Electrical Storm

BY : Eiluned
Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Logan/Jean
Dragon prints: 3301
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Electrical Storm

by Eiluned (unseelie_eiluned@hotpop.com)

Archive: Just let me know where it's going.

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I do wish they were. The title and lyrics belong to U2.

Rating: R

Summary: "Jean comes to me when she's crying." Ultimate. Wolverine/Jean mentioned, Jean/Scott mentioned. POV, angst, romance.

Notes: This came to me after a long, soul-searching discussion with Deke. The song just happened to be playing when I started writing, and it amazed me how well the lyrics fit with the feeling I wanted with this story. Huge hugs and thanks to Deke for listening to me, laughing at my Muse bonding and beta reading this story.

Feedback is greatly appreciated, especially on this piece. unseelie_eiluned@hotpop.com

---

You're in my mind all of the time

I know that's not enough

if the sky can crack

there must be some way back

for love and only love

-----

Jean comes to me when she's crying. Late at night, when she doesn't want anyone else to know that she breaks down. I don't know why she comes to me, of all people.

I just know that she cries and my goddamn heart breaks every time.

She sneaks into my room, smelling of tears and misery, and I can't tell her no. I can never tell her no. I can't ask why she doesn't go to Scott instead, because I know that I wouldn't be able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

She lets me hold her while she sobs, and I never even know what she's crying about. I just hold her and thank God, if anything like that exists, that she comes to me. Because I know she trusts me, no matter what she says in the light of day.

I hold her and whisper stupid little nothings. Tell her that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to cry. I'll always be here for her.

She looks up at me with big, wet green eyes, disbelieving. "Why do you let me do this?" she asks every time, her voice broken.

Most of the time, I don't answer, but one time I told her. "Because I love you."

                        

A little shudder went through her body, and she left.

But she's back again every night, sobbing and apologizing, and I hold her. Tell her not to be sorry. And I ask her when she would give up the pretense. She comes to me every night, not him. When will she stop lying to herself and everyone else?

"I don't know," is all she says before leaving again.

I lay in my bed, watching lightning streak across the sky, feeling the heat of the storm. I've never loved anyone in my life, not that I can remember. I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of being vulnerable, and this is the most vulnerable I've ever been.

When she leaves, I stretch out on my back and breathe her scent in, rub it into my skin. Rip the sheets off of my bed and smell them, holding on to that little bit of her that stays behind. Touch myself and imagine that it's her hands. Feel her hands on my body again. Imagine her body underneath mine, on top of mine. Come gasping into my own hand, colors bursting behind my eyes, loneliness so sharp that it tears my heart apart. Breathe in what's left of her.

I wait every night for her to come to my room and cry in my arms. I wait for her to come to me.

End



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