Logan blinks his eyes open when the smell of smoke, faint and acidic, and familiar, reaches his nostils as he sleeps. A hypersensitive nose will do that to you, and while it was useful when there was food around, rarely did he appreciate it anytime else. Except now, because he recognizes that smoke, and knows where it is coming from.
He pulls himself out of bed and runs a hand through his hair -- which is standing up in fifteen different directions -- and zips a sweatshirt up over his bare chest. A pair of workout pants, no socks, and he moves out of the bedroom to make his way down the hall. She'll be downstairs, by the television -- he can hear her movie as he's descending the stairs -- and he almost walks straight in.
Then decides to make a detour to grab a beer from the kitchen, then walk into the room where she's sitting, smirking. "Smokin' in the mansion too?" He chides her softly. "Never would've known you turned into such a rebel."
Jean's eyes widen at the sight of him, sauntering into the room as though nothing in the world matters. Think of the devil and he appears., a cynical part of her mind whispers.
"L-Logan... I, umm, I mean I was..." She sighs, expecting the worst. "I didn't think that anyone would notice. Or care, really." Her eyebrow arches. "A little early in the morning for a beer, isn't it?"
Jean casts her gaze down to her lap. She fiddles with the hem of the t-shirt which rests midway down her thigh. Now that he's there, physically in the room with her, she's braced herself for the worst. "you can sit down, if you'd like. I mean... If you want to stay... You don't have to. I just..." Think of something to say, her mind is screaming at her. "I couldn't sleep. It happens a lot. Or, not a lot, but occasionally. I mean, sometimes. Very rarely. So, umm... What're you doing up? You're not usually an early riser
( ... )
"Never too early for a beer." Logan retorts, quickly downing the bottle in three solid swings, setting the empty on an endtable with a quiet thunk before he looks at the television and cocks his head to the side. He doesn't recognize the characters at all, or the actors...this is what he gets for never watching television.
Or remembering television.
"It ain't early," He says, with a shake of his head. "Just smelled smoke," He circles around the back of the couch and gives a pointed, teasing glance at her hair. "And where there's smoke, there's fire." It's not mean or malicious in the slightest, and he drops onto the couch, stretching his legs (and bare feet) out and dropping them onto the low coffee table with a thud and a grunt.
He looks back at the television and narrows his eyes slightly, then looks at her, an eyebrow arching slightly towards his hairline. "T'be honest," He starts. "I don't remember them."
"Well, if I can forgive you drinking beer this early, then you can ignore me smoking inside. Besides, the Professors not here. Dead or gone or something, but in general the permanent sort of gone. So he can't complain, now can he? Emma won't care, and Scott is still mildly afraid of me." She snuggles deeper into the plush of the couch, pulling her knees in to her chest and wrapping her arm around them
( ... )
Logan cocks his head at the television and studies it for a moment. Seems simple enough, he figures he'll be able to pick up rather quickly.
"Don't worry about it," Is all he says, on the matter of her waking him up. He's too focused on the movie. Trying to remember. Something. Anything. But all he gets is static and fuzz in his brain, so he closes his eyes and tries harder.
Nothing.
A moment later, he looks over at her. "I think I'll survive playing a little bit of catch up," A smirk tugs at his lips. "You're the smart one, you think I'll manage?"
Jean flashes a sweet smile at him. Something about her attitude seems to... Grateful. But the reason why is yet another of the mysteries surrounding Jean Grey. "Thanks. I still feel badly, though. I mean, you get so little sleep as it is..." She hesitates. She doesn't think he's ready to know that she sits up sometimes listening for the sounds that signal the start of his nightmares. That she keeps a mental watch on him when he sleeps, so when his nightmares begin she can gently prod him out of them. He wouldn't appreciate the invasion of his privacy, but she can do nothing less.
"You're more then smart enough to catch up, but then you'll miss some of the best parts." As she speaks, Jean lifts the remote and restarts the dvd. She sets it down again and gives him another one of those smiles that are so confusing as she reaches up to brush away one of the wild red locks that has decided to rest right in front of her eyes. "I hope you don't think it's silly..."
"You don't need sleep when you're a guy like me." Logan replies with a shrug. He's not about to go into the nightmares. He knows he doesn't have to. Knows all she needs to do is look into his head and see what he sees, the jumbled, mixed up mess of memories and pain. He doesn't want to show her that. Not yet.
He glances back at the television and the DVD, then reaches over and quickly tucks another stray strand of her hair behind her ear. It's only a brief touch, nothing compared to a few nights prior, but it's still something.
"I may think it's silly," He teases. "Doesn't mean I won't like it."
"Everyone needs sleep, Logan." She corrects him with an arch look. "But only the lucky seem to get it." A sigh accompanies her final words. "I envy the children here sometimes. So many of them, they're too young too have seen the things we have. They sleep at night and they're so peaceful. Not a care in the world
( ... )
"No." She purses her lips in thought. "No, you're most definately not."
A small half smile tuggs at her lips. "Maybe if we're lucky they won't have to."
"This." She makes a motion with her hand indicating herself. "Doesn't it bother you? Me. Like this. I'm waiting for the part where you tell me how horrible and ugly I am! Where you tell me to go upstairs, take a shower and for God's sake put some make-up on! I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?! How can you stand to just sit there... To just sit there and act like everything is okay. Don't you have eyes? I mean, what are you waiting for? Just say something, damn it! Because I can't just keep sitting here and waiting for you to say it."
Logan just blinks. Then looks up the stairs. His hearing makes her sound louder than she really is being but it's still rather surprising to hear her going on like she is.
Then he shakes his head. "Red, what the hell?" He asks simply, looking her over. "No, it doesn't bother me. This is me we're talking about," A sweeping motion of his body, his ragged pants and thin grey sweatshirt, not to mention his hair and bare feet. "You ain't ugly, you ain't horrible, and you sure as hell have me confused."
Another shake of his head. "I'm not gonna say it, because I don't think it."
Jean looks at him, stares at him really, for a long minute, her mental train derailed. "You... What?"
She blinks at him, trying to organize her thoughts. To start again. "But... I thought you wanted..." She stops, clears her throat and looks down as she speaks. Where her voice was loud a few moments ago it's now soft and shy sounding. "I thought you'd rather be with the other Jean Grey. The one who wears the nice clothes, and always has her hair styled perfectly. The one with the perfectly done make-up and the jewelry and fancy perfume. The woman who doesn't have freckles in weird places, like some sort of ugly brand. I mean, everybody else does..."
"Am I everyone else?" Logan retorts, with a small snort and shake of his head. The movie is long forgotten and ignored at this point, for matters much more pressing and confusing.
A moment of looking at her, then. "All I want is you, Red." It's a very rare moment of his inner desire and wants being displayed, and normally it's kept under lock and key for nobody to find, but when she's acting like this...
Desperate times, call for desperate measures. "You aren't one or the other, you're Jean, and I want you. Plain and simple. No matter what the hell you think you look like."
"No... No, you're not everybody else, Logan. You're... Special. But..." I'm so afraid..., she thinks.
"But... There are so many things... That you don't know about me. And if you knew..." You'd run. Run far and hard and fast. Just like Scott..."It's not just what I think, Logan. It's what everyone thinks. Trust me, I'm a telepath, I know these things. People would see you with me, if I was like this, and they would pity you..." Jean looks down, studying her hands. "Do you know that Scott would only make love with the lights out? That he'd shove me out of bed early every morning to shower, to look perfect for the day? The first time he saw me without make-up, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. The Professor-" Her voice breaks for a moment, then she continues. "The Professor used to send me into town for a whole day to try to deal with my appearance problem. I mean, after all, why on earth would he want to sl-" Her jaw snaps shut, her eyes wide and firghtened. She'd slipped. Said too much. Gotten upset and started to tell
( ... )
She's right, and he's up and to her before she can react, one hand going to grasp her by the wrist. Logan's voice is urgent and he's in a mild state of shock, the desire to hunt down Xavier and kill him, several times broils up in his blood and his eyes.
"You...he..."
She's a victim, His brain says. Like you were. She didn't want it and neither did you.
He looks away for a moment, closing his eyes. "My God, Jean," If I had only known...if I had...done...something.... He swallows and looks back at her, softening a little. It's not pity, but it's something that he'll only give her.
"I don't care what they think," He says, then reaches down and puts one of her hands on the side of his face. "Really, I don't." He reaches for her other hand and does break her gaze. He rests it on his shoulder for the time being. "I don't. I don't care. You..."
You matter.
He can't say it, but he can think it, and he knows she can read it in his eyes. She only has to move her hand...
Shame fills her eyes now that he knows the worst, and she casts her gaze down. "From when I was bout twelve to about... Nineteen... Scott doesn't know. He can never know. He respects Xavier. Like a father. It would destroy him to know."
Jean's voice is quiet, then gains strength as she continues to speak. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think that I was..." Easy... Cheap... Dirty... A whore... "I didn't want you to know how easy I was. How cheap and dirty and... Despicable, I am. I was. For just giving in. For not fighting. For staying and being his... For not running away or doing anything other then what I did..." Her face is deathly pale, and her body is tensed. She's expecting him to turn her away, yell, slap her. Something. To lash out at her somehow. Which is why his reaction suprises her even more
( ... )
He pulls himself out of bed and runs a hand through his hair -- which is standing up in fifteen different directions -- and zips a sweatshirt up over his bare chest. A pair of workout pants, no socks, and he moves out of the bedroom to make his way down the hall. She'll be downstairs, by the television -- he can hear her movie as he's descending the stairs -- and he almost walks straight in.
Then decides to make a detour to grab a beer from the kitchen, then walk into the room where she's sitting, smirking. "Smokin' in the mansion too?" He chides her softly. "Never would've known you turned into such a rebel."
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"L-Logan... I, umm, I mean I was..." She sighs, expecting the worst. "I didn't think that anyone would notice. Or care, really." Her eyebrow arches. "A little early in the morning for a beer, isn't it?"
Jean casts her gaze down to her lap. She fiddles with the hem of the t-shirt which rests midway down her thigh. Now that he's there, physically in the room with her, she's braced herself for the worst. "you can sit down, if you'd like. I mean... If you want to stay... You don't have to. I just..." Think of something to say, her mind is screaming at her. "I couldn't sleep. It happens a lot. Or, not a lot, but occasionally. I mean, sometimes. Very rarely. So, umm... What're you doing up? You're not usually an early riser ( ... )
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Or remembering television.
"It ain't early," He says, with a shake of his head. "Just smelled smoke," He circles around the back of the couch and gives a pointed, teasing glance at her hair. "And where there's smoke, there's fire." It's not mean or malicious in the slightest, and he drops onto the couch, stretching his legs (and bare feet) out and dropping them onto the low coffee table with a thud and a grunt.
He looks back at the television and narrows his eyes slightly, then looks at her, an eyebrow arching slightly towards his hairline. "T'be honest," He starts. "I don't remember them."
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"Don't worry about it," Is all he says, on the matter of her waking him up. He's too focused on the movie. Trying to remember. Something. Anything. But all he gets is static and fuzz in his brain, so he closes his eyes and tries harder.
Nothing.
A moment later, he looks over at her. "I think I'll survive playing a little bit of catch up," A smirk tugs at his lips. "You're the smart one, you think I'll manage?"
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"You're more then smart enough to catch up, but then you'll miss some of the best parts." As she speaks, Jean lifts the remote and restarts the dvd. She sets it down again and gives him another one of those smiles that are so confusing as she reaches up to brush away one of the wild red locks that has decided to rest right in front of her eyes. "I hope you don't think it's silly..."
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He glances back at the television and the DVD, then reaches over and quickly tucks another stray strand of her hair behind her ear. It's only a brief touch, nothing compared to a few nights prior, but it's still something.
"I may think it's silly," He teases. "Doesn't mean I won't like it."
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He studies her for another long moment, wondering just how she manages to be so on and off with him.
"I'm not Slim, now am I." He says simply. "And yeah, the brats are lucky, but then again, they're mutants. Their time will come to see what we have."
He's still trying to figure out what she means by the last question. Finally he gives up. "Doesn't what bother me?"
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A small half smile tuggs at her lips. "Maybe if we're lucky they won't have to."
"This." She makes a motion with her hand indicating herself. "Doesn't it bother you? Me. Like this. I'm waiting for the part where you tell me how horrible and ugly I am! Where you tell me to go upstairs, take a shower and for God's sake put some make-up on! I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?! How can you stand to just sit there... To just sit there and act like everything is okay. Don't you have eyes? I mean, what are you waiting for? Just say something, damn it! Because I can't just keep sitting here and waiting for you to say it."
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Then he shakes his head. "Red, what the hell?" He asks simply, looking her over. "No, it doesn't bother me. This is me we're talking about," A sweeping motion of his body, his ragged pants and thin grey sweatshirt, not to mention his hair and bare feet. "You ain't ugly, you ain't horrible, and you sure as hell have me confused."
Another shake of his head. "I'm not gonna say it, because I don't think it."
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She blinks at him, trying to organize her thoughts. To start again. "But... I thought you wanted..." She stops, clears her throat and looks down as she speaks. Where her voice was loud a few moments ago it's now soft and shy sounding. "I thought you'd rather be with the other Jean Grey. The one who wears the nice clothes, and always has her hair styled perfectly. The one with the perfectly done make-up and the jewelry and fancy perfume. The woman who doesn't have freckles in weird places, like some sort of ugly brand. I mean, everybody else does..."
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A moment of looking at her, then. "All I want is you, Red." It's a very rare moment of his inner desire and wants being displayed, and normally it's kept under lock and key for nobody to find, but when she's acting like this...
Desperate times, call for desperate measures. "You aren't one or the other, you're Jean, and I want you. Plain and simple. No matter what the hell you think you look like."
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"But... There are so many things... That you don't know about me. And if you knew..." You'd run. Run far and hard and fast. Just like Scott..."It's not just what I think, Logan. It's what everyone thinks. Trust me, I'm a telepath, I know these things. People would see you with me, if I was like this, and they would pity you..." Jean looks down, studying her hands. "Do you know that Scott would only make love with the lights out? That he'd shove me out of bed early every morning to shower, to look perfect for the day? The first time he saw me without make-up, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. The Professor-" Her voice breaks for a moment, then she continues. "The Professor used to send me into town for a whole day to try to deal with my appearance problem. I mean, after all, why on earth would he want to sl-" Her jaw snaps shut, her eyes wide and firghtened. She'd slipped. Said too much. Gotten upset and started to tell ( ... )
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She's right, and he's up and to her before she can react, one hand going to grasp her by the wrist. Logan's voice is urgent and he's in a mild state of shock, the desire to hunt down Xavier and kill him, several times broils up in his blood and his eyes.
"You...he..."
She's a victim, His brain says. Like you were. She didn't want it and neither did you.
He looks away for a moment, closing his eyes. "My God, Jean," If I had only known...if I had...done...something.... He swallows and looks back at her, softening a little. It's not pity, but it's something that he'll only give her.
"I don't care what they think," He says, then reaches down and puts one of her hands on the side of his face. "Really, I don't." He reaches for her other hand and does break her gaze. He rests it on his shoulder for the time being. "I don't. I don't care. You..."
You matter.
He can't say it, but he can think it, and he knows she can read it in his eyes. She only has to move her hand...
"See for yourself, Red." He whispers.
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Jean's voice is quiet, then gains strength as she continues to speak. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think that I was..." Easy... Cheap... Dirty... A whore... "I didn't want you to know how easy I was. How cheap and dirty and... Despicable, I am. I was. For just giving in. For not fighting. For staying and being his... For not running away or doing anything other then what I did..." Her face is deathly pale, and her body is tensed. She's expecting him to turn her away, yell, slap her. Something. To lash out at her somehow. Which is why his reaction suprises her even more ( ... )
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