in danger

So what about us?
What about love?
That’s the one thing we never discuss
Don’t wanna blame ya
But we’re in danger
What about us?

“You sure you’ve got everything you’ll need, luv?”

Betsy stares at my one carry-on with suspicion and I roll my eyes. “I’m sure.”

“And you’ll call me if you need anything, right? Because Blink’s on call to get me across the pond in a jiffy if you need me to deliver a major ass--”

“I’ll be fine, Betsy.”

And I actually mean it. It’s been almost three years since I left the Mansion. It was every bit as hard as I thought it would be, leaving the only place I’d ever really considered home. And Logan. Yeah, that part was really hard.

But it was the only way I could think of to free myself of the overpowering emotions that had nearly destroyed me. And, despite my reservations when the Professor first suggested it, I did indeed find a home with Excalibur. And Betsy, Pete, Clarice, and Moira have become my new family. Maybe even a better family because with them there’s no pressure to be perfect, to always be the model of control. I’m much more at ease and confidant in who I am, weaknesses and all.

So when I walk into the Mansion and meet everyone with warm greetings and gentle hugs, it’s without an ounce of insincerity. The others eye me warily, nonetheless, and I can’t blame them. When I left, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances or with the kindest of words. But that’s past me now and when I take my seat towards the back of the white sea of chairs set up in the gardens for the pending nuptials, I simply smile and shake my head at their hesitant glances.

The ceremony starts and I’m able to admire the bride without a hint of bitterness. She’s wearing a strapless white dress, the traditional long gloves, and a sheer veil that goes beautifully with the flowers entwined in her free-flowing hair. The look on Logan’s face as he watches her walk towards him is a mixture of rapture and awe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy.

It makes me smile.

Their vows are simple. There’s no pageantry to it, no lengthy explanations or prose. “I promise you everything that I am,” they say. And I know that they both mean it.

“By the power invested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss--”

Logan doesn’t wait for the preacher to finish. He hauls his new bride to him, kissing her veil and all. I can’t help but laugh. They cling to each other almost desperately, ignoring everything and everyone else altogether. A few people glance my way and I’m sure they were quite surprised to see the look of serenity on my face. They wouldn’t be if they’d taken the time to notice the small swell of my belly or the simple gold band on my left ring finger.

When the newlyweds finally come up for air, the look of love shared between them brings tears to my eyes. I’m happy for them, really and truly happy, because I know how long they’ve waited for each other and, looking back on it, I feel foolish for ever standing in the way. For ever mistaking the over-whelming lust and passion I felt for the man before me for something as everlasting and unbreakable and pure as love. I know the difference now. Because I’ve had them both. And I could never begrudge anyone the true bliss that I now share with my husband. Not even the man who I had once thought broke my heart beyond repair.

The preacher seems a bit disgruntled by the display, but clears his throat and announces the new couple nonetheless.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Logan and Marie Laughlin.”

I’m the last in line to offer my well-wishes to the Laughlins. Mostly because I know this could be potentially awkward and don’t want to attract negative attention on a day that should be focused solely on celebrating. And, as I predicted, the look the couple shares is full of nerves. I try my best to diffuse their worries with a warm smile.

“Congratulations to both of you.”

Rogue offers a tentative smile in return. “Thanks, Dr. Grey.”

“Its Dr. Braddock now, actually.”

Their eyes flicker down to my left hand, the one I have resting on my four-month bump, and Rogue’s smile widens. I don’t need to be a telepath to know that she recognizes the meaning behind my presence. Forgiveness. Freedom.

“Jean.”

I look up at Logan and the tender, yet small smile he offers me is perhaps the only real one I’ve ever received from him. It brings a sense of peace to me that none of his other gestures or words ever could.

I cup his cheek with one hand and squeeze Rogue’s fingers with my other. “May your joys be as bright as the morning, your years of happiness as numerous as the stars, and your troubles but shadows that fade in the sunlight of your love.”

Tears well in Rogue’s eyes and her response is choked with emotion. “Thank you.”

With one final nod, I gracefully take my leave and walk off to the nearby willow tree and the stealthy figure hiding beneath it.

I’d sensed him arrive around the same time the ceremony started. He’d promised to let me do this alone, but I knew I couldn’t keep him from standing guard. My ever-protective, ever-loving savior. My husband.

My Brian.

As I slip under the weeping willow to join him, he tucks a stray piece of red hair behind my ear and subconsciously rests a hand on my growing belly. “And?”

I kiss him soundly, which forces all the worry out of those crystal blue eyes.

With one last look back, I see Logan and Rogue swaying softly back and forth to Shenandoah’s “I Wanna Be Loved Like That.” Despite all the chatter and commotion around them, they don’t speak.

They don’t need to.

I turn back to Brian and wrap my arms around his neck, letting him sweep me up and fly me away. My response is lost in the wind.

“And they lived happily ever after.”