For once, Logan wanted to wake up to something normal. He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he was pretty sure it didn’t include being haunted by disembodied voices. Or floating shit, or... needles? And… beeping machinery. Right. Normal. Like... Ah hell. He had nothin. He’d never been normal. Never seen normal, probably wouldn’t recognize normal if it kicked him in the jewels. Normal would be… weird. That would be a strange way to wake up.
He sat up dizzily, a crisp white sheet bunching at the deep V of his hips. Ok. He was shirtless. And confused. He quirked a brow, squinting against the light.
“Ah, shit.” he growled, voice dry and scratchy. He was thirsty. Really thirsty. He tried to hold the pieces of his broken skull together by pressing between his eyes with a tender palm. Ow. He felt like he’d played chicken with a log truck and lost. Or did that mean he'd won…? His brain hurt. Thinking was bad.
“We gotta stop meeting like this.” Jean Grey mused from where she leaned against the doorframe of the mansion’s med lab, arms crossed over an ample chest, that under different circumstances he’d be admiring.
“What the hell am I doin’ here?” he growled, bracing himself with one arm against the cold metal table he was sitting on, muscles straining. The world was going all swirly again. Logan wasn’t used to hurting for any extended period of time, and it made the Wolverine a little cranky. The last time he’d felt this shitty…
Logan’s eyes about popped out of his throbbing head.
“Where is she? Is she...?”
“She’s... here. Logan, she’s…” Jean paused, a look of pain flitting across her pretty features, eyes dropping to the pristine white tiles that lined the floor, unwilling to hold his gaze. Logan’s heart sunk, heavier than a stone.
“No...” his voice cracked.
Jean’s hands flew up in front of her, panic stricken.
“No! No, she’s-she’s not… dead, Logan. She’s just… I should wait for the Professor…” she trailed off, pointing her well manicured thumb over her shoulder and pressing her lips together in a thin line.
Logan choked around a half hysterical laugh, that echoed around the wide white room, relief making his knees go weak. Not that he’d let Jean see that. She started taking down his X-rays from the giant fluorescent light board, keeping her eyes anywhere but on him. Logan’s feet hit the floor. Wires, needles and medical tape ripping from various places on his very exposed, very large, powerful body, and had to steady himself for a split second. The sheet forgotten.
Jean turned, dropping the sheets of plastic, mouth agape and slapped a hand over her far from virgin eyes, spinning back towards the wall.
Logan’s eyebrow raised in borderline humorous contempt. After all, he had to get like this somehow... But not quite. He had to find Marie. Find out… everything. And Jean was in his way.
Rogue had died to save his love for the woman in front of him, forbidden or not. But the second the words had left her lips, it’d hit him. More like smacked him in the face. It had always been her. She was the one he couldn’t live without. That he should never touch. Or could never touch. At least that’s what he’d thought at the time. And now that he had a second chance, he was going to make sure she knew it every second. He belonged to her. She’d marked him, in every possible way. And in some ways he was sure they’d make up along the way…
But still. He was a guy.
“Just gonna leave me hangin here, sweetheart?” the comment was worth every syllable. Just so he could enjoy her reaction. Her cheeks went nearly the same shade of the hair that swung about her proud shoulders, jaw clenched, in exasperation.
The Dr. made a point to focus only on the the task in front of her, completely ignoring the mess at her feet. To get Logan pants. And a shirt. Immediately. Logan’s fingers drummed against the steel, impatient. Playtime over. Rogue was waiting. Somewhere out there, she was alive. Waiting for him. If he just walked out the door naked he could save some them some time…
Jean set a folded pair of sweatpants and a sweater on the rolling metal tray in the middle of the room.
“You know, you should probably-” Logan growled softly, hands balled into fists at his sides against the urge to grow claws.
She nodded softly, held up a hand in surrender and turned, exiting the lab without another word. Sharp heels clicking down the hallway. Finally. Wolverine grinned.