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Fragile But Repairable	By : eiluned Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Logan/Jean Views: 4702 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Logan was halfway off of the couch when Jean walked into the sitting room. He froze, his mouth hanging open, staring unabashedly at her. She blushed. "What?" she asked, tugging at her skirt self-consciously.
He shook his head as if to clear it. "I thought I was hallucinating," he said.
Jean arched an eyebrow. "What?" she said again.
He grinned, and she felt a surge of heat flow from his mind into hers. "When I was hurt, I thought I saw a red-headed angel. Thought for sure I'd bit it. I guess it was you."
She blushed again, feeling an absurd rush of emotion at his words. "Yeah, I had my costume on," she said quickly, smoothing her skirt down again.
"You look beautiful."
His eyes slowly trailed up her body, starting at the floor and moving up her smooth, bare legs, past the short hem of her dress, over the corset and her pushed-up cleavage, lingering on her red lips. His gaze was almost tangible; it felt like soft fingers sliding all over her body. His eyes looked darker than usual, and she realized that he was wearing smudgy black eyeliner. 'Holy shit,' she thought. Jean shivered, arousal beginning to build in her loins, warm and heavy and throbbing.
Logan slowly closed the distance between them, breathing deeply. "You're turned on," he whispered when he was barely a foot away from her.
"I am not," she protested, albeit weakly.
"Yes, you are," he replied with a sly smile.
She tried to look indignant. "And how would you know?"
He trailed his fingertips over the soft skin of her neck, teasing the delicate arch of her collarbone. "I can smell it," he murmured, playing with a ringlet of red hair. "I can smell how wet you are."
A delicious shiver raced over her, raising goose bumps on her skin.
"Your cheeks are flushed," he continued, "your pupils are dilated. You're breathing hard."
Jean was milliseconds from pushing him down on the couch and fucking him until he forgot his own name when the bathroom door opened again, and Ororo entered the sitting room, fussing with her devil horns.
"Hey guys, are you ready..." she stopped in her tracks, gaping for a second. "I didn't walk in on anything, did I?" she asked impishly.
Jean rolled her eyes and pushed away from Logan, giving him a small smile. "I'm ready," she said, straightening her halo.
"No, you're not. You forgot your stockings, Jean," Storm said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Stockings?" Logan asked, sounding interested.
"Mm-hm," Storm answered innocently. "White, thigh-high stockings."
"I wasn't going to wear them--" Jean started to protest.
"No way. If I have to wear these pants, you have to wear the stockings."
"Oh fine," Jean said, mock-exasperated, and stomped back into the bathroom.
She emerged a few minutes later, legs hugged by sheer white stockings with seams up the back. Logan's jaw dropped again.
"Ta-dah," she said dryly. "Stockings."
He seemed to be speechless, a rarity for a smart-ass like him, but she suddenly got a very clear mental image of herself pressed against a wall, her stocking-clad legs wrapped around his naked hips.
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he said.
Jean blushed. "Not actively," she replied, trying to make it sound off-hand and failing miserably.
Piotr stuck his head in the door. "Are we going or not?"
"Yes, we're going," Storm said, fussing with her earrings. "Keep your pants on."
"I'm not wearing any."
1 November

12:13 a.m.
Warren Worthington III was also dressed as an angel, though a bit more realistically than Jean. Huge white wings, much bigger than Jean's, trailed behind him, their base peeking out of an immaculate white Armani suit. Everyone was complimenting him on his costume, but Jean couldn't help smirking. If they only knew that Warren's wings were honest-to-god real.
She collapsed into her chair, taking a huge gulp of water. Piotr was right behind her, having successfully fended off yet another simpering girl. "So, did you get a chance to talk to him?" he asked quietly.
Jean nodded, pressing her water bottle to her forehead. "Yep."
"Was he interested in the school?"
Jean snorted. "I think he was more interested in getting into my pants. I don't think he's quite ready to blow his human status yet. I still can't figure out how he hides those wings in his clothes," she paused, squinting into the crowd. "Hm, looks like he's all over Storm now. But still staring over here. Interesting."
Piotr frowned and got up, immediately attracting another scantily-clad young woman. "I think she can take care of herself, Pete," Jean called, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.
"I don't like him."
Jean quirked an eyebrow at Logan. "Why?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"I don't like the way he looks at you," he replied darkly.
She caught a blast of primal, possessive emotion from him and couldn't help shivering. Making sure Worthington was watching, she slowly leaned forward, giving Logan an eyeful of cleavage. "Believe me," she breathed, putting her mouth against his ear, "you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Warren Worthington the Third."
Drawing back, she watched his eyes darken, persistently ignoring the little voice in her head that was screaming, 'What are you doing? Are you insane?' The decadent atmosphere of the party was affecting her. The dim lights, the pulsing music, the brush of dancing bodies, they all combined to make her really, really horny.
Logan came out of his seat so quickly that she nearly fell over backwards. He grabbed her arm and led her quickly out of the ballroom. He didn't say a word while they waited for the elevator, just stared at her intensely.
As soon as it dinged and the doors slid open, he pulled her inside and up against him, pushing a thigh between hers.
"Logan, there's a camera up there--" she whispered, squeaking when his hands slid down to cup her ass.
Her eyes widened when he pulled her tightly against him, rubbing his erection against her. Her shoes were tall enough so that she could almost look him in the eye, and their bodies lined up perfectly. She couldn't stop herself from letting out a high whimper when he shifted his hips, his cock just barely nudging her clit.
The elevator slid to a stop, the doors opening quietly, and Jean grabbed Logan by his shirt collar and practically dragged him down the hall. He wrestled his keycard out of the back pocket of his pants and, distracted by Jean's hands on his ass, jammed it into the lock upside down.
He cursed and yanked it down, flipping it over and sticking it back into the lock. The light flashed, and he shouldered the door open, wrapping his arms around Jean's waist and pulling her inside.
The door slammed shut, but neither of them paid any attention. Logan threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips against hers, his hot tongue sliding into her mouth.
She sagged against him, suddenly weak. She hadn't kissed him, or anyone else for that matter, in seven long months. She now wondered how she'd survived without it, without his surprisingly soft lips, his hot, slick tongue, the sandpaper-scratch of his stubble against her skin.
He moaned when she started sucking on his tongue, shivered when her fingertips teased his nipples through his snug black shirt. The pleasure and desire flooding across the psi-link made her dizzy.
The hand that was pressed against her back slid over her ass and around her hip, down her thigh and back up. He moaned again when his fingers crossed from silk stocking to bare skin, kissing her even more frantically.
She gasped and arched against him when he stroked her through the damp silk of her panties. "Oh, god," he groaned against her lips, "you are so good..."
He started bending her backward, and when she realized that he was trying to lower her to the floor, she wriggled free long enough to pull her angel wings off and toss them onto a sofa.
He bore down on her, and she collapsed on her back on the floor. Holding himself over her, he pushed her legs apart with his knee and slipped his hand back between her thighs. Catching his eye, she slowly untied the drawstring ribbon on her dress.
Logan growled, rubbing her clit through her panties, his eyes trailing over her up-thrust breasts. "Open your dress, Jeannie," he purred, his caramel-brown eyes smoldering. "I wanna see you touch yourself."
She tugged at his shirt, and he stopped touching her long enough to yank it over his head and toss it away. His hand was immediately back between her legs, pushing the crotch of her panties to the side, fingers sliding in her wetness.
Jean very nearly came at the first touch of skin to skin. He quickly dipped a finger inside of her, then brought it to his mouth, sucking her juices off of it, shuddering heavily.
She tried to loosen a knot in the ribbon that tied the drawstring neckline of her dress, but being so distracted by the blazing look he was giving her, couldn't get it loose. With one good tug, the ribbon broke, and she pulled the neckline of her dress open, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. "Go ahead," he murmured, his voice rough, "touch yourself for me."
Her own eyes narrowing to slits, she arched up, rubbing her breasts against his chest, until his hair had teased her nipples erect. Then, she fell back onto the carpet, cupping her breasts with both hands, squeezing them.
Logan growled, a low, raw, primal sound that welled up from deep in his chest. He stroked her a few times with the single finger, then added another, stretching her, and started flicking her clit with his thumb. Jean whimpered, pinching and tugging at her nipples. God, it was so good. She could feel her mind clouding over with lust.
With a sudden telekinetic burst, she flipped him onto his back, laughing at his surprise and indignation. He growled when she straddled his midsection, pressing herself against his stomach. He tried to reach up for her, but she pinned his arms to the floor with her mind. He was pretending to be annoyed, but she could feel just how turned on he was.
"So," she teased, leaning down over him so that her breasts were right in front of his face.
He leaned up and sucked one nipple into his mouth, making her gasp. "So what?" he asked between licks.
"Mmmmm..." she moaned, rubbing herself against him. "I forgot what I was going to say."
She could feel desire radiating from him, like heat from an open flame. He wanted her so badly, wanted to flip her onto her back, spread her legs and fuck her hard, and she wanted it, too. She desperately wanted him, wanted to feel his big cock splitting her open, wanted to come clenched around him.
He had distracted her enough to break her telekinetic hold on him, and he grabbed her hips hard enough to really hurt. The sudden flash of pain brought horrible memories to the fore, and like a blast of ice-cold water, they wrenched the orgasm that had been building in her body away painfully.
He sensed the sudden change in her, or possibly scented her sudden fear, and let go of her hips. "Jeannie," he asked, panting, "what is it?"
"I can't do this," she said, scrambling away, pulling her dress back up to cover her breasts.
He sat up, rubbing his temples. "What did I do wrong?" he asked quietly.
"It wasn't anything you did, Logan," she said, trying to stop her hands from shaking. "I... I'm just... I need time to figure this out. I... I'm afraid this is just about sex. I can't do this if we're just fucking. If it's going to work, I need more than that. I need time."
She felt a jolt of surprise and shame from him, and she watchim him from the corner of her eye curiously. "What is it?" she asked softly.
His jaw was tightly clenched, and his mind was suddenly shielded.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked, dreading his answer.
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "No, Jean, I'm not mad at you," he answered finally. "I'm mad at myself."
"Why?"
"Because you're afraid of me, and that's my goddamn fault."
Jean felt the sudden sting of guilt. She did care about him, but she just couldn't shake the memory of him covered in blood, standing over Cruor's shredded body. She couldn't... didn't want to see the violence in the man who brought her such pleasure.
"Let's try this," she said, moving so that she was in front of him. "We start over. We get to know each other. And we don't have sex until we're both sure that there's more than just lust between us."
She thought she saw him grimace, but the expression disappeared too quickly for her to be sure. "You got yourself a deal, darlin'," he said lightly, sticking his hand out.
She smiled and took his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her close to his body and kissed her so softly that it made her knees wobble.
He slowly pulled away, cupping her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. "But there's something I have to tell you first." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Don't look at me like that, darlin'. It's not anything bad.
"I just need you to know that I already know what I feel for you, but I'll give you as much time as you need to figure yourself out. I can wait for what's mine."
Jean tried to give him a stern look, but couldn't help shivering. He just had to test her resolve every chance he got. "I'm tired," she said softly, pulling her shoes off.
He looked faintly uncomfortable, and she smiled to herself. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked, stretching her legs out.
Logan gave a relieved sigh. "Yeah. Y'know, I don't--"
"You don't have nightmares when I'm with you. I know."
"How?"
"I'm psychic, silly."
"Is that the only reason you want to stay with me?"
"No," she replied, pulling herself to her feet. "You make a good pillow, too."
He huffed, but she could feel satisfaction flowing down the psi-link. She smiled and kicked his hand away when he tried to tickle the back of her knee. "Meet you in your room in twenty minutes, okay?" she said, padding toward the girls' suite.
"Aw, you don't wanna take a shower with me?" he said, smirking; his confidence seemed to have made a return.
She smirked back and closed the door behind herself.
1 November

9:15 a.m.
Jean woke up entangled with Logan again, gh ngh not quite as sexually as the previous morning. She shifted, trying to stretch her back out, and Logan's arms tightened around her, pulling her half underneath him. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily.
She smiled a little, gazing up at the ceiling. Back in the light of day, her mind seemed a little clearer, which, of course, made her feel even more confused. 'Just don't think about it right now,' she told herself, playing with Logan's hair. Now that she really looked at it, she could see that it was a bit longer, actually more even in length. He could probably get all but the very front locks back into a ponytail. She decided that she liked it like this. It spilled across her cleavage, incredibly soft.
"Peter?" Storm's voice was muffled by the door. "Have you seen Jean? She's not in her room."
"Oh, great," Jean said, rolling her eyes.
"Mmm... what?" Logan murmured, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her chest.
She winced. "Ouch. Beard burn. And it seems that every time I sleep in your room, someone catches me."
He pushed himself up on his arms, blinking sleepily. "So?"
"So, they're going to start talking."
"So?" he asked again, sitting on his knees.
Jean rolled her eyes at him and stretched her arms above her head. With a small smile, Logan reached out and trailed his hands from her ribs down to her hips. "Hey," Jean said, giving him a warning look.
"Sorry," he said, not looking the least bit apologetic.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I guess I should get all my crap together," she said. "The driver should be here at ten."
She left Logan sitting on his bed and, of course, as soon as she opened the door, she ran into Ororo and Piotr, who both gaped at her. Sighing, she closed the door behind herself. "Holy... did you..." Storm said.
"No," she said shortly, retrieving her angel wings from the couch.
Piotr grinned. "I was wondering why those were in here," he said. "And why Logan's shirt was on the floor."
She flipped him off and walked back into the girls' suite. Storm was hot on her heels. "Oh, come on. You didn't...?" she goaded.
"*No*," Jean repeated. "And anyway, it's none of your business."
Storm snorted. "Come on, Jean. What else would you have been doing in his bedroom?"
"Um, sleeping?" Jean said, going into the bathroom and dumping all of her stuff back into her duffel bag. "You should get your stuff together. The driver will be here in forty-five minutes."
12:16 p.m.

Jean pulled herself out of the limousine and started to shoulder her bag. Logan plucked it out of her hand and tossed it over his own shoulder, heading up to the front door. She watched him for a second. He had been very quiet during the ride from Manhattan, seemingly uncomfortable, giving her strange looks out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't been able to figure out why. Turning, she shrugged at Storm, who was staring at her.
"What happened?" Ororo hissed.
"Nothing, nosy," Jean replied, following Logan into the mansion.
It was quiet, thankfully. Jean was dead tired. She paused to wave at Hank, who was tinkering with the electronic guts of some cannibalized piece of technology, then started up the staircase. Logan had paused at the second-floor landing, and when he saw her looking at him, he turned and headed down the hall.
She felt slightly apprehensive and couldn't quite pin down the reason why. It wasn't anything that felt serious; just a faint prickle in her mind. The hall was empty in front of her, and she walked automatically to her room, wondering if Logan had just dropped her bag off.
As soon as she stepped through her door, strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the door, slamming it shut. She yelped in surprise, staring at Logan, fear clenching her stomach. He looked half-crazed.
"Why can I hear you in my head?" he growled. "I can hear what you're thinking. You're in my head."
Jean stayed absolutely still, not wanting to provoke him. "L... Logan, let me go. Please," she whispered, trying to sound calm.
He stared at her for a second, then his face twisted with misery and he let her go, reeling backward. "I wouldn't have hurt you," he muttered, sinking down to sit on the floor with his back against her bed.
She stayed pressed against the door, too frightened to move. "I know th--" she began.
"Then why are you afraid of me?" he snapped.
Tears stung her eyes suddenly, and she had to blink them back. She pushed away from the door and knelt in front of him, pushing her fear to the back of her mind. "You can hear what I'm thinking?" she asked softly.
He put his head in his hands. "Yes. You're in my head."
Jean closed her eyes and examined her own mental shields, found them frayed. Slowly, she began taking them apart, pulling at the seams, feeling him growing in hind.ind. He must not have been shielding at all. His thoughts and emotions began to tangle with hers.
He grabbed her wrists, squeezing them tightly. "What are you doing?" he said, his voice the same deadly growl she'd heard after his nightmare; his fear swelled in her mind with a bitter, cold taste.
"I need to show you something," she whispered, trying to stay in her trance-state. "Trust me. Please."
He hesitated for a second, then his grip on her wrists loosened. She slid her hands into his, twining their fingers, and pulled the rest of her shields away.
They flowed into each other like liquid, blending but somehow staying distinct. When she focused her mind, Jean could actually see the psi-link. It was a thick, coppery cord that tied them together, very similar to the silver cord that linked your mind to your body when traveling astrally. She touched it, and it suddenly jerked her forward, toward Logan but at the same time toward a yawning chasm.
His thoughts blended more fully with hers, a swirl of colors and tastes and smells. Memories. Memories that were not hers began flooding into her mind, warm memories of being with her, cold, broken ones... She was falling toward that chasm, drowning in horrible, ice-cold memories.
With a gasp, she pulled herself back into her body. She didn't remember moving, but she was in his lap, straddling his thighs, her hands on his face. She could feel raw emotion pooling around them, and his face held a look of ecstasy and terror. He let out a shaky sigh and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she realized that she was trembling uncontrollably.
"What was that?" he whispered, not opening his eyes.
"A psi-link," she replied quietly, closing hers.
"What's that?"
"A bond between two minds."
His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer so that they were chest to chest. "It was... god, I've never felt anything like that. I could feel you... and warmth and healing -- I don't even know how to describe it," he said. "Is it always like that?"
She tried to laugh and realized that she was crying. "I don't know," she answered, sniffling a little. "But you're going to have to learn how to shield it."
"Why?" He sounded surprised.
"Trust me, you don't want to read someone's mind all the time."
He rubbed his cheek against hers, the longer hair of his sideburns tickling her skin, and she shuddered. "But it felt so good," he whispered, sounding as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Part of it had felt good. It was unbelievably good to be so close. His memories of her were so very warm, like a thick, comforting blanket. But there were things there, in his mind, that terrified her. So much violence and hatred, memories that were so bad they burned her with their coldness. Shattered memories that were almost unrecognizable. And she could feel something lurking within him, a beast that he fought to control every moment. Something that was so primal, so primitive that she could barely read it.
His lips brushed against hers, and she was so weakened that she couldn't move away. His tongue played at her bottom lip and she shivered, kept shivering, couldn't resist him, didn't want to. Part of her wanted him so badly, and another part was completely terrified.
#Jean? Is everything all right?#
She jumped and gasped, falling backwards, flat on her butt. "Professor?" she said, trying to not see the hurt look on Logan's face.
#I need to see you and Logan right away, if you're all right.#
She cleared her mind and put her shields back up, feeling a pang when Logan winced. ~I'm fine, sir. We'll be down in a few minutes.~
"The professor needs to talk to us," she said quickly. "It sounded urgent. We should go--"
"Wait," Logan said, catching her arms before she could get to her feet. "What's the matter? Did I miss something?"
"It's nothing--"
"Bullshit. If it was nothing, then why are you still crying?"
She didn't even realize that she was. "Please, can we talk about it later?" she whispered. "I can't right now. Please."
He lifted a hand to her face and brushed a tear away. "All right," he said softly, sliding his fingers back through her hair. "Later."
"Cerebro has detected a mutant in Arizona. She's a young woman by the name of Jubilation Lee. Apparently, she's an orphan--"
"How do you know that?" Logan asked.
Professor Xavier smiled a little sadly. "Her parents' deaths are very much on her mind. She's a runaway. As far as I can tell, she's moved from Los Angeles into Tucson. I want the two of you to fly to Arizona tonight and find her."
"Why both of us?" Jean asked. "If it's just recruiting, why does Logan have to go?"
She felt a burst of irritation from Logan and gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. The professor either didn't notice or pretended not to. "Because of this," he said, pressing a button on his computer console.
A blurry image appeared on one of the huge viewscreens above their heads. Jean couldn't figure out what it was at first, until Logan stiffened and hatred surged across the psi-link.
"Sabretooth," he growled.
"What?" she asked, confused.
The professor nodded gravely. "Then I was correct in assuming he is a part of Weapon X."
"The bastard joined 'em willingly. Wanted to chance to kill. If you think I'm vicious, you ain't seen nothing."
Jean felt a chill go through her body. "Is he after the girl?" she asked.
The professor shook his head. "Not as far as I can tell, but I am worried. I would like for you to leave as soon as possible. I don't want to take any chances." He tapped the console again and the image disappeared. "Go ahead and pack. The driver will take you to the airport. I've already had them file a flight plan. You'll fly directly into Tucson."
5:56 p.m.
Jean woke from a light doze to see Logan staring intently at her. "What is it?" she yawned.
"I wanted to explain why I reacted the way I did earlier," he said. "The last time someone was in my head like that, they took away all of my memories."
Jean winced. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling herself upright in her seat. "I didn't know..."
He shook his head. "How could you've known? It was just a gut reaction anyway. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
The jet hit some turbulence, and Jean gripped her armrests, white-knuckled. "Don't like flying?" Logan said with a small smile.
She glared at him. "No, I don't. And don't make fun of me."
"If you don't like flying, then how come you fly the Blackbird?"
She gave an exasperated sigh, then yelped when the plane hit another bump. "If I'm flying, I can deal with it. It's fun. I'm in control. But in these things--" she motioned around at the small luxury jet, "--I don't do so well."
He put an arm around her shoulder. "Well, then go back to sleep."
After a second's hesitation, sesteested her head on his shoulder, pushing the armrest up between the seats. He was warm and comfortable, and Jean soon fell back asleep.
7:36 p.m. (Mountain)
Jean held onto Logan's waist and leaned back, letting the cool wind whip against her face. They were heading to a motel outside of Tucson, having decided that it was too late to look for the girl tonight. They'd search the mall where she'd been living in the morning. Logan had insisted on bringing *his* bike along, instead of renting a car.
"Sonora Inn?" Logan called back to her, slowing the bike down.
"That's it," she replied, squinting into the dusky evening.
He pulled off of the highway and into the parking lot of a surprisingly nice motel. They were out in the desert -- a safer location in case Sabretooth found out that they were in Tucson, according to Logan -- and Jean had expected some dusty, Norman Bates place. The Sonora Inn was a pretty, two-story stucco building with pale green accents. There was even a well-kept if abandoned swimming pool.
She was even more impressed when she emerged from the office. Friendly employees. She usually got crap from desk clerks about looking so young. "Room 125," she called to Logan, who parked the bike in front of their door.
Twenty minutes later, they were sprawled on the king-sized bed -- which Logan had given her a smirk about -- watching TV and waiting for a pizza. Logan rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. "Jean, can I ask you a question?" he asked, staring at her intently.
"Sure," she replied, crunching on an ice cube.
"How did you find out you're a mutant?"
She stiffened with surprise and discomfort, and he noticed. "Bad question?" he said.
Sheuggeugged and swallowed what was left of the ice. "I started hearing voices in my head when I was thirteen. My mother and step-father--" she spat the words out like they tasted bad "--took me to some psychiatrist, and they all decided that I was schizophrenic. Undifferentiated schizophrenia. So, they dumped me in some shit-hole mental institution."
Logan was watching her carefully, with a strange look on his face. She frowned. "Don't look at me like you're afraid I'm still crazy," she snapped. "And I don't want pity."
"I'm not afraid you're crazy, and I'm not giving you pity," he retorted, then said more gently, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."
"No, it's okay. I guess it's something you should know," she said, staring at the TV without really watching it. "And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm still kind of messed up about it, you know?
"At first, I knew that I wasn't schizophrenic, but being in a place like that... I guess I did start to lose my mind a little. I mean, you're surrounded by honest-to-god crazy people. They have conversations with nothing... a lot of them were violent. This mutant stuff doesn't scare me much, because I saw so much stuff in that place. Stuff I'll never be able to forget. I hope that place burns to the ground.
"I'd been there for about five months when this guy, one of the nurse's aides, took me into a storage room and raped me."
She felt violent tension roll through Logan, a surge of protectiveness and anger. She swallowed hard. "He didn't finish, though. I realized then that I wasn't hearing random voices in my head. It wasn't gibberish anymore. I was hearing thoughts, his thoughts. So, I thought that I wanted him to die."
Logan sat up suddenly, as if he wanted to move, do *something*, but just leaned against the headboard beside her.
"All of the sudden, he started twitching, like he was having a seizure. Then, he just fell over. Dead. I didn't know how, but I knew I had killed him. So, I ran and hid in my room.
"They found him later that day. Turns out I'd popped several blood vessels in his brain. They saw the blood on him, but didn't do anything. The goddamn nurses saw the blood on my pants and *didn't do anything*. They knew he raped me, and they didn't do anything." Her voice broke on the last word, and she realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Logan reached out to her, but she shook her head. "If you comfort me, I'm just going to cry harder," she said with a watery smile. "I'm okay. I just haven't talked about it in a while."
"Who else knows?" he asked quietly.
"The Professor. Scott. I told Hank a few months ago."
She wiped her eyes. "Anyway, I snuck into one of the offices and called my dad, my real dad's office, but he wasn't there. They connected me to his satellite phone. He was in Lhasa--"
"Lhasa?" Logan said. "Your dad was in Tibet?"
Jean smiled, a real smile that made her eyes light up. "Yeah, he was on a dig. He's an archaeologist.
"Anyway, I got in touch with him in Lhasa, and told him what had happened. It turned out that my mother had never told him about my 'schizophrenia' or about my being in the mental institution. He went through the roof. Grabbed the first flight he could to Kathmandu and came back to New York. Took me out of that place. He and my mom had a knock-down-drag-out, and I went back to China with him for a month or so, while he finished that dig. Then, we came back here and the Professor found me."
"You came to the school then?"
She shook her head. "No, not then. My telekinesis had started to manifest, and I think Dad realized that I was a mutant. One day, Professor Xavier came to Dad's house. He taught me how to shield, how to use my telepathy, and started me on control exercises for my teke. I went back to school in Annandale-on-Hudson. Dad had been home-schooling me, and they had me take this equivalency test thing. I was fourteen and I should've been in a freshman, but they put me in the eleventh grade.
"Things actually went pretty well. I was back with my mother, but they were afraid of me because I was a mutant. She and Step-Dad just kind of left me to my own devices. I had a few boyfriends, some really good friends. I had a normal life, and then my bitch sister, Sarah, told some of the biggest loudmouths in town that I was a mutant.
"I managed to graduate without getting killed, but it was hell. Mom and Step-Dad kicked me out of the house the day of graduation. After a month or so on my own, Professor Xavier found me again, and the rest is history."
"Tough break," Logan said.
"Not as bad as some, worse than others."
After a long pause, she asked, "Do you remember when you found out?"
He shook his head. "No. Don't remember."
Something in his tone was so lonely that she felt terrible for just asking. She had started to apologize when someone knocked on the door. "Pizza!" she announced, crawling off of the bed, glad for a distraction. "Thank god, I'm starving."
A few minutes later, she had a mouthful of melty cheese, but Logan was just picking at the bits of hamburger. He looked like he wanted to say something, but just kept opening and closing his mouth surreptitiously. "Spill it," she said with a smile.
"Um. Well, it's... personal."
She stifled a laugh because she could sense that he was genuinely embarrassed. "Spill it," she repeated.
"So... when we had... sex... it didn't..."
"Traumatize me?" she finished, then patted his hand. "No, it didn't. I figured out a while ago that sex and rape are two different monsters. I don't associate the two."
He nodded, then started to look troubled again. "Then what happened after the Halloween party?"
Her slice of pizza stopped halfway to her mouth. "Um... It wasn't that," she said.
"It sure seems like it now."
"Logan--"
"We were making love. And all of the sudden, you freak out on me."
She put her pizza back down in the box. "It's hard to explain--"
"I would never, *never* have raped you, Jean," he said vehemently.
"Oh, god, I know that, Logan! I didn't think that you were going to!"
"Then what happened?"
She chewed on her bottom lip. "I got scared, okay? I know that you'd never rape me, or anyone else, but... sometimes it just comes back. And I... I still don't know what to do or think, okay?"
She knew exactly why she had panicked, but she wasn't about to tell him that. How can you just come out and tell something that they scare the shit out of you sometimes, that you can't trust them? She probably didn't have to anyway. The knowing, disturbed look on his face as he went back to eating made her think that he'd already figured it out.
11:14 p.m.
Jean was dozing off, half paying attention to the TV, when she felt Logan staring at her again. "What is it?" she asked.
"You killed someone. So, why am I so horrible for doing the same thing?"
Jean was so surprised that she was speechless for a moment. "I never said you're horrible--"
"No, but you think it."
Grimacing, she tightened her mental shields. "Don't go poking around in my head, dammit."
"Answer the question, Jean."
She sat up, annoyed. "Because it's different. I didn't want to kill him--"
"Yes, you did. You sat right there and told me that you did. Were you lying?"
"I didn't enjoy it. You enjoy killing."
Logan snorted. "Bullshit. You're glad he's dead, and you're glad yoe the the one who killed him. How does that make you any different from me?"
"You killed for money. I did it out of self-defense."
He was suddenly in front of her, his eyes flashing with anger. "I started out killing to defend myself. You don't know what it's like, being in Weapon X. They take away any kind of conscience you have, twist you into a machine. You kill because they tell you to kill. Once I got out, things didn't change back all that fast. Maybe you need to understand what you're talking about before you judge me," he growled.
Jesus, she'd never even thought about that. Feeling like a complete idiot, she started to get off of the bed, but he caught her arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have--"
"Stop apologizing," she interrupted, her cheeks burning with shame. "I'm the hypocritical bitch here. You don't have anything to apologize for."
He sighed impatiently and pulled her into his arms. She let him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Okay," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "So, let's just stop apologizing to each other. How does that sound?"
"Good," he said softly, stroking her hair; it sent shivers down her spine.
Reaching out with her mind, she turned the television off, and Logan jumped. "Did you do that?" he asked.
"Yeah, it was me. Don't worry, the motel isn't haunted."
He laughed quietly and scooted up to the head of the bed, pulling her with him. "Ain't we the pathetic pair? Can't stop saying we're sorry," he murmured.
Jean smiled against his shirt and fell asleep.
2 November

11:32 a.m.
Hands and mouth and t, on, on her skin. Firm, but gentle.
'This is a good dream,' she thought.
Jean woke to the feel of a hot, wet mouth playing at the back of her neck. It felt damn good, and she unconsciously pressed herself against the solid body spooned behind her.
"Logan," she mumbled as strong arms wrapped around her waist and teeth grazed her skin. "Logan, quit it."
When he didn't stop, she gave him a mental poke and found that he was still mostly asleep and, surprisingly, his mental shields were completely down. Even more surprisingly, when she touched his mind, something grabbed hold of her and pulled her forward, just like when she had touched the psi-link. It was dragging her back toward the chasm, only this time, it didn't look quite like a chasm. It was more like sinking down into a pool of water, looking into a deep, dark-blue hole. Warm currents flowed around her, but the underlying, bone-numbing cold was still there.
Pulling her mind into sharp focus, she dug in her psychic heels and started making for the surface. "Logan," she said quietly, over and over.
After a long moment, he started, arms tightening around her. "Jean?" he murmured.
"You might want to make sure your shields are up," she said, waiting for him to wake up fully.
Slowly, he released her and sat up, yawning. "They were down? I'm sorry," he said, and she felt his mind close off a bit.
"I thought we were going to stop apologizing all the time."
"I was having a great dream," he continued, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I bet you were having it, too."
"Ha ha," she said sarcastically, but couldn't help smiling, too.
"I'm gonna hop in the shower," he said and disappeared into the bathroom.
Jean flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. ~Professor?~ she thought, hoping that he'd catch her telepathic call.
#Yes, Jean? Is everything all right?#
~Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you about the psi-link.~
After a moment, the professor replied, #Go ahead.#
~I think -- I'm not really sure, though, but I think -- jeez, I don't even know how to describe it. It's like it's trying to link us. No, link isn't the right word. Combine is more like it.~
#How exactly is it doing that?#
~If we both let our shields down, or if I touch his mind when his shields are down, I feel like I'm being drawn into his mind. The first time, it got to the point where I could hardly tell his thoughts from my own. And it's changed. The first time, it was like I was falling into a pit, but this morning it changed to water, like I was sinking into a trench or something.~
The professor was silent for a long moment. #Perhaps it changes because it doesn't want to make you apprehensive. I've a feeling that the pull you're feeling is coming from both your and Logan's subconscious.#
~I guess it makes sense.~
#When you mentioned his memories a moment ago, I sensed fear.#
Jean swallowed hard. ~Yeah. There's some really dark stuff in there, Professor. So much of his memory is missing, like it was just ripped out, but most of what's left in there is horrible. So cold.
~What do you think I should do?~
#I am really not sure. Let things follow their natural course, I think, would be the best piece of advice.#
She sighed. ~Thanks, sir.~
#You're welcome. And thank you for letting me know.#
She felt the telepathic link close at the same time the bathroom door opened. Logan came back into the motel room with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth. "Ya wan' me t'get somefin' t'eat?" he said around the toothbrush.
Jean snickered. "Sure," she said, rolling off of the bed.
He leaned against the vanity, giving her a wide berth as she staggered by him into the bathroom. She heard him spit into the sink. "You know, you're cute in the morning," he called.
"Shut up," she replied, turning the shower on.
When Jean came out of the bathroom, combing her damp hair, Logan was back with a box of donuts. "Krispy Kreme! Orgasm donuts," she exclaimed, grabbing one.
Logan smiled slightly, watching her devour the donut. "We should go as soon as you're ready." he said, leaning back on the bed.
"Time to find malls in Tucson." She brushed sugar off of her mouth. "I guess we can ask the desk clerk."
5:40 p.m.

Park Place Mall
"This place sucks."
"Ooh, a Borders--" Jean exclaimed.
"No shopping," Logan said, looking around. "We're supposed to find the girl. And having Sabretooth in town makes me want to find her quick and get the hell out of here."
"I know, I know," Jean said, gazing longingly at the bookstore.
"What does she look like again?"
"Petite, Asian..." she answered, pulling up the mental image Professor Xavier had given her of the girl and sending it to him. "Like that."
"Okay," Logan said. "Now, how the hell are we supposed to find her?"
"We look," she said, reaching for a paperback.
Logan took her arm and pulled her away the the book display. "Come on. No shopping," he said.
"There," he said suddenly. "That's her."
Jean turned around and spotted her sitting on a bench outside of The Gap, wearing a bright yellow windbreaker, digging through a backpack. "I'll go talk to her," Jean said. "You stay back and keep watch. If she tries to bolt, head her off."
"Aye-aye, Cap."
Jean nonchalantly strolled over and sat down on the other end of the bench. "Hi," she said, fiddling with one of her earrings.
The girl gave her a suspicious look. "Who the hell are you?" she said, zipping up her backpack.
"You're Jubilation, right?"
The girl came off of the bench and broke into a dead run, heading for the nearest exit. "Crap," Jean muttered to herself.
~Logan? She just took off.~
'On my way,' he thought back at her.
Jean took a few seconds to make the two salesgirls that were watching forget what they had seen, then darted out of the mall.
Outside, she couldn't see anything at first. Clouds had built while they were inside the mall, and it was dusky. A flash of yellow caught her eye at the back of the parking lot, so she headed in that direction. ~Logan, where is she?~
'Headin' out into that empty lot over there. What the hell did you say to her anyway?'
~Nothing. She's just really jumpy. Keep following her. I'll be there in a few seconds.~
Focusing her telekinesis, she levitated herself off of the ground and flew over the parking lot. Within seconds, she had caught up with an open-mouthed Logan. "You... you're flying," he said incredulously.
"Yep," she answered, touching down on the gravelly ground. "Just learned how to a few months ago. Come on."
The girl was very fast and Jean finally had to put a telekinetic hold on her. "Let me go!" the girl screamed, fighting the invisible hold on her.
"I'll let you go if you promise you won't run again," Jean said. "We're not going to hurt you. We just want to help, okay?"
"What-*ever*!"
"Look, we know you're a mutant."
Suddenly, stark terror replaced the girl's haughty defiance. "P-please, don't hurt me--" she whispered.
"We weren't planning on it, Jubilation. We're mutants, too. We just want to help you out, get you to someplace safe. Do you promise you won't run?"
She considered it for a second. "You're really a mutant, too?"
Jean smiled. "How do you think I'm holding you still?"
"I won't run, I promise. You just, like, scared me back there."
Jean released her hold, and true to her word, the girl didn't run. "Um," she said, messing with the zipper on her jacket, "you were callin' me Jubilation. I go by Jubilee. Can't stand Jubilation."
"Sorry," Jean said, smiling. "I'm Jean, and this--" she turned and Logan was gone, "Well, the guy that was here a second ago is Logan. We're from a school for mutants in New York. Since you're on your own, we thought that--"
Suddenly, Logan reappeared out of the scrub. "Jean, take the kid and get back to the bike now," he said.
"Is he here?" Jean asked, her stomach clenching.
"Go!" he barked, eyes darting over the abandoned lot.
Frowning, Jean grabbed Jubilee's wrist and started running. "Hey!" the girl exclaimed. "What's going on?"
"Stay quiet," Jean hissed. "There's someone here that we do *not* want to run into. He's with a group that abuses mutants. Professor Xavier will explain it all to you in New York."
"Who's Prof--"
A sudden roar and shout of pain split the air, and Jean skidded to a stop. "Jubilee, run back to the parking lot. Find this motorcycle--" she sent a mental image of Logan's bike "-- and stay by it. Go, now."
Jubilee's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded and kept running. Jean turned around and headed back toward Logan.
It was like watching a terrible dance. Jean wanted to do something to help, but she couldn't think of anything that she could do that wouldn't break Logan's concentration. It was vicious, but it was smooth and graceful. She stood riveted beside a stunted cactus.
If Logan was a big man, then Sabretooth was huge. He had six inches on Logan and at least seventy pounds, but Logan was obviously the faster of the two. He darted around the bigger man, dodging punches, slicing with his claws, trying to kick Sabretooth's legs out from under him.
Sabretooth roared in pain and staggered back. Logan's claws had gone straight through his bicep. Suddenly, he looked straight at Jean, and her throat spasmed with fear.
"Aw, lookit that. Is this yer little cunt, Wolverine?" he said, his voice gravelly and horrible. "Maybe I'll let her live so she can carry yer body back. After I have some fun with her--"
"You touch her, Creed, and I'll rip your throat out," Logan growled dangerously.
A sudden wave of fear from him came down the psi-link. Despite her own terror, she couldn't help examining it. Fear was not something that she expected to feel from Logan during a fight. She poked a little deeper into it, and realized that it was fear for her. He didn't give a damn what happened to himself, but he was terrified that something might happen to her.
Sabretooth feinted a move toward her and Logan slashed, leaving three long gashes in the bigger man's chest. "Oh, yer gonna pay for that," Sabretooth said. "I won't kill ya yet. I'll let ya bleed while I fuck yer bitch--"
He suddenly leapt at Jean, and she lashed out instinctively with her telekinesis, blasting him back twenty feet. She followed it up with a psi-bolt, knocking him unconscious.
Logan darted forward. "Wait!" Jean shouted. "Let's just go, please."
He stopped and slowly turned to look at her. The sheer rage in his eyes made her shrink back. "I'm gonna kill him," he said.
"No, please. Let's just go," she said softly. "He won't wake up for at least a day. I might have overdone the bolt a little."
He stood there staring at her for a moment, blood dripping from his claws. Then, he retracted them and stalked back toward the parking lot.
Jean followed him silently, her mind racing. He would have killed for her, killed to keep her safe. He knew damn well how she had reacted the last time he'd killed to protect her, and he was willing to risk everything that he wanted, the one good thing in years of bad to keep her safe. Her mind raced and everything was suddenly so clear.
Jubilee looked more than a little impressed when Logan stomped up to the bike with Jean in tow. "Dude!" she exclaimed. "Is that blood?"
Logan ignored her question and pulled a grease rag out of a saddlebag. "I'll call the pilot," Jean said, trying not to sound as shaky as she felt. "He can file a flight plan and we can get on the plane within an hour."
Logan nodded curtly and climbed onto the bike. Jean could feel the berserker still gripping him, eating away at his control, but he kept it tightly tamped down. Jubilee hopped on behind him without any hesitation and Jean slid on in front, leaning to the side so he could see around her head, pressing her body back against his. She felt a sudden surge of heat roll through him, but he clamped down on it so tightly that it pushed her mental probe out.
She quickly sent telepathic messages to the pilot and Professor Xavier, informing them of what needed to be done. "Let's go," she murmured.
They sped out of the parking lot.
"What about..." he said, having to yell over the wind.
The blood on his ripped shirt was making her back wet. "Don't worry about it. No one will notice." She paused, suddenly realizing that they weren't headed for the motel. "Where are we going?"
"Airport."
"What about our stuff?"
"We can fly back later."
"Why?"
"'Cause Sabretooth'll be expecting us to fly out of Tucson. Easy for him to trace flights."
"Oh. But--"
"We'll leave tonight. Go somewhere else."
"Oh."
Half-an-hour later, Jubilee was safely on the professor's jet. "Professor Xavier will let you know where to pick us up," Jean told the pilot.
"No problem," he replied. "You be careful, Miss Grey."
She jogged back over to Logan and the motorcycle, who were both skulking in the shadow of a hangar. "We've gotta get moving," he said gruffly.
She climbed onto the bike behind him, again feeling a surge of heat from him. She closed her eyes, tasting it, and realized that it was sheer animal lust. Every time she came close to him, the berserker surged almost violently. She felt hot suddenly, despite the cool wind.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He let out a heavy, shaky breath. "I told you to go back to the bike," he growled angrily. "I didn't want you there. He could have killed you--"
"But he didn't. He was the one that messed you up in New York, wasn't he?"
Logan nodded silently. "Jet-setting motherfucker, isn't he?" she commented.
He twisted around to face her suddenly, grabbing the back of her neck. "You should have let me kill him, Jeannie. He knows your face now."
A strange blend of fear and desire washed over her, starting from where his hand gripped her neck tightly and shivering through the rest of her body. She leaned forward impulsively to kiss him, but he let go of her suddenly, turned around and started the engine.
"Sorry," utteuttered. "It takes a while to get back to normal."
Jean didn't want him to get back to normal. She was seeing this side of him for the first time; she wanted to see all of it, not just the fighting rage. She knew there was more to it than that. It tickled at her mind, teased her, whipped her into a frenzy of curiosity and want.
She kept touching him on the ride back to the motel, kept the beast near the surface. She wasn't afraid of it anymore. His shirt was ripped open, and she slid her hands inside, feeling the smooth skin where he had healed. She could feel it pushing at his weakening shields when he met her outside of the motel office with their stuff. "There's another motel about half an hour down the highway," she told him. "We can stay there tonight and keep going in the morning."
"Fine. Get on," he said, hands twitching on the handlebars.
She slid on behind him, putting her helmet on and then pressing herself tightly against his back, wrapping her arms around his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he gripped the handlebars so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He kicked off and they sped onto the highway.
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Fragile But Repairable