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."
Jean begins to mentally berate herself. The last thing she needs to be doing is worrying him. Or telling him exactly how often she's up this late at night. Which is just like telling him how little sleep she actually gets. Of course, she's not wearing make-up right now, so he can probably see the bags big enough to pack a movie stars wardrobe in. She's watching him out of the corner of her eye, every muscle tense, every nerve on edge, waiting. For the teasing, the taunting, the bold statement telling her just how horrible she looks right now. How improper. What a bad example she's setting just by existing.
"I'm sorry, what? I... Missed that. What'd you just say?" Her attention focuses on him again, and she finds a small smile tugging at her lips. He just looks so... Endearing. And God how he would hate that word. But it fits him so well right now. With his hair sticking up like a character in a cartoon who has just stuck their finger in a light socket, and his bare feet sticking out of his ragged workout pants. Has she ever seen his bare feet before? Aside from in the lab when she was undressing him that first day and trying so hard not to stare at... Other things. No. No, she hasn't. Nor has she ever seen him looking this casual, and relaxed. Like he's at home, she realizes. He really is making himself at home here... "Do you like the Marx Brothers? This is one of my favorite movies..."
"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.
"You're right. It's not early. It's late. And I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry, Logan." Her eyebrows arch slightly, but she doesn't say anything. Just watches as he drops down next to her on the couch, puts his bare feet up on the coffeetable. Again, she marvels at how relaxed he seems, compared to his normal wariness and tension.
Jean smiles. "I could restart the movie. We could watch it together... I mean, if you'd like to. I don t want to force you to watch 'meaningless lowbrow humor that plays to the lowest denominator' if you don't want to, but... Well, I like it..." Her voice gets bitter when she quotes something Scott said to her several years ago, then trails off and gets small at the end. Maybe he'd laugh at her, but he hadn't yet. And that was something...
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..."
Jean turns to look at him again, flashing him that soft smile at his touch. "Well, at least you'll give it a chance. Watching movies like this was my refuge as a child, when things got-" She cuts herself off. Reminds herself that he doesn't need to hear about those things, know about them. "Most of the people here... They consider this kind of humor beneath them. Scott made quite a few cutting remarks about the kind of person who'd watch films like these in our time together."
A few moments pass. Jean studies Logan out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. His outer calm was welcome, but at the same time so infuriating. Why couldn't he just come out and tell her? Tell her that he liked her better the way everyone else sees her. Perfect and poised and polished. She flips suddenly on the couch to face him. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"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 him exactly what she'd wanted to hide from him the most. And he was not a stupid man. Far from it. She had about two seconds to turn and run as fast as she could, before he grabbed her. Held her there and asked all the wrong questions. Found out just how horrible she truly was. You're a sick girl, Jean. A dirty, nasty girl. A bad girl, who needs to be punished. Just the kind I like...
The memory kept her forzen for just a moment too long. She started to bolt from the room, but it was too late.
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.
She doesn't realize that he's moved. Not until she feels his touch on her skin, his stubble against her palm. Then she meets his eyes. Let's his words flow over her and surround her with warmth. This one man, who can take everything that she's ever known or felt and turn it on it's head. "You... Don't care...?" Jean can feel the warmth of tears welling up, but she tries to blink them away. She can see what he's offering. "You want me to... To read your mind...? Are you... Are you serious...?"
Slowly she raises her other hand to his face, and allows her eyes to close. She releases her gift and opens their minds to each other. This is different from the first time. She can see into his mind, read his thoughts, hear the words that he can't say. See what he wants her to see.
But he can also see into her mind, see everything. Flashes of a tiny girl, curled up with big serious looking books. An older girl, maybe ten, caught in a whirlwind of other's thoughts and emotions. The same girl, gaunt with chalky skin curled up in the corner of a room in an insane asylum, her mind filled with the thoughts of the insane, drowning out her own thoughts. Same girl, released from the asylum, a man in a wheelchair at her side, his eyes filled with a darker emotion. The gawky pre-teen with carroty hair being called into a dark paneled office. The mans words cutting into her, "I've helped you, my dear. Now you must help me... If you tell a single soul, I'll have you sent back to the asylum faster then you would ever believe possible...". Logan can see the tears and the pain, the hatred and the terror. He can also see the younger Scott, his shining presence, his adoration for the man she feared. College aged Jean, with constant demands on her time. The criticism. At family gatherings. Back at the Academy. The lonliness, the secrets hidden from the man she loved. The joy of embracing death because it would all end. She could rest. The pain of resurrection. The professor arranging her short stay in an asylum as soon as she was back, then the rounds with the psychiatrist that he referred her. Coming home, praying desperately for open arms to welcome her back. Finding that not only did Scott cheat on her with Emma when she was alive, but that he was staying with her. She was more perfect then Jean. The breakdown, the spell, the wish, the other world where everyone's faults were exaggerated. Her return. Self-loathing. Self-hatred. The desire to inflict pain, to hurt herself. The disgust at her eflection. Every flaw. The stream of names that she calls herself every day. Tramp, tease, trick, whore, slut... And her laying awake every night. Waiting for his nightmares. Slipping inside his mind to push the dreams away, to replace them with a kinder dream. Her waking from a deep sleep, because she sensed his suffering. Like sleeping with a mental eye or ear open. Her fear that he would see her as she sees herself, push her away, hurt her, use her because she would let him then cast her away. Hate her. Every reason for every mystifying act that Jean Grey had ever made was suddenly laid bare before him. She had exposed her soul to the man standing before her.
Gently, slowly, she broke the contact, and stood there, watching him. Waiting for what he would say. What he would do. Now that he knew everything...
Logan doesn't know what to say for a moment. Just blinks as she removes her hands from the sides of his face, his mind stunned into a silence. He doesn't know what to say, because there's so much.
Anger. The urge to find Xavier and make him pay. The blood in his body is practically humming with his emotions, his eyes dark, the animal in him is screaming to be let free. He forces it to settle, and he can feel it in his stomach, angry and ruthless. Angry with Scott. Emma not so much, but her as well.
Frustration. The desire to do something, anything, anything at all to make this right, even though deep down he knows nothing can fix this. All he can do to her is prove that she's wrong. But will she give him the chance? To fix things?
Confusion. Why didn't she tell him? How did he miss the signs? Why did he trust the man as much as he did? The Professor had never been one of his favorite people to begin with, much too optimistic about things...but this...he should have seen...
And then there was the bit about him. And his nightmares. Was that shame he felt, somewhere deep down? Fear? Loss of trust and privacy? He's not sure but he doesn't like it, then at the same time, he does, because someone with her powers, her abilities, gives a shit about him.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Looks away, looks back, looks away again. "I...Jean." It's a rare moment when he's the one who can't find words to express what he's feeling, but it's here and it's now.
A swallow. His mouth feels dry. He can hear his heart pounding in his head, blood rushing through his ears, everything on high alert. He shakes his head. "I...you're not...you didn't deserve...any of that."
"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."
Jean begins to mentally berate herself. The last thing she needs to be doing is worrying him. Or telling him exactly how often she's up this late at night. Which is just like telling him how little sleep she actually gets. Of course, she's not wearing make-up right now, so he can probably see the bags big enough to pack a movie stars wardrobe in. She's watching him out of the corner of her eye, every muscle tense, every nerve on edge, waiting. For the teasing, the taunting, the bold statement telling her just how horrible she looks right now. How improper. What a bad example she's setting just by existing.
"I'm sorry, what? I... Missed that. What'd you just say?" Her attention focuses on him again, and she finds a small smile tugging at her lips. He just looks so... Endearing. And God how he would hate that word. But it fits him so well right now. With his hair sticking up like a character in a cartoon who has just stuck their finger in a light socket, and his bare feet sticking out of his ragged workout pants. Has she ever seen his bare feet before? Aside from in the lab when she was undressing him that first day and trying so hard not to stare at... Other things. No. No, she hasn't. Nor has she ever seen him looking this casual, and relaxed. Like he's at home, she realizes. He really is making himself at home here... "Do you like the Marx Brothers? This is one of my favorite movies..."
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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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"You're right. It's not early. It's late. And I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry, Logan." Her eyebrows arch slightly, but she doesn't say anything. Just watches as he drops down next to her on the couch, puts his bare feet up on the coffeetable. Again, she marvels at how relaxed he seems, compared to his normal wariness and tension.
Jean smiles. "I could restart the movie. We could watch it together... I mean, if you'd like to. I don
t want to force you to watch 'meaningless lowbrow humor that plays to the lowest denominator' if you don't want to, but... Well, I like it..." Her voice gets bitter when she quotes something Scott said to her several years ago, then trails off and gets small at the end. Maybe he'd laugh at her, but he hadn't yet. And that was something...
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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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Jean turns to look at him again, flashing him that soft smile at his touch. "Well, at least you'll give it a chance. Watching movies like this was my refuge as a child, when things got-" She cuts herself off. Reminds herself that he doesn't need to hear about those things, know about them. "Most of the people here... They consider this kind of humor beneath them. Scott made quite a few cutting remarks about the kind of person who'd watch films like these in our time together."
A few moments pass. Jean studies Logan out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. His outer calm was welcome, but at the same time so infuriating. Why couldn't he just come out and tell her? Tell her that he liked her better the way everyone else sees her. Perfect and poised and polished. She flips suddenly on the couch to face him. "Doesn't it bother you?"
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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 him exactly what she'd wanted to hide from him the most. And he was not a stupid man. Far from it. She had about two seconds to turn and run as fast as she could, before he grabbed her. Held her there and asked all the wrong questions. Found out just how horrible she truly was. You're a sick girl, Jean. A dirty, nasty girl. A bad girl, who needs to be punished. Just the kind I like...
The memory kept her forzen for just a moment too long. She started to bolt from the room, but it was too late.
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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.
She doesn't realize that he's moved. Not until she feels his touch on her skin, his stubble against her palm. Then she meets his eyes. Let's his words flow over her and surround her with warmth. This one man, who can take everything that she's ever known or felt and turn it on it's head. "You... Don't care...?" Jean can feel the warmth of tears welling up, but she tries to blink them away. She can see what he's offering. "You want me to... To read your mind...? Are you... Are you serious...?"
Slowly she raises her other hand to his face, and allows her eyes to close. She releases her gift and opens their minds to each other. This is different from the first time. She can see into his mind, read his thoughts, hear the words that he can't say. See what he wants her to see.
But he can also see into her mind, see everything. Flashes of a tiny girl, curled up with big serious looking books. An older girl, maybe ten, caught in a whirlwind of other's thoughts and emotions. The same girl, gaunt with chalky skin curled up in the corner of a room in an insane asylum, her mind filled with the thoughts of the insane, drowning out her own thoughts. Same girl, released from the asylum, a man in a wheelchair at her side, his eyes filled with a darker emotion. The gawky pre-teen with carroty hair being called into a dark paneled office. The mans words cutting into her, "I've helped you, my dear. Now you must help me... If you tell a single soul, I'll have you sent back to the asylum faster then you would ever believe possible...". Logan can see the tears and the pain, the hatred and the terror. He can also see the younger Scott, his shining presence, his adoration for the man she feared. College aged Jean, with constant demands on her time. The criticism. At family gatherings. Back at the Academy. The lonliness, the secrets hidden from the man she loved. The joy of embracing death because it would all end. She could rest. The pain of resurrection. The professor arranging her short stay in an asylum as soon as she was back, then the rounds with the psychiatrist that he referred her. Coming home, praying desperately for open arms to welcome her back. Finding that not only did Scott cheat on her with Emma when she was alive, but that he was staying with her. She was more perfect then Jean. The breakdown, the spell, the wish, the other world where everyone's faults were exaggerated. Her return. Self-loathing. Self-hatred. The desire to inflict pain, to hurt herself. The disgust at her eflection. Every flaw. The stream of names that she calls herself every day. Tramp, tease, trick, whore, slut... And her laying awake every night. Waiting for his nightmares. Slipping inside his mind to push the dreams away, to replace them with a kinder dream. Her waking from a deep sleep, because she sensed his suffering. Like sleeping with a mental eye or ear open. Her fear that he would see her as she sees herself, push her away, hurt her, use her because she would let him then cast her away. Hate her. Every reason for every mystifying act that Jean Grey had ever made was suddenly laid bare before him. She had exposed her soul to the man standing before her.
Gently, slowly, she broke the contact, and stood there, watching him. Waiting for what he would say. What he would do. Now that he knew everything...
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Anger. The urge to find Xavier and make him pay. The blood in his body is practically humming with his emotions, his eyes dark, the animal in him is screaming to be let free. He forces it to settle, and he can feel it in his stomach, angry and ruthless. Angry with Scott. Emma not so much, but her as well.
Frustration. The desire to do something, anything, anything at all to make this right, even though deep down he knows nothing can fix this. All he can do to her is prove that she's wrong. But will she give him the chance? To fix things?
Confusion. Why didn't she tell him? How did he miss the signs? Why did he trust the man as much as he did? The Professor had never been one of his favorite people to begin with, much too optimistic about things...but this...he should have seen...
And then there was the bit about him. And his nightmares. Was that shame he felt, somewhere deep down? Fear? Loss of trust and privacy? He's not sure but he doesn't like it, then at the same time, he does, because someone with her powers, her abilities, gives a shit about him.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Looks away, looks back, looks away again. "I...Jean." It's a rare moment when he's the one who can't find words to express what he's feeling, but it's here and it's now.
A swallow. His mouth feels dry. He can hear his heart pounding in his head, blood rushing through his ears, everything on high alert. He shakes his head. "I...you're not...you didn't deserve...any of that."
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