Title: Weakness
Author: Diebin
Rated: Ehh.. light R for language and a lot of dirty thoughts. :D
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I swear, nothing.
Pairing: W/R (Duh. Is it ever anything else? Okay, maybe sometime...)
Archive: All hail the WRFA
Summary: Mystique tests Wolverine and discovers his one true weakness.
Notes: You knew it was coming. Damn E! Damn their teaser. Damn them all.
Also, this is written PRE X2 Viewing, so yes. I'm making it all up and
know it's not right. But hey. Fanfic. It's my right. :p

~*~

She knows I can smell her, even before I open my eyes. She smells good,
surprisingly good--like fresh spring after the rain. She smells soft and
feminine. She smells like someone you'd want to wake up next to, someone
safe.

It's always seemed a little surreal.

She knows I can smell her, but it doesn't really matter. Whoever chained
me down didn't want me getting back up--though fuck knows I've tried. I
spent two hours fighting against the restraints, but that was all. Two
hours was long enough to know that I wasn't getting out until someone
let me out.

I can feel her now, touching my leg, letting her fingers run up my side.

I don't open my eyes, because I don't want confirmation that any of us
have gone over to the other side. The side of the government with their
needles and their tests and their little white rooms. . .

The sudden weight across my hips startles me into opening my eyes.

Mystique is straddling my body, the smile on her face predatory.

I close my eyes, and ignore her. Ignore her as she pushes her body
against mine, ignore her as she moves up against me.

I don't ignore her when her tongue swipes across my ear. "Get the fuck
off of me!"

She pulls back, a little smiling teasing at her lips. "Not the right
flavor?"

White hair spills over her shoulders, over a chest showing well shaped
breasts above a scandalously low cut shirt. It brushes my face as she
leans closer. "Is this better?"

"I said, get the fuck--"

There are lips against mine, and damn that woman is enthusiastic.

I bite her.

She laughs. "Still not good enough, hmm?" I can see the change, watch
the red hairs grow through the white, see the skin grow pale and the
nose grow narrow. Jean stares down at me, laughing. "Do you like
red-heads?"

"Fuck you." I buck my hips, trying to dislodge her, trying to spill her
to the floor.

She laughs and clenches her legs around me, shaking her head. "You can't
get rid of me that easy."

I can't get rid of her. . . but I can't figure out what she's doing
here, either. She's certainly not a member of their military
organization. The men who have me chained to a table like a lab rat
wouldn't be too fond of Mystique with her blue skin and yellow eyes.

Maybe she tricked them into letting her in.

Maybe they know she's here and are letting her torture me for fun.

Shit.

She leans forward again, one hand on either side of my head. Her hair
changes again, darkening, lengthening. Chunks of white hair tickles my
cheeks as Rogue's lips pout at me. "You want me to go?"

"Fuck you." I want to spit at her. . . but I can't. I know it's not
Rogue, I /know/ it's not, but I can't.

She sits up, and gloved hands run down a smooth, young body. "Is this
what you want?" Rogue's voice drawls. "Dirty old man . . ."

"I don't want shit from you."

Those lips turn up into a smile, and I clench my teeth as a well-curved
ass presses into my hips. "Liar."

She's right above me again, and I'm looking into brown eyes that don't
hold the least hint of yellow. "So that's your weakness . . ."

I blink. "What?"

She kisses me.

It smells wrong, but it feels better than I want it to. I can almost
pretend--almost pretend that it's Rogue, that she's safe, that I'm
touching her.

I /want/ to be touching her.

And suddenly I am touching her, my hands on her hips as she bites my
lower lip, grinding against me. My fingers clench against her waist,
finding bare skin between her shirt and her pants, and it's the bare
skin that shocks me.

Our positions are reversed before she knows it, Rogue's body pinned
under mine, my fist to her throat--but suddenly I'm not thinking about
sex. "How did you get my arms unbound?"

Rogue's face smiles up at me. "A present from Magneto. I suppose you
haven't heard, being locked up in here. . . but we're on the same side
for now."

"Bullshit. If you were here to rescue me, what was with the peep show?"
I press my fist tighter against her throat in obvious threat, but she
just laughs.

"We're on the same side . . . /for now/." Rogue's face disappears as
suddenly as it had reappeared, and I'm staring down at myself. "It never
hurts to know an enemies weakness."

I should be disturbed by how much easier I find it to plunge claws into
my own throat, but as far as I'm concerned, it's all to the good right
now. "And if I kill you now?"

My features blur into Mystique's, and she smiles. "And when go back
without me? Magneto has your precious Rogue within his grasp."

I swear.

"Be a good boy, and let's go meet our friends." Her smile turns vicious,
and I'm staring down at Rogue again. "Unless you'd like to play first?"
Rogue's drawl is soft, husky. "You could have her without guilt . . ."

I stand up and start towards the door, mocking laughter following behind
me. I've given away my weakness to the one person who might use it. I've
put Rogue in danger.

When this is over, I'm taking her and leaving. Fuck learning to grow up
and be a good little mutant. Fuck being a hero.

I'll take her somewhere safe. And then she won't be my weakness.

She'll be my strength.

~*~
FIN
~*~

OUT OF CHARACTER (notes)
Minisinoo


Summary:  Scott and Sambuca, surprises for Logan, Jean pursued, and
the jitterbug.  Logan POV, c.6000 words

Warning:  Light slash (no sex); ADULT themes

SPECIAL NOTES:  I was asked, after writing CLIMB THE WIND, why I’ve
only ever shown Scott and Logan as friends, and was I anti-slash?
Not at all.  But despite the wonderful on-screen chemistry between
Jackman and Marsden, I find it tough to spin out a relationship
between the characters of Wolverine and Cyclops in which they don’t
act 'out of character.'  Yet it was a challenge.  This is probably
the most negative Jean I’ve written, but remember, you’re not hearing
*her* side of it.  Jealous Scott can be a real pill.

This tale fits into THE MAN BEHIND RED SHADES series, about five
months after events in "Red Hair and Quesadillas," but it also
contains (brief) references to "Of Teletubbies and Mutants on
Saturday Morning" and "All My Relations."  It’s from Logan's point of
view, an AU on a RED SHADES story which hasn’t been written yet --
and now won't be.  I've decided to tweak that series a tad, then take
RED SHADES into X2 canon, which means I won't be writing the story
the way I'd originally intended.

That's why I'm releasing this story now.  I've been sitting on it
literally for two years.  It’s a bit wacko when you start AU-ing your
own stuff, but I suppose you could say this is a narrative answer to
Robert Frost’s "two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I
could not travel both, and being one traveler, long  I stood, ...."
Well, I get to travel both.  This story leaps off of one that would
have ended positively for Scott and Jean, BUT what would happen if
....

If you prefer HTML, this, and previous stories can be found here:
http://www.themedicinewheel.net/series/redshades.html



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OUT OF CHARACTER
Minisinoo


(see notes)
----------

“Logan, what makes you think you know *jack-shit* about me?”

Scott’s words.  They take me by surprise.

I’d stumbled over him outside on the deck that overlooked the rear
gardens, alone, drinking something cloudy white, and God it smelled
like licorice.  He was watching the sunset, gorgeous orange-pink
through the pines, though I don’t think that registered with him.
His feet were bare and dirty from summer mud, and he was dressed in
torn jeans and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off -- not
standard Summers wear.  His face had frozen into an expression like a
truck in reverse.  “What do you want?” he’d asked without looking at
me.

Caught by surprise, I’d gone for the tease.  “Cyclops drinking?
What’s the world coming to?”

And he’d replied, “Logan, what makes you think you know *jack-shit*
about me?”

He was right.  I didn’t know much.  But I did know a few things.  I
knew he was hurting.  And I knew he had good reason.  So instead of
snapping back, I sat down beside him on the back step.  “What is that
stuff anyway?”  I nodded at the drink in his hand.

“Sambuca.  It’s Italian.  I guess my roots are showing.”

“You’re Italian?”  That, I hadn’t expected.

“My mother’s mother came from Turin.”

“I thought Sambuca was a jazz café in Atlanta?”

“You been to Atlanta, Canuck?”

“I been all over, One Eye.”

“Been to Italy?”

“Not that I recall.  But there’s a lot I don’t recall.”

He glanced down, stared at the liquid in his glass.  “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Reminding you.”

I shook my head.  “Don’t apologize.  I’m used to it.”  But that
didn’t mean I liked it.

We sat then in silence.  The sun went down, lighting the pines on
fire.  I pulled a cigar out of my pocket and bit the end off.  I had
two with me and offered him the other.  He laughed at me.  “Not one
of my vices, Logan.”

“So what are your vices, hot-shot?”

“None of your goddamn business.  We all have vices but we never talk
about the real ones, do we?”

It was a more serious turn than I think either of us had intended.
He covered it with a drink of the liqueur.  I covered it by lighting
my smoke, enjoying the rush of nicotine in my blood.

“Christ, that stinks,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face
and moving away from the cloud of cigar smoke.

“So does that shit in your hand.”

“It smells like anise, Logan.  That’s a spice.”

“I know what anise is, jackass.  I wasn’t born in a barn.  That don’t
make it a normal flavor for alcohol.  It’s namby-pamby shit.”

He snorted.  “You ever actually drink any to give an informed
opinion?  And it’s a perfectly normal flavor for alcohol in Italy or
Greece.  Don’t knock what you haven’t tried.”

“It ain’t whiskey.”

“Thank God.”

I don’t know why I did it, but I held out a hand in his direction.
“Okay, give it over.”

He stared at me a moment, then passed me the glass.  I held my breath
and took a drink.

It had more kick than I’d expected.  Still tasted terrible.  I
managed to swallow but handed him back the glass.  “Okay, so it’s not
namby-pamby.  Still tastes like black jelly beans on speed.”

He laughed.  “I like black jelly beans.”

“That your worst vice, One Eye?”

“Not by a long shot.”

More silence.  I smoked.  He drank, finishing his glass and going
back inside to fetch another, but returning with the whole bottle
instead.  The label, I noticed, was printed entirely in Italian.  Not
made for the import market.  He saw me squinting at it.  “Gift from
an old friend in Rome.  This is the real stuff.  It has hashish in
it.”

That made me sputter.  “And you’re drinking it?”

“You really do have a cockeyed view of me, don’t you?  I went to
Berkeley, Logan.  It’s not exactly a conservative school.  I had hair
down to my shoulders once.”

The mental image of Cyclops with hair to his shoulders was just . . .
laughable.  I shook my head.

He was carrying something in a small bowl, took out a couple.  Black
coffee beans.  “This is how you drink sambuca the right way.”  He
poured clear liquid into a shot glass, tossed the beans in his mouth,
bit down and then threw back the shot -- made a face, but the kind
you make when you like it.  He offered me the bowl of beans and the
glass.  “Wanna try?”

“You’re nuts.”

He shrugged and took the bowl back, repeated the process with the
beans and a shot.  I watched.  “You plan to drink that whole bottle?”

“Probably.”

“It won’t bring her back to you, One Eye.”

“Shut up, Wolverine.  She can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He stared at me in disbelief.  Or I think he did.  Hidden behind red,
it’s sometimes hard to judge.  “How the fuck would you know what I
mean?  Or what I feel?”  He turned away, faced back towards the pines
along the yard rear.  “If she wants to trade one Jew for another so
she can fuck kosher, *fine* with me.”

“You’re *Jewish*, too?”  That surprised me even more than him being
Italian.  “Since when is ‘Summers’ a Jewish name?”

“It's not.  But Momigliano is a very good Jewish name over in Turin.
People forget there are Italian Jews.  She fled Mussolini.  Jewish
descent passes through the female line.  My mother was her daughter
-- that makes me Jewish, if I wanted to claim it.  In fact, she
married an Irishman and converted to Catholicism, so I was raised
Catholic.  Good little altar boy turned apostate.  I don’t believe in
God, Logan.  If there’s a God, why the fuck did he make me like
this?”  He tapped his glasses, then drank a third shot of the
licorice stuff.  “But Ariel Gershowitz can go take a flying leap.
Being a Jew -- sort of -- I guess I can say that without being
accused of anti-Semitism.”

I shook my head.  “You’re drunk as a skunk, Summers.”  And vicious.

“Not yet.  But I plan to be.  If I run out of Sambuca, will you loan
me some of your whiskey?”

That made me laugh.  “Don’t you know better than to mix your liquor,
kid?  You’ll be drunk and sick.”

“I really don’t give a shit.”

“Yes, you do.  You wouldn’t be here with a bottle of
liquorice-flavored crap if you didn’t care.  Your ex-lover is out
with another man, so you’re getting drunk.  It’s a fucking cliché.”

“So, I’m a cliché.  But not a fucking one.  She made sure of that.”
He drank a fourth shot.  It was getting harder for him to swallow.  I
wondered how long until it all came back up again.  His mutation
didn’t include rapid metabolization of alcohol.  Or rather it did,
but in the wrong way.

Reaching across his lap, I removed the bottle from his right side to
my left.  “Give it a rest, kid.  I don’t wanna clean up your spew.”

“Who said I’d ask you to?”

“Don’t see anyone else around, do you?”

“Give me the bottle back, Logan.”

“No.”

“*Fuck you!*”  He erupted to his feet, fists balled, swaying a
little.  It was nearly dark now.  Crickets had started their night
music.  Somewhere, a barn owl hooted.

Slowly, I stood, too.  I kept the bottle in hand.  “You can have it
later.  Right now, let’s walk.”

He laughed, leaning over as if he were in pain.  “What is this?
Console-the-jilted-lover duty?”  His voice was deep and mean,
thrumming in his chest.  “You always show up when I screw up.  I
killed a guy.  There was Logan.  With whiskey.  Now Jean takes off
with somebody else, and here’s Logan.  But I brought the alcohol this
time.  Is there a merit badge for keeping watch over me?  I thought
you called *me* the Boy Scout.”

It would have been so easy to snap back but I didn’t.  He was hurt
and striking out at anything that presented itself.  “Let’s walk,” I
said again.  He didn’t argue further, just did as I said.  He wasn’t
steady, not by a long shot, but he wasn’t weaving as badly as I’d
expected.  I made sure we stayed on the path, since he was barefoot.
It meandered, not quite a labyrinth.  The roses wafted scent in the
dark, along with other flowers I didn’t recognize but which I was
sure Ororo could name down to the color variation.  There was a
gazebo at the maze center, screened from the mansion windows by
summer honeysuckle and morning glory, the latter’s blue buds closed
now to the night air.  Above, a full moon had punched a hole in hazy
overcast.

Benches wound around the perimeter of the gazebo interior.  “Sit,
kid,” I said.  He obeyed once more, knees spread and hands grasped
between them.  I sat down on a bench at about forty-five degrees,
plopped the bottle beside me and leaned my elbows on my knees.  But I
wasn’t sure what to say.  This wasn’t a situation in which I’d ever
have pictured myself.

After eight months in Canada chasing old leads that had gone to
ground like frightened foxes, I’d come home to Westchester.  Not a
lot had been different from when I’d left, except there was a new
adult around named Hank McCoy.  He hung from the ceiling and drove
everybody nuts spouting Shakespeare and chemical formulae in about
equal measure.  Weird dude, completely independent of the blue fur.
Otherwise, everything was status quo.  Ororo still presided over her
garden and her history classes.  Summers taught math, tinkered in the
garage, and mooned after Jean.  The Q-ball was as imperturbable as
always.  And Jean was Jean -- not interested in me.  Or rather,
interested, but not inclined to act on it.  I’d accepted that.  I
hadn’t come back for her.  I’d come back because wolverines need a
den, and people here actually seemed to care if I lived or died.  So
I taught kids how to defend themselves, looked after Marie, and tried
to stay out of Jean and Scott’s way.  Whatever tension I’d created
between them during my first visit had dried up and blown away.
After my return, it had been Jean who kept a polite distance to make
a point, while Summers was friendly.

They were happy.  And I was happy for them.  I might have pursued
Jean had she not made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t available,
and if I hadn’t come to like ol’ One Eye.  That didn’t devastate me.
I wasn’t in love with her.  I didn’t know her well enough to be in
love with her.  She represented an ideal for me, and I was in love
with that, I guess.

Then their relationship fell apart, and a love like theirs doesn’t
turn indifferent.  It goes into friendship, or into hate.  Theirs
took the latter, better-worn track.  I think the basic problems were
there before, but five months ago they went off to some conference in
Sweden and came home fighting.  They’d been fighting ever since,
though in all fairness, I think they had made an effort to keep their
private lives private.  But the quarrel was too big, she was too
annoyed, and he was too young.  And when you’re getting a divorce –
in essentials, if not in fact – it can become a war zone.  The final
split had occurred three weeks ago . . . three months before they
were supposed to have gotten married.  He’d moved out of their room
and things had calmed down at last.

Until tonight.

“So,” I said now.

“So,” he said back, then looked down and away.  “Fuck it.  What do
you want me to say to you?  Are you my Father Confessor?  I thought
Charles pretended to be that.”

“You’re pissed at him because he’s not siding with you.”

“He’s not siding with anybody.  And I’m not pissed at him.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, so maybe I am.  But I can’t blame him.  He can’t afford to
pick sides.”

“You play Wronged Husband very well.”

“*What the fuck do you expect?*  She brought him back to the goddamn
mansion!  If that’s not rubbing my nose in it, what is?”

“You’re not her fiancé any more, One Eye.  If she wants to see
somebody else, that’s her business.  And she didn’t bring him to the
mansion.  He came to pick her up.  You walked in at the wrong moment;
they were on their way out.  At least you didn’t cause a scene.”

“Not in front of the kids.”  He ran a hand over his lower face,
careful not to dislodge the glasses.  “Dammit!  I was with her for
four years, but suddenly I’m *not enough*!  *Dr.* Jean Grey got tired
of her pretty boy toy.  Jesus fucking Christ!”

He put his face in his hands, slid fingers up under his glasses to
rub at his eyes, then laughed.  “It’s usually the woman who gets
dumped after she puts her man through grad school.  But this is the
twenty-first century so I guess we get to reverse the genders.  I
gave up my degree for her, and it didn’t mean a damn thing.  Not a
goddamn thing.  She just used me.  I am such a fucking *idiot*.”

He was crying now, bent over, face hidden in his hands under his
glasses -- and I honestly didn’t know what to do.  First, he wasn’t
even close to the truth, but this wasn’t the time to point that out.
He wasn’t able to hear it.  His relationship with Jean had fallen
apart for a lot of reasons, and the age difference wasn’t the least
of them.  But he hadn’t been her boy toy, and she hadn’t used him.
From what I’d seen, she’d genuinely loved him -- loved him in the
face of unconscious social disapproval aimed at a woman almost nine
years her man’s senior.

But that hadn’t meant the relationship was a good one.

“You know,” he went on after a minute, “I can’t believe I’m talking
to you.”

“That makes two of us.  I can’t believe you’re talking to me,
either.”

He laughed at that, took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes.  It
was only the second time I’d ever seen him without them for more than
a few seconds, and the first time, I’d had other matters on my mind.
Namely Sabertooth intent on gutting me, and Marie screaming above us
while Magneto’s machine pulled the life out of her.  Now, I studied
his face.  He was pretty, like a girl.  Model looks with hollow
cheekbones that showed sharp in the night shadows.  Full mouth.
Deep-set eyes and long lashes under straight-drawn brows, and a small
straight nose.  It was the kind of face that had absolutely nothing
wrong with it.

Unless he opened his eyelids.

But he looked too damn much like a woman, and not like a woman at
all.  That, if I was honest with myself, was the root of my initial
dislike of Cyclops.  It wasn’t his discipline.  I had discipline, as
well.  Too many years I don’t remember in the military.  It wasn’t
even the prep-school attitude, though I found that annoying.  He’d
said to me once, “Some of us are proud of our gifts,” or some such
ingested-and-regurgitated rhetorical bullshit.  But I’d seen him when
he didn’t think he was being watched, seen him pull his glasses off
and rub his temples to ease the headaches that resulted from his
power.  I’d heard him swear in the night when he banged his shin on
something because ruby quartz blinded him in the dark.  I’d seen
stark panic on his face the one time St. John, chasing Bobby Drake,
had slammed into him in a hallway and knocked his glasses off.  He
hadn’t shut his eyes in time -- open only a second, but long enough
to blast a chunk of plaster and wainscoting, roughly ten by ten, out
of the hall wall.  Thank God no one had been in front of him.  He’d
sat on the bottom step of the staircase and tried not to show how
badly he’d been shaking.  “It doesn’t happen very often,” Storm had
told me, later.

“But it’s happened before?” I’d asked in return.

“Once or twice.  Yes.”

“Has he ever hurt anyone?”

“Not directly, no.  Once, he knocked down part of the ceiling on
Francesco and Hank, but neither were really hurt.”

That had given me new insight into Cyclops’ famous control.

In any case, the truth was that I’d disliked him initially for his
*face*.  He was pretty, and I’d assumed there was nothing else to
him.  That wasn’t fair and I knew it, and I’d learned better since.

“Who is this guy she’s seeing, anyway?” I asked now.

“A colleague of hers.”  He put his glasses back on and turned his
head sideways.  Distant light flashed off ruby quartz and he slapped
idly at a mosquito, then sighed and held his hand out.  “Logan, give
me the damn bottle.  I’m sobering up too much.”

I handed it over.  He unscrewed the cap and -- now without a shot
glass -- took a swig directly from the bottle and swallowed.  “So,
okay -- Gershowitz.  She met him at the conference in Stockholm.
Genetics research.  She gave a paper on one panel and chaired
another.  It’s no small thing, to get invited to chair a panel when
you’re only thirty-six.”  For a moment, an old pride laced his voice.
  “You remember.  We went together; we hadn’t had a vacation in --
what? -- over a year?  It was supposed to be our fucking vacation.”
And that wasn’t just anger, it was real pain, the kind that curls up
in your belly and digs in claws.

“That’s where she met him.  He chaired the panel on which she gave
her paper, and he was in the audience for the panel she chaired.  He
then proceeded to chase her all over the goddamn hotel.  Wherever she
was, there he was.  We’d go to dinner, and he’d show up.  She’d be
down by the pool, and he’d show up.  He didn’t even take me
seriously.  I was a joke.  At least you took me seriously enough to
fight with me.  He didn’t even do that.  He just flat *ignored* me.
I didn’t exist to him.  I wasn’t a physician, I wasn’t a researcher,
I didn’t have fucking “doctor” in front of my name, so I didn’t
fucking exist.  He’s forty, he’s charming, he has money, and he has
prestige in the field.  More, he can talk to her about what she’s
doing.  He understands it.  I haven’t got a damn *clue*, Logan.  I
don’t understand any of it.  She has to explain it to me like I’m a
sixth grader.  He interrupted our dinner one night, to ask her more
about her paper, and they just . . . they talked for three hours.
And I sat there.  I didn’t understand a word.”

He was crying again, drank more of the Sambuca.  I was amazed that
he’d tell me all this, and wondered how much he wasn’t telling.
Sometimes people could keep others at a distance by seeming to
confide a good deal.  Still, just because he was talking didn’t mean
he was being honest.  He wasn’t above hyperbole, and wounded pride
could blind a man, make him pull down his shell until he couldn’t see
what was really happening around him.  I should know.  Yet for the
first time, I found myself annoyed at Jeannie.  I understood her
position, but I was angry with her all the same.  Maybe this
Gershowitz’s interest was genuine, or maybe it was just flattery to
get between her legs, but I’d have expected better of her.  She was a
goddamn telepath; hadn’t she felt how it had hurt Summers?  Then
again, I’d come to realize that telepaths could be as dense as the
rest of us -- maybe more so because they were schooled into relying
on that crutch.  They didn’t always see what was right under their
noses.

“After the conference,” Summers went on, “we came home and he went
back to Tel Aviv.  They corresponded by email.  Every damn day.  I’d
go to bed at night and she’d be up writing to him still.  Four or
five letters a day.

“I read her mail once.  She doesn’t keep a password lock on her
computer in our room, so I opened her browser and I read it.”  I
could feel him watching me, see the faint red glow that came from his
eyes.  “Does that surprise you?  I told you I had vices.  Curiosity
is chief among them.  Or maybe I just felt like twisting the knife.”

I was almost afraid to ask, but did anyway.  “Love letters?”

“Actually, no.  Mostly, it was about their research -- like she’d
told me it was -- and some simple chitchat, too.  She was writing to
him about a little spat between Jubilee and Rogue a few months back.
It blew over.  She’d worried about it more than I had.  For kids that
age, everything’s a crisis.  Jean has a tendency to get caught up in
that with them, maybe because of the telepathy.  Anyway, there was
nothing incriminating in the letters, not from her.  There were a few
flatteries from him, but nothing more than I’d heard him tell her in
Stockholm.”  He took another drink of the Sambuca.  “She wasn’t lying
to me then.  I never bothered to look a second time, and for a while,
I thought maybe it’d be okay.  Just blow over like the mess with
Jubes and Rogue.

“Then about two months ago, he showed up in New York.  To do some
research, or so he said.  Bullshit.  He came to see her.  He came to
take her away from me.  And he succeeded.”  The last word cracked and
he didn’t continue for a long while.  Instead,  his jaw worked
helplessly as he struggled to get control of his voice.  Finally, he
went on, “He asked her to help with his work.  The professor agreed
to ‘loan’ her to him, because it involved mutant genetics.  Oh,
that’s the other thing.  He knew she was a mutant and didn’t care.
He found her ‘fascinating.’  Sounds like a bad line from Star Trek.
So they worked together on research for this major paper they wanted
to publish.  Sometimes she spent days away from the mansion.”  His
mouth had gone hard, full lips thinning to a line.

“I’m not sure when they started sleeping together.  I never asked
her.  She never told me.  I don’t think I want to know.  I suspected
it a long time before she admitted to it.  She broke up with me
before she admitted to it.  She said the break-up was because we’d
‘grown apart.’  Jesus fucking Christ.  What kind of idiot asshole
does she take me for?”  He drank again, but spit it out that time,
screwed the cap on and set it aside.  “I can’t drink any more, or I
will be sick.”

I rattled around in my brain for something to say.  The hell of it
was that I didn’t think Jeannie had lied to him about growing apart.
She had a career, research, interests.  They coincided with Xavier’s
dream, but they were *hers*, beyond that.  She and Xavier just
happened to be going in the same direction; it made sense that they
walk together.  But Summers had invested everything in Xavier’s
dream, and in his relationship with Jean.  He was Cyclops, leader of
the X-Men, Mr. Summers math teacher at Mutant High, and lover of Dr.
Jean Grey.   I wondered what *Scott* cared about, or if he even knew?
  Maybe, at the base of things, he was as rootless as I felt most of
the time.  For all his force of personality, he didn’t have Jean’s
drive.  A woman doesn’t get a medical degree *and* a Ph.D. unless
she’s got drive.  Even before I’d left for Canada, I’d found her down
in the lab at all hours, playing with this idea or running that test.
  Summers did his job out of duty and loyalty and gratitude.  Jeannie
did it out of love and passion.

And ironically, while I was drawn to her passion, I better understood
his sense of duty.

But I still didn’t have anything useful to say to him, nothing that
he was ready to hear, anyway.  Instead, I got up and moved to sit
beside him.  I didn’t touch.  He folded his hands in front of him and
stared at the thumbs.  Then abruptly, he reached up to tap his teeth.
   “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Checking to see how trashed I am.  Pretty much.  I can’t feel my
teeth.  When I can’t feel my teeth any more, I’m trashed.”

I chuckled.  “You don’t lose your sense of humor.”

“Nope.  Never lose that.”  He sat up and leaned back against a beam
of the white gazebo.  “Though if you listen to my students, they
swear I don’t have one.”

“They know better.  But it’s part of the fun to pretend you’re a
tight-ass, like it’s part of the fun to pretend I’m the Big, Bad
Wolverine.”

“And you’re not?”

“What do you think?”

He smiled, the first real smile I’d seen on him all night.  “I think
Logan likes to pretend, too.”

“And what does Scott pretend?”

“Damned if he knows.”

“I think he pretends he’s Cyclops and can’t cry because Odysseus
blinded him.”

Laughter now.  “You know *Homer*, Logan?”

“You think I’m an uneducated brute.  But I read Homer.  I remember .
. . . ”  I paused, looked off.  “I don’t remember a lot.  But I
remember a few things.  From before.  I remember sitting in a tent,
with shells going off in the distance, reading the ILIAD -- Achilles
sulking in his tent.  Damn spoiled brat.  I remember a Vietnamese
girl in a red dress, younger than Rogue, trying to solicit sex from
me so she could feed her family.  I remember villages burning, but I
don’t know if they did it, or if we did it.”

“You were in ‘Nam?”

“I think so.  But I was in a war before that, too.  I have older
memories, sounds of buzz bombs going overhead.  Artillery guns -- the
big kind they used then.  I remember K rations.  And I remember a
piece of cheese I kept in my helmet while we were doing anti-aircraft
in Antwerp, shared it with a friend.  Damn helmet stank of cheese
from then on out.  I can’t stand the smell of cheese now.  And I know
how to jitterbug.”

“*Really?*”

“Yeah.  I didn’t realize I knew, until I showed Marie the other day.
Swing’s back in.  I taught her the jitterbug.  Marie, Kitty and
Jubilee.”

He actually *giggled*.  Definitely drunk.  “I’d never figure you for
a dancer.”

“Good fighters are good dancers.  It’s all about balance.”

“And rhythm.”

“That, too.”

“I have rhythm.  I may not have Jean, but I still have rhythm.”

God, he *was* drunk.  I just laughed at him.  “You’re going to have a
hangover tomorrow, is what you’re going to have.”

He sighed and leaned against the beam again.  “Probably.  So I’ll
have rhythm, a headache, a hard-on, and no Jean to take care of any
of it.”  He put a hand over his face.  “Shit.  Sorry.  That’s not
even funny.”

He dropped the hand and turned his head to face me.  Light from a
distant spot flashed on red and lit half his face, like a harlequin.
Beautiful boy.

We stared at each other too long then, and a subtle change raised my
nape hair, like a charge in the atmosphere before lightning strikes
overhead.  Throat dry, I had no words.  I could smell anise strong on
his breath, and beneath that, half-awake desire.  He really did have
a hard-on.  Random alcohol-induced arousal, probably.  But it was
there.  I found myself staring at his mouth -- which was way out of
line.  I wasn’t the one who’d drank half a bottle of Italian liqueur.
  But it had also been months since I’d been to bed with anything
besides my own hand.

He leaned over, almost overbalanced into me, and kissed me.  I didn’t
jerk away.  I didn’t respond -- much -- but I didn’t jerk away.  When
he pulled back, I said softly, “Where in hell did that come from,
Scott?”  But in all honesty, I knew.  I’d smelled arousal on him
before when I’d been around.  I’d found it amusing.

Now, he said, “Like I told you before -- you don’t know jack shit
about me, Logan.”

Maybe that was bravado.  But maybe it was the truth, too.  I didn’t
know jack shit about myself half the time, either.  But I did know
that, in the sixteen or so years of memories that I did have, none of
them included kissing a man.  Which made the hard on beneath my own
belt as shocking as his kiss had been, as shocking as the fact that I
didn’t want to slug him.  I wanted to kiss him again.  He had a soft
mouth.  So I did kiss him.  And he responded like he knew what he was
doing.  Hand on the back of my head, fingers threading through my
hair.  But he wasn’t gentle.  He bit my lower lip, and it *hurt*, but
I liked it.  Lips like a girl, but he didn’t kiss like one.

And something dim in the attic of my past opened a chest and climbed
out.  Maybe I hadn’t slept with a guy in the past sixteen years.  But
somewhere back there, I’d known this.  The sandpaper scratch of
five-o’clock shadow on my face, the strength of male hands on my
head, another flat chest pressed to mine.

Alcohol and hormones and loneliness.  That’s all this was, for him.
I think.  For me?  I don’t know.  Something strange.  He reminded me
of someone, someone I’d known.  Someone I’d loved like a brother,
like another self.  Someone who’d watched my back, and whose back I’d
watched.  Except for once.  One afternoon.  Then it had been someone
I’d watched blown apart.

I jerked away, let out a sound like a sob.  My whole chest felt
crushed.  He’d frozen, hands still on my head.  Then he dropped the
hands and moved away.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Bad idea.”  And he got up,
collected his bottle of Sambuca and half stumbled out the door of the
gazebo, down the three wooden steps.  His face was a study in shame
and guilt.  But I was still too shaken to do more than stare after
him.  He paused, one hand gripping a beam for balance, and looked
back at me.  “*Damn it to hell.*  Logan, I’m sorry.  Really.  That
was completely out of character.  I’m drunk.  It won’t happen again,
I promise.”  And he headed up the path, mostly in a straight line.

He’d said that curiosity was his vice.

It’s mine, too.

Getting up, I followed him down the path, grabbing his wrist and
dragging him along -- mostly unresisting -- until we’d exited the
back gardens altogether, followed a little well-worn path to the
boathouse overlooking the lake.  It was the place he and Jean had
meant to fix up after their marriage.  It was half-finished.  And
unlocked.

Shoving the door open, I yanked him inside.  He wasn’t resisting any
more.  He seemed fey, like he knew everything was changing, crumbling
apart around him.  I backed him up against a wall, my hands flat on
the rough-finished wood paneling on either side of his neck.  Two
inches separated our mouths.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like that?  And don’t tell me Jean.”

“Don’t be an ass.  I dated people before I met Jean.  And after,
too.”  A pause.  “Maybe I know a little more than you think I do.”

‘Jack-shit,’ he’d said.  It was starting to feel like that was all I
knew.  “You kissed men before?” I asked.

Twisted smile.  “Yes.  I’ve kissed men before.  The first person I
had sex with was another guy.  Most of them have been women, though.”

That took me a while to digest.  “Spell that out.  In plain English.
No hedging.”

“I’m bisexual, Logan.  Dead in the middle.  Most people prefer one or
the other.  I honestly don’t care.”  He looked away for the first
time, off over my left shoulder.  I could tell because the direction
of the dim red glow behind had shifted.  “I shouldn’t have kissed
you.  I’m sorry.  Will you let me go?”

“No.”

He glanced back at that.  “Why not?”

“I want you to do it again.”

He had no answer for that, but managed to get out, “Why?”

“Call it curiosity.”

That won a smile.  “Feeling experimental, Logan?”

“Maybe.”

So he leaned in and did what I’d asked.  Kissed me, with as much
deliberation as before, as much interest in having me enjoy it.  He’s
generous like that.  But not gentle.  Not harsh, but not gentle.  We
kissed a while, over all the skin of our faces.  He even let me take
his glasses off, though I could see how it made him nervous.  Pretty,
pretty boy.  Fine face, so like a girl.  But it was a man’s jaw, a
man’s chin, a man’s Adam’s apple below it.  And much further down, a
man’s dick, hard against my hip.  We were either going to take this
all the way to its logical conclusion, or we needed to quit right
now.

I let him go and stepped away, ran the back of my forearm across my
mouth.  He was all flushed.  I could tell even in the dark.  “That’s
far enough for tonight,” I said.  “You need to sober up, and I need
to think about this.  We both need to think about this.  I’m not
interested in playing your rebound.  And I don’t think you’re
interested in being my experiment.  G’night, Scott.”

Going out, I looked up at the stars overhead.  Some were falling.

--------------

No, this will not have a sequel; THE MAN BEHIND RED SHADES will shift
to follow X2 canon, and this is firmly anachronistic with that.

FEEDBACK will be doted upon. :-)


__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

It is my pleasure to announce the opening of a new X-Men Movieverse archive,
to coincide with the US release of X-Men 2. There are forty stories up for
your reading pleasure at
http://www.users.bigpond.com/storysmith/movingpictures/index.html in
addition to an extensive links page.

(Apologies to all those who got this message many times over. I wanted to
spread the word far and wide.)

Andraste.

*****

I may not have a quote, but I do have a home page:

http://www.users.bigpond.com/storysmith/index.html

Or, to get my stories as soon as they come out, try the Southern Stars
mailing list, for the writings of a whole variety of Australian comic
fanficcers:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/southernstarsfic

Title: Do Bleeding Angels Sing?

Pairing: Magneto

Category: POV

Rating: R for theme

Archive: List archives, Padders Messy Room
http://www.ravenswing.com/~boots/warn.htm and my site
(when I finish!). Everyone else please notify me
beforehand. My name & e-mail address must remain
attached.

Warnings: I've always held that Charles & Eric were
lovers at some point so this may have slipped in
somewhere. This fic was inspired by the first X-Men
movie.

Summary: Magneto reflects on his past relationship
with Charles as he prepares to confront the world.

Feedback: Oooh, yes! alyx68@...

Disclaimer: No money made, these characters are not
mine. The X-Men are the property of Marvel.

Dedicated to Isos Arei & Nightsister


Do Bleeding Angels Sing?
May 2, 2003

Alyx Alexandre alyx68@...


If I don't leave now I know I will do something
drastic. I briefly entertained the perverse fantasy of
lifting the gun from the holster of the guard,
dropping it to the floor, discharging it
"accidentally" - the bullet cruising with sure purpose
- striking the distinguished Senator neatly between
the eyes. I could see the bullet pierce the fragile
skull, taking bone fragments through the lumpy brain
tissue then explode from the back of the neatly
coiffured head. The blood splattering the mindless
flatscans waiting eagerly for the next predictable
sound bite so that they could clap like the insane
monkeys that they were. Banal arguments but quite
effective for the Senator had already demolished the
careful presentation by one of Charles’ protegees. The
crowd was enjoying her humiliation and eagerly awaited
more.

Senator Kelly's arguments, on the surface, made a lot
of sense and that’s what made him dangerous. The
Senator was not some raving lunatic but a slick
opportunist who knew a vote-grabbing platform when he
saw it. It was not enough to know which way the
political wind blew. Senator Kelly was the wind itself
and he was stirring things up even more with these
“hearings.”

My thoughts rested for a moment on the memory of my
dear, sweet mother. Closing my eyes, I could see her
seated at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes and
softly humming a tune, stopping only to say, [[Erich,
verlassen nicht das haus heute]]...*

The Senator’s rant broke me out of my reverie, “…..
And above all what they can do!” The crowd eagerly
leapt to its feet, almost orgiastic in their delight.
Kelly was no different from any other rabble-rouser
with the exception that he was cloaked in authority
and respectability. Warm. Friendly. Rational. A
conduit for the masses yearning to release their
fears, tensions and prejudices. They could do this and
more through this man. Sensible, sane and
straightforward everyone could support this man and
they all did - Black, White, Hispanic, Asian and every
cross-section of America supported their champion,
Senator Kelly.

I hated the Senator with a ferocity that made me
tremble at times. Not nearly as much as I hated the
murderer of my parents but close. Government sponsored
fear and retaliation - hatred of one by the other. Few
challenged the Mutant Registration Act - it wasn’t
politically feasible. There was a lot of double talk
by those who tried to have it both ways while a few
stood by their convictions but it was not sufficient.

It was time to leave. I had seen and heard enough.

I stopped in my tracks as I felt a familiar tickle.
Interesting.  I hadn’t seen him among the crowd.
Sneaky. Charles really should know better.  “Whatever
are you looking for?”

I turn to look at him and I manage to keep my emotions
in check. Even after all these years, he never fails
to move me. He is my oldest friend and now we are...
what? Enemies? No. What we are is much more
complicated. We are both sides of the same coin even
if he willfully refuses to see things my way.

He wants to "co-exist", as he calls it, with the
flatscans. I adamantly refuse to cooperate in my own
destruction. He would like to pretend that we are no
different from humans. This is not true. The flatscans
are afraid of us and with good reason. We are Homo
Superior. We are the end of their species and they
know it. We are the gatekeepers of an exclusive club
that the flatscans cannot join - ever. Neither by
force, nor money, nor connections will admittance be
granted. Membership in this club is determined at
birth. And they hate us for it.

How many times did Charles & I have all-night sessions
doing nothing but discussing the unique problems of
mutantkind in the world? He believes in humanity. I
argued that homo sapiens are the only species dead-set
on annihilating itself using religion, race,
nationality, and sexuality as rational reasons for
bloodshed. History supports me on this, of course.

For a short, precious time, Charles was the most
important thing to me. I would have laid my life down
before I let anyone hurt him. I allowed myself to
trust and receive love. That was something that I had
not done - was afraid to do - from the moment I was so
cruelly ripped away from my parents until I met him.

Now I am the one causing him pain. First by rejecting
his Dream then by actively opposing it. We both want a
secure future for Homo Superior but our methods differ
drastically. He may not believe this but I do care
what he thinks about me. Mind you, his opinion of me
is not as important as achieving my goals but I *do*
care. I can’t think of another person besides my
parents who have given so freely of himself solely for
my behalf and well-being. For that, I will always
cherish him.

My current plan will bring his Dream and my goals to
an apex. Sacrifices will be made, yes, but no more
than what will happen if that bill in the Senate is
passed. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good
but it will be but a small price to pay to avert
future bloodshed. Charles, a former soldier, must
understand this. I wonder, when he awakens, will he
say when he realizes what I accomplished? What will he
think when he realizes how absurdly simple my plan was
and why he didn’t think of it himself? My beautiful,
simple, elegant plan. Mutate the X-Gene of the rich
and powerful then of everyone else. We will all be one
people. Brothers. Homo Superior.

I quickly shield myself against his probing. I’m sure
he regrets teaching me that trick but it was the only
way that I could really open up to him - forgive the
contradiction. It was as much for him as it was for
me. [[Eric, you’re broadcasting again,]] he'd say.
True, I’m *always* thinking, I’m *never* idle. It used
to drive him crazy, especially at night when he was
trying to sleep. So he taught me how to shield my
thoughts. Charles is too well-bred to go where he’s
been denied entry and won’t do so now even though he’s
worried in every way about me.

It will take much to wipe that disapproving look off
of his face. He can’t read me at all but knows me well
enough to know I'm up to something and that alarms
him. Not to worry my dear Charles. “I will bring you
hope, old friend.”

As I walk away from him, tossing a farewell over my
shoulder, I know that problems will arise but we will
conquer them together and begin anew. Homo-Superior
can bicker and squabble just like any flat-scan. I
never claimed that we were perfect - but at least we
will not kill each other about our so-called mutation.

Charles, I shall bring you more than hope. I will
bring you your Dream fulfilled.

+++++


Once, I asked Charles why was he so eager to live in
harmony with those who would eventually turn on him
out of fear and hate. Charles is so much a part of the
Establishment in every way except one. Lucky for him
that he can pass for a flatscan. He bristled at that
and threw my argument back at me. My dear Charles, I
have never been a part of the status quo and the
numbers tattooed on my arm remind me not to press my
nose against the glass begging to be let in. Begging
for *what* exactly? Protection? Acceptance? I know
better. There is no such thing.

Charles has the “right” everything: he is a White,
Protestant, American male and rich enough not to have
to worry about money. Ever. Charles breathes rarified
air, for flatscans and Mutants alike. If he were in
the Old Country, he would not have smelled the
burning, heard the screams, witnessed what no child
should ever see, be *made* to suffer. He would not
have ended up alone. I do not begrudge him this - no
one deserved the camps, but I am just stating facts:
he and his family would not have been on the "wrong"
side.

However, that does not change the fact that you are
tolerated, Charles. The politicians meet with you in
secret. You’re not on their official appointment
schedules. You’re not greeted publicly. You do not
come through the front door. Yes, I know. Word does
get back to me. You are tolerated because of your
family name and the wealth that comes with it.  You
say you’re doing this for all of us and I know that
you believe that but what about those of us who do not
have connections or friends in high places? Let's not
forget about the hideous, monstrous mutants who dare
not show their faces publicly - the ones who cannot
“pass.” Do you think they’ll be accepted as easily as
you are? Do you think your well-mannered approach will
work for them?

I will make sure that Charles is out of the way. I do
not want him to interfere and I do not want him hurt.
A slight modification of Cerebro will not kill him but
stun him a bit so that he is unconscious for a few
days. I did this the last time I left him. I did not
wish to be followed and convinced to come back to
fight for The Dream. Yes, capitalized. I grew weary of
it. It wasn’t a dream that I could accept. Oh, The
Dream was good in theory but the stench of death had
permeated my soul. I saw firsthand the cruelty man
could inflict on the “other”, be it man, woman or
child. The elderly and infirm were shot. People were
murdered en masse just because. It is on the verge of
happening again and I will not let it. Charles said he
understood but he didn’t. How could he? Yes, Charles
had weathered his share of troubles, wealth
notwithstanding, but for a telepath he just couldn’t
*see* and I had grown tired of trying to explain. He
kept on and on about The Dream. There was no room for
deviation, no allowances made for human intolerance,
just a ridiculously idealized belief that everything
would turn out for the best.  I couldn’t take it
anymore. I left him.


+++++

The earnest-looking man made his way across the
elegant dining room, stopping to shake hands and say a
few words to some of the patrons here and there. He
looked like a young politico on the move and he
probably was. This was Washington, D.C. after all, the
power capitol of the world. All the young turks in
this town were jostling for power, influence and
prestige and this one looked like he was feeding from
the trough very well, thank you. His hair was neatly
styled - styled - no $8 haircut for this young man.
Brooks Brothers navy pinstripe suit, white button down
shirt, red silk tie, black oxfords - the classic
Washington power outfit. The young man's smile
broadened a bit more when he saw the older gentleman
seated in a darkened corner of the dining room. In
this town the definition of a “power lunch” varied.
*Who* you dined with was much more important than
*where* one sat.

“I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.”

“I apologize for that. I got stuck in traffic on 7th
Street. I'm glad you could spare some time away from
headquarters. What are you drinking?”

“A bit of brandy. I took the liberty of ordering your
meal.”

“Thanks. I'm so fried I can hardly think straight. To
think some people do this for a living. So, share your
thoughts. You haven’t said that much about him, only
generalities.”

“He certainly made sure that he got his point across
quite effectively," Eric replied as he rolled the
goblet gently between his palms. "He said what was on
their minds and they loved him for it. What else is
there to be said? He’s a politician.”

“Kelly imagines that he is the voice of the people.
He's planning to make that his campaign slogan next
year."

"How original."

"Yeah, you're telling me." Mystique/Henry turned to
the waiter, "I'll have a glass of your best Riesling."


"Thank you. Your order will be ready in a few
minutes." The waiter left.

"Lucky for me that Henry is a guy because Kelly thinks
he’s quite the stud with the ladies.”

Eric chuckled, trying not to choke on his drink, “Oh,
does he now?”

“Yup. He likes, “Quote, “young things with fat
bottoms.”

This time, Eric did splutter a bit, “God save us all.”

“Yes, the good Senator is a fine role model for
morality and decency. If it weren’t for the State
dinners, the Georgetown home, the Mercedes, private
school for the kids and the weekly shopping trips to
Neiman Marcus his wife would have left him already.
But Sharon is one of those Senator's Wives, you know?
Stand by your man and all that bullshit. Who would she
be if she weren't Mrs. Senator Kelly? You know, she
actually said that to me, that she was the reason he
was Senator. Talk about deluding oneself. That shark
would have made it regardless, he would have just have
another blonde clone on his arm that’s all.

“Tell me, does the Senator’s wife have a ‘fat
bottom’?”

“No. She has a broad bottom. He’s always complaining
that she’s too fat.”

“What’s the difference between a fat bottom and a
broad one? I don’t understand.”

“I dunno. You tell me - you’re a man. Just because I
have the body doesn’t mean that I think like one.”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever had an opinion on the
female bottom one way or the other.”

The waiter arrived with two steaming plates of
portabella mushroom ravioli with alfredo sauce and
steamed asparagus. He set a glass of wine in front of
the younger man and addressed the elder, "May I pour
another glass of brandy for you, sir?"

"No, this is fine for the moment," the genteel man
said with a smile.

The waiter left after being assured they wanted
neither freshly grated cheese, truffles nor
peppercorns.

“You don’t want to know how much they charge for
spaghetti and sauce in this town. They call spaghetti
"pasta" and tack on an Italian name to pretend it’s
authentic. And a glass of wine costs almost as much as
the whole bottle. I hope you’re picking up the tab?”

“Nah. Let’s charge this one to the good Senator.”

"I meant to ask you, what is it like to be Henry
Guyrich?"

Mystique shrugged, "I don't know exactly. I'm just
*him.* Voice. Mannerisms. I just know what to do when
I'm him. No one suspects a thing. I despise him. He's
just like Kelly, only worse. You should see his porn
collection. It's disgusting."

"Please spare me the details."

"Okay, but he has no sex life. Who would go out with
this cretin? He pretends that its because he works
such late hours but most women are repelled by him.
He's been trying to get more face-time on the networks
just so that he can get a date. Pathetic."

"Really? I didn't realize that Guyrich fancied women,
what with his Dupont Circle condo and all."

"I don't think he knows himself. He is one confused
individual."

"Do you think it was wise meeting me as him, though?"

Mystique shrugged, "Why not? He swims with the fishes,
as they say. I take it you saw Charles at the
hearing?”

“Not until I left but we talked.”

“Do you think he found out what we're planning?”

“If he did, I don’t think he would have let me leave.”

“Now, why would you want to leave, Eric?”

The young man seated opposite him had vanished,
leaving an older, bald man in his place.

“Must you do that?” Eric turned away, pained.

“Why does he bother you so much?”

“Why do you care?”

Mystique returned to her previous form as Guyrich. “I
don’t, particularly.” I studied the dossier you gave
us. Charles is very powerful and you two have a
history. What happened between you two?”

“It’s a long story. Let me enjoy my meal.”

“He’s going to be trouble, you know. What are you
going to do about him?”

“Not to worry, my dear. I know how to neutralize
Charles. We have other things to set our sights on.”

“Such as?”

“Such as obtaining the conductor for the machine.
That’s the final piece that will bring everything
together. It will all fall into place beautifully,
you'll see. I want to propose a toast, to our shared
destinies."

When Charles woke up, he would greet a brand new
world. Where all of us would be Brothers, Mutants all.

Mazel tov.

End.

Comments? Critiques? alyx68@...

[[Erich, verlassen nicht das haus heute]]...*
Erich, don’t leave the house today. (Please forgive my
German ;->!)

Henry Guyrich is Senator Kelly's assistant.




__________________________________
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I remember vaguely that there is another list that has
fic reqs and reviews on it but darned if I can
remember where it is... Be that as it is, I just saw
X2 and was just TOTALLY blown away...not to mention
desperately curious about the.................
S
P
O
I
L
E
R

S
P
A
C
E
















setup for the phoenix/dark phoenix storyline. I know
the comicverse explanation about aliens and eternal
entities and that's all nice and fine but I'm a little
more partial to how some such as Minisinoo handle
Jean's evolution into the Phoenix as something that
was always a part of her and I was wondering if I
could get pointed to other portrayals of the origin of
the phoenix...
So if anybody could let me know if they've seen any
good and/or unique theories I'd somewhat satisfy the
ache for 'the rest of the story' that X2 leaves me
with.

(crosses her fingers and prays for a third movie)

=====
Mayrie, TheEverminder.
"I will simply deny you the crown, and live...forever!" ~Everafter

"He’s got concerts, he’s got groupies, and he’s got lavender plaid vinyl pants.
He’s a rock star.” ~ EM Enterprises #14: Pixkey's Pixies, and Celestial Pink

http://www.livejournal.com/users/everminder/

__________________________________
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http://search.yahoo.com

A quick reminder -- with the rules as they currently stand (check the
group FAQ in the files section), this list is for the posting of
fanfic ONLY, not film discussion.

Fanfic based on X2 is welcomed with open arms and squeals of glee.
But there is a Yahoo group for X2 discussion, so please take all film
discussion here:  X_MEN_2@yahoogroups.com


Thanks.

--Minisinoo
Co-moderator, xmmff

__________________________________
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Title:  Outtakes and Mistakes: It’s All About Jean  (The X2 Rewrite)



Author:  Autumn



Email: autumnleaves@...



Summary:  Same premise as always iin the Outtakesverse, except we begin
exploiting the many plot holes, and nonsensical lines, setups, character
changes of X2.



Rating: PG-13



A/N:  WARNING, contains spoilers for X2.



********************************



Logan Returns:







         The dishrag formerly known as Rogue (hereafter referred to as
TDRFKAR) was sitting in the living room with her bubble butt boyfriend
Bobby.  Everything in their five- minute- old relationship was going along
just peechily, when a loud motor like noise began rumbling down the
driveway.  TDRFKAR’s eyes lit up in excitement and a low keening noise
issued from her mouth.  Bubble butt Bobby scowled, already there was a
threat to his relationship with the white striped girl.  He put on his most
menacing look, which was only slightly scarier looking than a giggling
Carebear and ran after HIS girlfriend.



         “Logey-poo!”  TDRFKAR cried out and flung herself at Logan,
regardless of the fact that she had lethal skin, which wasn’t entirely
covered up.



         ‘Logey-poo’ however wasn’t paying much attention to the young woman
he had risked his neck for-repeatedly only a week before.  He absently
sidestepped the woman’s attack and she consequently hit the ground with a
thud.  “Oh hey kid.  Have you seen my lo- I mean Jean around?”



           TDRFKAR’s face crumbled from the lack of attention from the man
who really held her heart.  Her lower lip trembled and she began wailing
loudly.  Luckily for her, the back pocket boyfriend arrived just in time to
pick up the pieces of the crushed girl.  “I’m Bobby.  I’m her boyfriend.”
The teen began, shaking the distracted man’s hand.  “Stay away from her, or
I’ll freeze more than just your hand.”  The ice-blue eyed teen threatened.



           Logan finally turned his attention to the younger man.  “You’re
Jean’s boyfriend, what happened to Scott?”



          “No, I’m her boyfriend.” Bobby said, indicating the still crying
woman next to him.



          “Oh.  Have you seen Jean?”  Logan asked Bobby who was currently
placing a paciphier in TDRFKAR’s mouth.



          “No.  It’s a big school.  Now go away, you’re threatening my
manhood.”



           Logan walked away, muttering ‘must find Jean’ under his breath,
completely oblivious to everyone else around him.  And suddenly, there she
was, the love of his life, the cream of his crop, the apple of his eye, the
reason he was breathing-Dr. Jean Grey.  “Jean” he croaked, his voice
cracking with all the emotions he had suddenly gained in the past week and a
half.



        “Hi Logan, how nice to toy with- I mean see you again.”  The red
haired woman beamed before narrowing her eyes in a very birdlike manner.
“Did you find out anything about your past?”



        Tears suddenly sprang up into his eyes, but he bravely fought them
back.  A kinder, gentler Wolverine could still be a bad ass when he wished
to be.  He cocked his eyebrow, looked her in the eye and said, “The base was
destroyed, and nothing was left.”



        Jean just laughed.  “Did you bother looking for it underground?”



       “Yeah Logan, don’t you know that all secret bases are hidden?”  Storm
asked, gliding in from behind Jean.



       “There’s permafrost year round big guy, it stops the people like you
from detecting the highly insidious nature of the base below the well ruined
surface.”  Jean threw in.



       Logan seethed, how could he have been such an idiot?  “You mean I
traveled all that way to find nothing, and you people knew where it was all
along and you never told me?”



        TDRFKAR stopped her sniveling long enough to raise her hand timidly.
“I knew where it was Logan, but I didn’t want to tell you.  I thought Bobby
might get jealous.”



       “That’s right, I would have.”  Bobby agreed.



       “Well fine, if you people are going to be dicks to me, I’ll just go
sulk.  And then I’ll smoke a cigar, flirt with Jean and talk to the
professor who I trust with my life from now on.”  Logan huffed and lumbered
up the stairs to find a quiet room to brood.



       “Logan!”  Storm called after the burly man.



       “We need you to baby sit tonight.  As you can see, our oldest charges
act like children, and we need a big strong manly man around in case someone
stages a sneak attack on the mansion.”  Jean spoke.



       “Where are you gonna be?”



       “Off somewhere so I can make a grand entrance later on and show
everyone up.  Proving once again that it’s all about me.”  Jean answered
nonchalantly.



       “Jean, I want to kiss you.”  Logan said, dropping to his knees and
making himself look like a total ass.



       “Maybe I’ll let you.  But you’re too scruffy and smell bad, take a
shower.”  Jean said, smiling charmingly.



       The adults departed the room, and Bobby was left with TDRFKAR who was
still carrying on like she was having the life sucked out of her-again.  But
he didn’t mind, because he was Bobby and she was his girlfriend, and for the
first time in his life he had a remote chance of being laid, even if it
would most likely kill him.



(Next Up: Rogue who? attack on the mansion, Storm *hearts* Kurt)



Autumn

"When are you people going to learn how to fly?" -Magneto 'X2'

Autumn's Penguin Emprium
http://www.autumnpenguins.com

Travel Journal
http://www.livejournal.com/users/loveablepenguin



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[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Just wanted to say HI.  I'm new to this list but have been writing
fanfic for a while.  I currently have one on fanfiction.net!

Does anyone know a website where I can read the closing quote for X2.
Or if you know it could you tell me.
Thanks

It won't let me on without a profile name but when I try and list one it boots
me out..Any ideas

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the xmenmoviefanfic
group.

   File        : /XMMFF_FAQ.html
   Uploaded by : minisinoo <minisinoo@...>
   Description : New members must read the FAQ

You can access this file at the URL

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/xmenmoviefanfic/files/XMMFF_FAQ.html

To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit

http://help.yahoo.com/help/us/groups/files

Regards,

minisinoo <minisinoo@...>

X-Men Movie Fanfic List FAQ
Version 3.0

Originally written 7/18/00 by Kate Andrews.  Current version modified
5/4/2003 by Minisinoo, based on Shana Nolan's FAQ of 2001.

A long-overdue update folks, taking into account the advent of X2.

1.  So, what is this thing, anyway?
2.  What's allowed?
3.  What's not allowed?
4.  No comic universe fic?
5.  How do I label my stories?
6.  Where do I find the stories?
7.  Can I put these stories up on my website?
8.  Feedback?  What's that?
9.  Can I upload to the Files and Photos Section?
10.  Who are the boss people around here?

-----------------------------

1. SO, WHAT IS THIS THING, ANYWAY?

This list is devoted to fanfiction set within the universe of the
X-Men movies: X1, X2, X3 and any spinoff films (e.g., Wolverine).


2. WHAT'S ALLOWED?

A) Fiction based on the X-world of the films -- any genre, rating,
pairing (or none).  Unfinished works are permitted, but please
so-indicate in your story notes, as some readers prefer to wait for a
story to be completed before starting in to read it.  Crossovers are
also permitted.

B) Public feedback and discussion of posted stories is once again
permitted.  This rule has gone through waves.  Originally, the list
allowed public feedback, then due to the sheer volume of daily posts,
discussion and feedback was asked to be taken to our sister
discussion list (xmenmoviefanficdisc@yahoogroups.com).  But in the
past year, traffic has been extremely light, so we're revoking the
"stories only" rule.  If, however, things turn heavy enough to start
swamping mailboxes, we reserve the right to return to a "Fic Only"
policy.

If you're sending feedback on a story, it'd be helpful to place
"[FB]" in the subject header.  Also, simplifying the subject to title
and author would be appreciated.  ALL feedback will be assumed to
contain possible spoilers, so please don't read a feedback letter on
a story you haven't read yet and complain about spoilers.  Likewise,
any fiction based on a movie installment may be assumed to contain
spoilers for that movie.  (In short, if you haven't seen X2 yet and
you read fic about it, YES, you might be spoiled.)

Please do NOT post heavily critical feedback onlist, unless the
author has specified that such feedback is welcome.

C) Posts concerning fanfic matters (such as fanfic contests), as well
as archive announcements and site changes may be posted.  Please
indiate such posts with a [META] in front of them.


3. WHAT'S NOT ALLOWED?

A) GENERAL DISCUSSION OF THE MOVIE(S) is not allowed.  This is not
the place for X2 (or X1, or X3, or ...) film reviews, discussion of
the characters, the actors, the director, or possible sequels.
(Please take that to X_MEN_2@yahoogroups.com)

Please don't post an introductory "Hi, I'm new."  We're delighted to
have you and glad you're enthusiastic, but this list is edging
towards 800 members.  PLEASE keep that in mind, or other list members
might cheerfully skin you. :-)

B) Flames of any kind are absolutely forbidden.  Goes without saying,
but I'll say it anyway.  You flame, we'll boot you, do not pass go,
do not collect $200.  What's a flame?  An ad hominem or personal
attack on another list member, or a post containing vitriolic
hostility towards an author, a story, a character, a pairing, etc.

C) No virus warnings, get rich quick schemes, cookie recipes and
anything about a sick boy who wants 5,000 greeting cards before he
dies is not a message for this list.  Also, one line "me too"s and
off topic discussions that go on and on are frowned upon.
*Basically, if your message is only for one or two people, please
mail it to those people.*


4. NO COMIC UNIVERSE (Comicverse) FIC?

This particular list is for movieverse fiction only.  There ARE
already three big (and several smaller, more specific) lists that
permit comicverse fiction.  Try the very large X-Fiction, on yahoo
groups; the "mother list" of comicbook fanfic, OutsideTheLines, on
Topica.com; or if you're into Ultimate X-Men, Ultimatexfic, on yahoo
groups.  They will all welcome your comicverse story.  But the only
comicverse permitted here would be a crossover with the movieverse.
(If you wish links to the above groups, please check the version of
the FAQ in the files section.)


5. HOW DO I LABEL MY STORIES?

Any story should be labled in the subject line something like this...

"Every Time" (1/3) Rogue [NC-17], X1
"Streaked Glasses" (1/1) Scott, X2

Let readers know the title, what part you're posting, the main
character/s (optional) and a a rating or warning for adult material.
(See comments below about warnings.)  Unfinished stories are welcome,
but should be labeled as such.  PLEASE, at this point in time, label
whether a story fits into X1 continuity only, or fits into X2
continuity.  There are some big, honkin' surprises in X2, and people
who haven't seen the movie yet may wish to avoid reading fiction
about it.

At the beginning of the story, please include the following:

Title, author, (brief) summary, and a standard disclaimer.  Brief
notes are allowed, but if your story has a lot of notes, you may wish
to post the notes separately, labeled as (0/4), or "Notes."  Many
readers find The Endless Notes headers to be off-putting.

If you're posting a story (or story chapter) that has adult elements
(e.g. extreme violence, graphic sex, or disturbing topics), please
post a WARNING or a rating in your subject header -- "adult," "R," or
"NC-17."  I, myself, don't hold with the rating system, don't use it,
and so can hardly ask others to.  But due to the fact there are
underage members on this list, as well as members who may wish to
avoid such stories, please use some manner of warning system for
adult material.

If your story is archived on your site or elsewhere, why not post the
direct URL?  Quite a few readers prefer reading HTML versions.

You may also add a statement regarding the archivability of your fic.
  Unless you state otherwise, anything posted to this group is free
game for DevilDoll to take for her archive.  If you want a different
version of your story on the archive, it's your responsibility to
contact the archivists, and if you can send them a version that's
already HTMLized, they'll probably kiss you for saving them work.
(See below for contact information.)


6.  WHERE DO I FIND PREVIOUSLY POSTED STORIES?

You can run a search on the group by title.  There are also a couple
of old archives.  First is the previous (now defunct) archive for
this group (http://www.geocities.com/xmenmoviefanfic/index2.html); it
has no fiction written after about June of 2001.  Then there's
Kielle's first archive, X-Men Movieverse Fanfiction
(http://www.xmmff.com), which was taken over by Vic and is now being
run by DevilDoll, the current archive associated with this group,
though it doesn't contain any stories written since about November of
2000.  They plan to change that realsoonnow.

IF YOU'D BE WILLING TO WORK ON THE ARCHIVE, please contact DevilDoll
(devildoll@...).  Maybe you're not a writer, but would like to
get involved somehow?  Archive assistance is one of the things that
movieverse fanfic badly needs!


7.  CAN I PUT THESE STORIES UP ON MY WEBSITE?

Not unless you contact the author for her/his permission first, you
can't.  Some people will grant blanket archiving permission for their
stories, but it'd probably still be polite to contact the author, if
your archive isn't the group archive.


8.  FEEDBACK?  WHAT'S THAT?

It's the lifeblood of fan fiction.  If you liked, loved, or even were
mildly amused by a story, PLEASE drop the author a line.  We writers
put hours and hours into writing these stories that everyone gets
free of charge.  It's depressing as hell to send it out and not know
if anyone read it, let alone liked it.  Even better are the e-mails
that tell us what you like, specifically, what lines made you laugh,
what sections were unclear, what dialogue made you choke on your soda
etc.


9.  CAN I UPLOAD TO THE FILES AND PHOTOS SECTION?

Due to problems with people joining the group and uploading porn and
links to porn sites, we will now be controlling the files section
fairly closely.  You may not upload files or photos without
permission.  (It probably won't be hard to GET permission, but please
email us first.)  And if you add your site to the Links section, it's
your responsibility to keep it current -- and we will be checking to
make sure we don't have links to advertizement and porn sites.


10.  WHO ARE THE BOSS PEOPLE AROUND HERE?

Ah -- that'd be Victoria P. (victoria_p@...), or me (Minisinoo,
minisinoo@...).  Devil Doll (devildoll@xmmff) is in charge of
our archive.  If you have questions, please don't hesitate to contact
one of us.


__________________________________
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The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

Despite the word "comicbook" in the title, the CBFFAs do include
movieverse fanfic.  This is the longest-running contest associated
with X-fic.  Be aware that the award IS fairly far-reaching, and
includes fic related to other comicbook titles than X-Men, but X-Men
has always made up the largest chunk of it, and now, movieverse has
moved right in.  We even have our own category (as well as
eligibility in others).

The voting for this years awards is ALMOST over.  It ends tomorrow
(May 7th) at midnight.  If you have not voted and wish to, please go
here:

http://www.fanficnetwork.com/CBFFA+2003/default.htm

IF YOU ARE NEW to this fandom and looking for fic ... a little hint.
*Nomination lists* are great places to find good fanfic.  Winners be
damned, go check out the nominated stories.  By NO means are these
ALL the good stories out there.  But if you're drowning in the sea
that is X1 Movie Fanfic (and BOY were we prolific!), and you want
somewhere to start, check out this year's nominations, and also go to
the list of past winners (see link above) for additional titles.  You
can also make note of names nominated for the various author awards,
since, if they got nominated for something, more than likely they're
worth checking out.

To me, the real value of these contests is less in who wins, than in
providing nice, tidy collections of nominated "stories I might want
to read."

--Min

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

Welcome to all the new members (over 100 in the last 2 weeks)!

First, a couple of administrative matters ... the group's FAQ has
been updated (and slightly revised).  I will be posting that
separately.  PLEASE READ IT.  Failure to comply with the FAQ will
result in warnings, and if the offending member continues to violate
the terms of the FAQ, he or she could be booted from the group.

What IS a FAQ?  (I'm aware a few don't know.)  FAQ = Frequently Asked
Questions.  But really, it's the group's charter and rules.

The FAQ will be posted to the group at least once a month, and
perhaps more often, depending on the rate of activity and new
memberships.  The FAQ is ALWAYS available (and in a convenient HTML
version, too, with links), in our FILES section.

Another note ... PLEASE -- especially at the current time -- remember
that not everyone on the list will have seen X2 yet.  If you are
posting a story based on X2, *do not* put anything in the subject
header that's a spoiler (including your title).  That said -- and
naturally -- one should ASSUME that X2 fiction will contain spoilers
for the movie.  So if you haven't seen X2, open an X2 story, and get
spoiled ... don't yell at the writer and don't yell at us.

Remember, there's to be NO flaming on the group, and no general
discussion of the movie itself.  There IS a whole yahoo group
designed just for X2 discussion:  X_MEN_2@yahoogroups.com

We also have an archive ... yes, indeed.  Devil Doll has graciously
taken the archive from Vic, who revived Kielle's.  DD IS LOOKING FOR
HELP.  But I'm going to let her tell you about it.  Look for her
announcement.

Now that all the "paperwork" stuff is done ...

BRING ON THE FIC! ;>


Your Moderators:
--Victoria P. (victoria_p@...)
--Minisinoo (minisinoo@...)

__________________________________
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The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

AGONIA
Minisinoo
http://www.themedicinewheel.net/shorts/agonia.html


Summary:  Not everything that is meant well causes comfort

Notes:  This short story is based on that final exchange between
Logan and Scott in X2.  The expression Marsden chose was perfect.
The title?  In Greek,

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

Hi all.

As Minisinoo mentioned, I recently took over the X-Men Movieverse Fan
Fiction archive (http://www.xmmff.com), formerly in the hands of
Victoria, and even more formerly in the hands of Kielle.

I'm currently looking for a few more volunteers to help us out with the
archive duties, ranging from keeping an eye out for stories to coding
fics for archiving.  Knowledge of HTML is not necessary.

If you're interested in lending a hand, you can contact me at
devildoll@....

Thanks, and happy writing!

Devil Doll




=====
Devil Doll

www.fandomnation.com
www.haremuniverse.com
www.wolverineandrogue.com

Hello! Anyone interested in a group relating to Bobby/Rogue/Pyro,
along with all the miscellaneous characters and new pairings from X-
Men 1+2, feel free to join my new yahoo group. The Addy is:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FIEN/

One thing... I have no idea how to create/run/upkeep an archive, or
official group website, so if anyone has alot of spare time (ha ha)
and/or is interested in that sort of thing, I would be most grateful
for any help :o)

Thanks again,

JenN

WARNING: Not only is this story full of gigantic spoilers, it likely won't
make a blind bit of sense if you haven't seen X-Men 2 yet.

Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to Fox and Marvel, not to me. They
can hang on to them as long as they keep producing cool movies. I'm not
making any money out of this fic.

Rating: Slash references and some dark themes, but nothing too graphic. I'd
probably call it PG-13.

Many thanks to Rossi for the speedy beta reading :-).

Ten Thousand Candles

By Andraste

He often dreams that he's creeping through the house, searching for someone
or something that he's unable to remember, let alone find.

It's always dark and cold, and he keeps getting lost in corridors he had
memorized before he could walk them without assistance. The only sounds are
the ticking of the clocks (always subtly syncopated) his feet on the boards
or carpets (his legs work, again) and the creak of the badly maintained
doors. He is afraid to call out, because he knows that somebody is hunting
him.

Sooner or later, he recalls that the reason he can't find anybody is because
he killed them all.

And then he wakes up.

***

Every Sunday morning, he goes to Mass with Kurt Wagner.

It isn't the only change, but it's the one everyone notices. Ostensibly,
he's there as a chaperone for the young blue German. They attend the most
liberal Catholic church in the state, which means that the parishioners ask
earnest questions about developments in the mutant condition caused by
recent events, instead of reacting with hostility. If Kurt ever tires of
their brittle cheerfulness, then the resentment is too deep for even the
world's most powerful telepath to sense.  For a man who carves sins into his
flesh, he's surprisingly well-adjusted and relentlessly optimistic.

Charles allows the staff to think that he attends ceremonies he's been
avoiding since adolescence because he's rediscovered his faith ... but how
can you find something you never really lost?

He sits at the back of the church, which is too new to smell right, and
listens to services given in English.  It's an effort to focus on the intent
behind the words without mentally critiquing their translation, or simply
becoming nostalgic for the Latin phrases of his childhood. He doesn't sing
the hymns, take communion, or go to confession.

One morning when Kurt is driving them there, the boy finally inquires:
"Would you like to talk to the priest today? Confession can lighten the
heart, as well as the soul."

"The church and I parted ways a long time ago, I fear. I find such human
institutions distressingly fallible in several respects."

"They have been very kind to me, Herr Professor, in spite of my appearance.
What is it that you find fault with?" There is no venom in his tone, but it
is clear that the criticism grieves him. Kurt wouldn't dream of pushing his
faith on anyone, but at the same time Xavier can tell he wishes that
everyone could experience its security.

Charles decides on the obvious explanation, although it may be the least
important. "I'm not sure if anyone explained this to you already, but Erik
Lensherr was my lover." It doesn't usually *require* an explanation, but the
boy has  a naivety about him the professor finds touching as well as mildly
exasperating.

Kurt's eyebrows climb his forehead, and his tail flickers in surprise where
he has it wrapped around his body. "He called you his old friend. I did not
realise ..." his voice trails off, embarrassed.

"The habit of a lifetime. You must understand - it wasn't safe, then, to be
any of the things we were." When Charles was still young, he often used to
wonder which would get him to Hell faster: taking a man for a lover, or
loving a Jew.

Kurt nods as his mind works to assimilate the new details. "It must have
been terrible for you, what he did."

Something of an understatement, that.

Kurt doesn't suggest that he participate more actively in church again.

The truth of it is this: Charles Xavier cannot go to confession, because
there is no word for the sin he attempted. Even 'genocide' implies an
attempt on the lives of a specific segment of the human race. What do you
call the attempted annihilation of its totality?

After every service, he lights three candles. Today, they are for a man who
crashed his bicycle into the back of a lorry when the pain struck him, a
woman who miscarried under the strain, and an elderly lady who suffered a
fatal stroke.

If he spends the rest of his life lighting candles, there will never be
enough.

***

In the evenings, he often plays chess with Rogue. When they began she did it
from memory, but to her surprise (if not her tutor's) she turned out to have
some talent. She has only beaten him twice so far, but it's enough to make
her worth playing. It's a better average than Jean had, at first, and he
can't expect Erik's brilliance from her now that his memories have faded
away.

Rogue doesn't mind that she almost always loses eventually, understanding
that trying and failing sometimes has to be enough. When she frowns at the
lacquered board and sets her pieces down with decisive clicks, Charles can
see the woman she's turning into.

Still, there are days - when she's been arguing with Robert, their training
session has gone badly, or she loses more quickly than usual - when she
switches to slamming them down without any consideration for the varnish.

"Don't you *ever* get angry?" she asks petulantly one evening, as he starts
setting up the pieces again.

"Of course."

"You could've fooled me. I mean," and this is what's really bothering her
today, "Magneto. It's been months now, and you haven't gone after him." He
wonders how long she's been gearing up to confront him with that.

"He hasn't showed his hand yet," Xavier explains, moving a pawn forward.
"When the time is right, we will no doubt be forced to face him again."

She glares at him, moving one of her knights at random, and there's just a
touch of Erik in it. "How can you not hate him, for what he did?"

Charles sighs. Rogue may have tasted the memories of more than one old man,
but she's still at an age where such things seem simple. She mistakes his
resignation for forgiveness, or lingering affection. He does hate Erik - and
the hatred is fresh and sharp - but that doesn't mean he won't still love
him when the oceans dry up and the stars fall out of the sky. He's long past
the point where how he feels about Erik can be allowed to have any impact on
his behaviour anyway. Somebody involved in this conflict has to maintain a
sense of pespective, after all, and a clear head is even more necessary now.

"You had his personality within you, Rogue. You know what his reasons are."

"There are no reasons good enough for what he tried to do," she says, with
the unshakeable confidence of the young.

Charles just surveys the board, wondering which piece to sacrifice first.

***

He explained some of what he knew to Logan - Stryker, the Weapon X program,
the experiments they performed - soon after Jean's death, and was surprised
by how few questions the man asked. Perhaps his grief and confusion
distraced him from his quest ... but it is still an unexpected anti-climax.

He doesn't wonder at the student's continuing reliance on their headmaster,
or Kurt's growing attachment, or Ororo's calm support, or the way Scott
leans on him in spite of his bubbling anger and grief. But Logan isn't
looking for a father. If he is seeking a guide instead, he isn't quick to
demand instruction.

Eventually, Charles has to ask a question of his own.

"Why is it that you still trust me, after I lied to you from the beginning?"

They're in the Danger Room after a particularly vigorous work out. The
Canadian has been a great deal of help in training the older students in the
arts of self-defence, a matter more urgent than ever in an increasingly
hostile world, but he himself practices alone. Unless Xavier takes the time
to supervise, of course, and he feels an obligation to do so.  Nothing down
here is capable of killing Logan, but the gesture makes Charles feel better.

Logan grins that feral grin of his, with a slightly bitter edge. "Why don't
you just read my mind, Chuck?" He picks up a towel and mops his forehead.
With no women around to appreciate the show, he keeps his sodden shirt on.

"You know I won't do so needlessly ... and I'd sooner hear it from you."

"Then that's why. If you didn't want me to remember what Magneto told me,
you could erase it out of my head. I'm not as dumb as he thinks, either. If
there was more to it, he woulda told me just to get at you.  Besides, you've
helped Rogue, Cyke trusts you, and Jeannie loved you." He pauses there,
frowning. "You really were trying to protect me, weren't you? Because I
volunteered for the procedure, and you didn't think I could handle hearing
that."

"Logan -"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You want me to figure it out for myself. You know,
before Stryker told me, I was half ready to gut you right after we yanked
you out of Cerebro. But if it's true ..." He wipes sweat off the back of his
neck thoughtfully.

"Whatever Stryker told you, he was bending the truth. For what it's worth, I
thought I was doing the right thing when I kept my suspicions to myself."

He was trying to help William Stryker, when he taught his son the mental
finesse that allowed him to control his powers. Trying to help Jason, when
he left him to die. Trying to help Marie, when he let her be captured and
half-killed. Trying to help Erik, trying to help Jean, trying to help the
entire fucking human race.

"That's good enough for me. For now." Even Wolverine, it seems, has more
faith in Xavier's good intentions that Xavier has himself these days. "Just
don't try it again. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice ..." The claws
slide out, just a little, before he grins again. "And remind me never to
play poker with you."

"Logan," Charles cannot help but say as the man turns toward the showers,
"How do you know I haven't already altered your mind, to dispel your doubts
and keep you here?"

He shrugs expressively. "I guess that's a matter of faith."

***

The worst dreams are the ones that begin with waking up.

It's warm, and when he cracks an eye open the light is slanting through the
bedroom curtains the way it does around mid-morning. There's an arm wrapped
around his waist, a hand stroking his stomach with intent. He's hyper-aware
of every phantom sensation - the feel of the sheets, the warmth of the
breath on his neck, the sound of an oriole singing outside.

"Erik," he groans. "It's Sunday, and some of us need our sleep." The
lingering soreness from last night's lovemaking is putting him off, too,
although he won't mention that. Erik is never rough, but he can be
over-enthusiastic on occasion.

"We have the rest of the day to sleep." A kiss on the back of his head, the
hand moves lower. "We can stay here until tomorrow if you like."

"What if I don't want to stay here? What if I want to be taken out?"

A theatrical sigh is the only response for a long moment. "Are you using
your body to strike a bargain with me, Charles Francis Xavier?"

"Take me away from all this?"

It's always at that point that he makes the mistake of rolling over.

He sees Erik, but not Erik as he was then. This is the Erik he met in the
prison cell that last day - unshaven, wild-eyed and desperate. The simmering
anger spills over even as Charles opens his mouth in shock, and he sits up,
slams his lover back onto the bed. Magneto's hands close around his throat,
and it's as if Charles's entire body is frozen, not just everything below
the waist.

He reaches out with his powers, but Erik's mind is a closed box. He has only
his strangled voice left, and he always says the same thing: "Erik, please,
I love you ..."

"Don't lie to me!"

The dream continues for some time after that. Sometimes Erik does awful
things to him. Sometimes his powers return and he does equally awful things
to Erik. No matter how hard he tries, he can't control what happens.

It never ends well.

***

"You're cold," Ororo says, looking up from the flower bed. The gardens
didn't suffer as much as the house during the invasion, but inevitably some
of the plants were trampled by the student body as they fled the area.
There's always maintenance to be done. He likes to sit and watch her, when
he can, although he knows less than nothing about horticulture himself. They
always had staff for that sort of thing, before.

"Only a little."

He's grateful to Storm for the blizzard, of course, but ever since then he
can't seem to get warm. The new school doctor, a Hispanic woman fresh out of
her internship, pokes and prods at him and says he's disgustingly healthy
given his age and habits.

Charles thinks that it might be because, since Jean died, nobody seems to
touch him properly anymore. He misses her hand on his shoulder, her lips
pressed to his temple, her fingers brushing his when she hands him his tea.

Sometimes, when he sits out here, she speaks to him. It's one more thing he
must keep to himself.

"Let me fix that for you," Ororo says. She tilts her chin up, eyes gone
cloudy even as the clouds above them melt away into nothing and the sun
breaks through.

"Was that wise?" It's a genuine question, not a rebuke. He might have shown
her the way to control her abilities, but Ororo Munroe knows the paths of
the weather like nobody on earth.

She smiles and shakes her head. "What's the sense in having power if you
can't help people out?"

***

Scott thought Cerebro was creepy even before it nearly killed the two people
he loved most in the world, and then everyone else into the bargain. So
Charles is mildly surprised when he begins spending every spare moment
repairing it. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the help - last time it
needed this much work done, Erik was here to do the heavy lifting - but he
does find it odd. It's good to see him functioning, and yet ...

"I'm not sure how to thank you for this," he says, when it's finally
finished and ready for retesting.

"I believe in knowing my enemies," Scott says, smiling grimly, "And it gave
me the chance to beef up the security again."

There wasn't much they could do to upgrade the safety features of the
machine itself. Charles always insisted that the original design incorporate
a device that would kill the telepath inside the moment they used it to kill
anyone else. Stryker had avoided this by the simple expedient of leaving it
out of his copy. Still, at least Cyclops has improved the locks once again.

Xavier can sense his deputy's nervousness as he wheels himself down the
walkway. He's having second thoughts, and more than a few third thoughts.
Yet however he feels about Jean's death, Scott still believes his leader is
no danger to others. His pupils have never learned to fear him as they ought
to, and he has never had the courage to explain why they should.

Charles ought to be afraid of Cerebro too, but after so many weeks of
intermittent nervousness, he's quite calm now that the moment has arrived.
Perhaps because he has come to the realization that he may never have needed
the machine in the first place. The real weapon is the one that resides
behind his eyes.

"Don't move," he says to Cyclops, unnecessarily, as he slides the helmet on.

He almost stops breathing as the lights bloom around him. As bright as ever,
and twice as beautiful now he knows just how easily he might have
extinguished each and every one of them. The gaps he left are almost
invisible in the glow of the rest. Almost.

He can feel them all - sleeping, eating, making love, laughing, crying,
helping and harming, dying and being born, thinking that they might have
left the iron on - and all of them are glorious.  Sitting here, in the
position of a benevolent god, he can remember the names of all he found
before, and learn those of the newest flares, untainted by his touch.  He
finally knows that he has the strength to appreciate them for what they are
again, however weak and fallible he may have proven himself in the past.

He sees all, and he sees that it is good.

***

He's driving with Kurt again, this time late at night on the way back from a
screening of 'Edge of Darkness' in New York, when he finally tells the
truth.  Hearing the buzz of the city he has loved all his life from inside
the car, he can't help but picture the vibrant metropolis, all its pains and
joys, silenced with a thought. His thought.

"Nobody blames you for what happened," Kurt says, out of the blue. Perhaps
*he* can read minds now.

"They should, you know," Xavier says softly. "I wasn't forced. I was ...
persuaded.  Jason found the part of me that *wanted* to kill billions. Not
out of hatred, or anger, but because I saw a world washed clean of all the
great and petty sins humanity commits each and every day without thought or
regret. I wanted to make it so. A second flood, followed by a second Eden,
and something entirely new evolving in place of this flawed Creation. I saw
how we could all be united, in death and then in God, and how beautiful that
would be. And even as I saw, I saw how wrong it was." Kurt turns his head,
with his yellow eyes that echo the headlights, away from the traffic. In a
whisper, Charles adds: "In the instant I first saw you, I thought you were a
demon come to carry me to Hell."

"Do you want to be punished, or forgiven?" the boy asks, ignoring the last
remark.

"Nobody seems willing to punish me." He thinks of Erik, with regret even
more complex than usual. "But I cannot  forgive myself. Anybody who forgives
me doesn't fully understand the crime."

"Surely it is a sin to believe yourself beyond saving?" Kurt smiles. "A
denial of the infinite mercy of God?"

"For a moment, in the prison built from my own desires, I knew despair. Is
that not the only unforgivable sin?"

"There are no unforgivable sins, Charles."

Kurt takes a three-fingered hand off the steering wheel and puts it on his
passenger's shoulder, and Charles doesn't have the heart to tell him to keep
his eyes on the road.

***

The next night, he falls asleep in his chair in front of the fire, and
dreams of Jean.

"Faith, hope and love," she says, "and the greatest of these is love." She's
sitting curled up on the couch across from him, cradling a tea cup.

"That's not quite how it goes," he says, realising that he's following a
script drawn from his memory again. Jean's hair is long, as it was when he
first found her, although the face is that of a woman grown. "The King James
version is: 'and now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the
greatest of these is charity.' Or, in the Latin: 'nunc autem manet fides
spes caritas tria haec maior autem his est caritas.' The Greek translation
of 'caritas' is 'agape', although I can't claim to remember the entire
phrase." His Greek has never been especially strong.

Jean laughs. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "No matter how often it turns up in wedding
ceremonies, 'caritas' doesn't refer to romantic love. It's a spiritual
concept."

Jean shakes her head. He realizes, abruptly, that the liquid in her cup
isn't tea at all. It's glowing bright orange like molten lava, and but she
takes a sip with no discernable ill-effects. "I suppose not. What I meant
was - I don't think you can have hope and faith without the other. So what
is the other? Love, charity ... or maybe compassion?"

All fair translations, but none of them quite synonymous in English. He
smiles slightly. "Perhaps one needs all three of those, too."

She stands up to go, and now the script breaks down: she's suddenly alight
with flame, and her hair ripples down her back, bright and flowing. "For
what it's worth, I still love you," she says, as she bends down to kiss him.

He wakes up with tears on his face and the sun streaming in the window.

The End

*****

I may not have a quote, but I do have a home page:

http://www.users.bigpond.com/storysmith/index.html

Or, to get my stories as soon as they come out, try the Southern Stars
mailing list, for the writings of a whole variety of Australian comic
fanficcers:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/southernstarsfic

Hi everyone. I am Mystic Frog or my real name is Julie. I was
wondering if anyone could give me some websites where I can fanfic
about Rouge (from the movie) and Logan

thanks
Mystic Frog

Hey there,

Newbie here, bearing gifts in form of four 100 word drabbles...
Normally I write only Marie/Logan (to be found on my website) - but
sometimes it's fun to try something new. Hope you like them!

Take care,
Evamaria

X-Men Drabbles
Author: Shirasade (shirasade@...)
Website: http://www.just-in-dreams.com/fanfiction
Feedback: Always welcome!
Fandom: X-Men movieverse
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any of the X-Men, they all belong to
Marvel, and I'm not making any money with them.
Warning: Some SPOILERS for X2.
Note: My very first non-Marie/Logan - drabbles (100 words) written on
request in my fic journal (http://livejournal.com/~shirasade_fic),
mostly inspired by X2.

Beginning (Jubilee)
For Erin

Jubilee didn't get what was so great about Wolverine. Sure, he had
some cool mutations and a terrible past -- but that was true for a
lot of people at Xavier's, Jubilee included.

Therefore on the day of Logan's return Jubilee crept out of the house
to smoke in peace. She jumped when suddenly a familiar gruff voice
asked: "You got a light, kiddo?"

She silently handed it over, and watched Logan lighting himself a
cigar, returning the lighter with a grin, and then leaving without
another word. Jubilee stared after him in surprise.

Maybe Logan wasn't so bad after all.

~~~

Fire (John/Marie)
For x_men100

There had always been a flame at the core of John's being, burning
red, yearning to break free and set the world on fire.

At Xavier's John had learned to control the flame, until it was
hardly more than a flicker of heat. He had also found friendship --
and love. His red glow was dimmed by the blue of ice and the creamy
tone of untouchable skin.

But now, looking at the picture of a happy family, while his love was
kissing his best friend, the flame soared up again, coloring John's
world a fiery red. Setting him on fire.

~~~

Settling (John/Bobby)
For Shelly

John could never stay mad at Bobby. It was just impossible to look at
his boyish open face and be angry for longer than the time it took a
match to burn out.

Not even Rogue's arrival had changed their friendship, at least not
where it was obvious. John had taken one look at the light in Bobby's
blue eyes and had settled for remaining his friend.

Standing at the window of the heli, John's looked back for the last
time. He was done with settling for anything. The future awaited him.
A future without Bobby.

Gods were alone anyway.

~~~

Comfort (Logan/Scott)
For  soleta.

He had loved Jean. It wouldn't hurt so much if he hadn't, right?

But Logan couldn't silence the tiny little voice in his head calling
him a hypocrite. Because how could he even pretend that his feelings
had been as deep as those of the man Logan could hear sobbing from
the end of the hallway.

Before he had quite realized it, Logan found himself standing in
front of the door of what used to be Jean's bedroom and now sheltered
only one lonely, heartbroken man.

He raised his hand to knock, but didn't. Who was he to offer comfort?

~~~

--
fic archive: http://just-in-dreams.com/fanfiction
fic journal: http://livejournal.com/~shirasade_fic
personal site: http://just-in-dreams.com/lovesong
travel log: http://evamaria.livejournal.com

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hey there,

I'm new here myself - but I'm a big Marie/Logan shipper, so I thought
I'd speak up... I'd recommend you the Dolphin Haven and the WRFA, two
big archives. I also have quite a number of fics hosted on my site.
The best idea is probably to check out my links page
(http://www.just-in-dreams.com/fanfiction/links.html), there are a
lot of good links there...

Hope to have been of help!
Evamaria
--
fic archive: http://just-in-dreams.com/fanfiction
fic journal: http://livejournal.com/~shirasade_fic
personal site: http://just-in-dreams.com/lovesong
travel log: http://evamaria.livejournal.com

HEY THERE IM AN MAJOR LOGAN AND JEAN FAN AND I THINK THEY'D MAKE A
GREAT COUPLE BUT I'M FINDING IT HARD TO FIND ANY GOOD FANFIC SITES
FOR THEM. IF ANY1 CAN RECCOMMEND ANY THAT BE REALLY HELPFUL
THANKS

AYEESHA

Hi all--I'm in need of a beta reader for a first go at a fanfic of this
genre, one who preferably likes all the characters ;) and has a pointy
stick for reticent muses.  Email me privately at jscz@... if
interested--or, if listadmin, to tell me that soliciting like this is not
permitted.  thanks in advance,

-josie




*****
"Indifference . . . is the strongest force in the universe.  It makes
everything it touches meaningless.  Love and hate don't stand a chance
against it.  It lets neglect and decay and monstrous injustice go
unchecked.  It doesn't act, it allows.  And that's what gives it so much
power."  -The Snow Queen
*****

--- Josephina Chang <jscz@...> wrote:
> Hi all--I'm in need of a beta reader for a first go at a fanfic of
> this genre ... or, if listadmin, to tell me that soliciting like
> this is not permitted.

Good question and ... I've thought about this issue of asking for
beta readers onlist.  Although we've softened our "gag rule" a bit to
allow onlist feedback, I think that allowing onlist beta
solicitations *might* get a little too wild. :-)

BUT ... I have an alternative suggestion, and one that's based on
what C-FAN (Comicbook Fanfic Network) used to do.  Kielle kept a list
of willing beta readers.  I used to point people to it, but it's now
out of date.

We need a more recent list.  Fortunately, Yahoo offers a database
option!  That makes it *very* easy for us to create a database of
willing beta readers.  When someone needs one, or when a newbie
arrives asking for one, s/he can be pointed in that direction.

The new Beta Reader Database can be found here:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/xmenmoviefanfic/database

Just click on "Beta Readers," and anyone may add (click "add
record").

Besides name and email, I've included a little information that might
assist people in finding a good beta match:

characters of interest:
'ships of interest:
characters will not read:
'ships will not read:
other:

Not all of these have to be filled out, of course, but it does allow
people to avoid contacting a beta who's just going to turn around and
say, "EW! I won't read THAT." ;>

The "other" column is for anything you think might be of note.  If,
for instance, you have a degree in English, or you're an editor in
RL, that might be the place for it.  (No, obviously that's not
required, but it's useful information.)  If English is NOT your
native language but you're willing to read for content rather than
grammar, you might want to so indicate.

Hope this helps, and hope people can make use of it!

--Minisinoo
Co-Mod, XMMFF

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
http://search.yahoo.com

Hello everyone.. just joined *waves*

Wondered if anyone had any, or knew where there was some Rogue Slash
fic?

Thanks.

Hello all.

I just made a tiny test run update to XMMFF, looking for bugs in the
pages I built for the X2 section. Here's hoping it looks decent in all
browsers.

I've got a nice group of people willing to help out, so I hope to get a
nice sizeable update done shortly.

We're back in business. *throws confetti*

DD

=====
Devil Doll

www.fandomnation.com
www.haremuniverse.com
www.wolverineandrogue.com

A/N: Takes place a few months after X2. The song quoted is Bill Withers' "L=
ean on Me," which was also an excellent movie. Rest in peace, Lynne Thigpen.=


I'm debating whether I should let this stand alone as a one-shot, or if I s=
hould expand it into a series. Holla back. Oh, and Kurt has a German accent.=
  We know this. No need to write out a bunch of "vees" and "ja's." If you can=
't imagine a German accent, your imagination is shot to hell.

Shoutout to SkittleKicks, April's Writer of the Month at the Haven. She's t=
he one who coined a term that I use somewhere down the line and true Havenit=
es will spot it right off the bat.

Lean on Me, by Stormfreak
www.stormfreak.com

"Lean on me
When you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on."



Ororo didn't move from the baby grand piano after her students left. She tr=
ied to – her mind certainly attempted to will her legs to move from the smal=
l wooden bench – but she was frozen. Just like she was frozen that day. The =
day that her loss of composure cost her best friend her life, and the team t=
hat she loved so much one of their most beloved members. The day that her ch=
oking up cost not one, but two men the woman that they loved.

Breathe, Ororo. Ororo carefully lifted her violently shaking hands to pull =
the fall over the delicate ivory keys. She'd barely been able to play the up=
lifting Bill Withers tune that her students liked to hear her play after the=
  classes that she taught now that Jean was gone. Goddess knew she wouldn't a=
ttempt to actually sing the lyrics. That had been Jean's job – Jean's beauti=
ful, belting soprano that could be heard all the way down the hall. Ororo pl=
ayed the piano while Jean led the sing-along. But those were the old days th=
at weren't that long ago at all. Nowadays, the double load was nearly unbear=
able – all of Jean's classes along with all of her own. But who was going to=
  take over Jean's classes? Scott? Logan, maybe? It was Ororo's duty. Her res=
ponsibility. My fault. All my fau-

Ororo's hand slipped, and the heavy cherry wood slammed against the fingers=
  on her left. Pain shot from the tips of her now-bleeding fingernails all th=
e way to her head. Ororo clamped down on her lip so hard that it began to sw=
ell. Breathe, Ororo. She would not scream, would not cry out and draw attent=
ion to herself. Just get to the infirmary and get some gauze for your hand. =
If anyone asks, tell them you had a small mishap in the greenhouse. Who am I=
  kidding? No one's going to notice. Stand up, Ororo. Stand up and gather you=
r things and get out of here, before someone stops and tries to talk to you.=


On the way down the hall, Ororo bumped into Scott, still all decked out in =
black three months later. "Hey, Ororo."

"Good evening, Scott." She could barely look Scott in the eye – not that he=
  had anything to say to her, anyway. Not after their last conversation, whic=
h was more like a full-fledged assault.



"Why didn't you just hold the fucking water apart with the wind, Ororo!?" h=
e'd screamed at her one day out of the blue. "Why didn't you freeze it!?"

"I…" Ororo was too shocked to respond.

"Why didn't you do anything but stand there worrying about your next hair a=
ppointment?"

"Scott, I…"

"You just wanted to be the only woman here, was that it? You were always je=
alous of Jean because she was prettier and smarter, and especially when Loga=
n began to like her…"

"Cut it out!" Ororo hadn't expected Logan, of all people, to jump to her de=
fense, but there he was, storming around the corner. He grabbed Scott by the=
  collar and slammed him against the wall. "You heard what Chuck said! There =
was nothing we could do, so just get off of `Ro's ass!"

Logan. If Scott was still moody some three months after the passing of his =
girlfriend, Logan was far more so.  Ororo seemed to be the only one that Log=
an was comfortable talking to lately, but all he wanted to talk about was Je=
an. Ororo honestly thought that Logan had gotten over Jean, even before her =
death. But late night conversations with the Canuck proved that if anything,=
  Logan's love for a dead woman was bordering on obsession, and it made Ororo=
  more than uncomfortable.



Why, oh why am I the one he feels that he can unburden himself to? Still, i=
f I can help out however I can…

On top of all that, she had gotten no sleep the night before, and it was al=
l because of Logan. She had met last night with the mutant known as Mystique=
, against her better judgment. Ororo hated to admit it to herself, but with =
Jean's absence, she was starved for another adult female interaction; even t=
he illusion of companionship, even if it just for a little while. Raven Dark=
holme sat across from Ororo in her "Grace" form, her dark brown eyes wet wit=
h tears. Tears of all things, coming from Mystique. "Thanks for meeting me h=
ere," she said quietly. "I didn't know who else to turn to, so I called you…=
"

"I am glad you chose to turn to me, Raven." Mystique made a face, wondering=
  how in the world Ororo knew her given name. Nosy bitch, she thought. Ororo =
sipped her iced tea, trying not to pay attention to the fact that Mystique w=
as on her third beer and Ororo had just arrived at Harry's Hideaway. "Despit=
e our past history, you can talk to me whenever you need to. One day, I hope=
  that the two of us can become friends."

"Yeah, well. I'm not that drunk. No offense," she added as a cloud-colored =
eyebrow disappeared behind Ororo's bangs. "Look, it's about Logan. I know th=
e two of you are friends, and I'm having problems with him…with us."

"So you and Logan are in a relationship?" Ororo asked, trying to hide her s=
urprise and failing miserably.

"Relationship." Mystique scoffed, then drained her Budweiser and ordered an=
other. "We're just fucking, `Ro. Don't tell me that's too harsh of a word fo=
r your virgin ears," she added when Ororo couldn't mask the shock from her f=
ace. "You a virgin, Storm?"

"I believe we are discussing your sex life, not mine." Ororo gritted her te=
eth. "You were saying about Logan…?"

"Shit, Logan. He'll kiss and cuddle me. He's amazing in bed. Fuck, he'll ev=
en tell me he loves me, but only if…"

"If?"

"If I'm Jean."

Ororo sat down her drinking glass, praying to every god that could hear her=
  that she didn't shatter one of the many empty beer bottles on the table and=
  drag the jagged glass across Mystique's face. "You have sex with Logan in t=
he form of a dead woman? In the form of my best friend?" She breathed deeply=
, praying that she wouldn't break into tears, but the words drummed in her h=
ead over and over. How could you, Mystique? How could even you stoop that lo=
w? "What do you want me to say to that?"

"I'm not interested in what you think about it-"

"Then why am I here?"

"Because-because I want him to stop this!" Mystique took a long swallow of =
her beer before she spoke again. "Jean is dead! And I know it sucks for all =
of you. But damn it, she's dead and I don't see why I should have to continu=
e this shitty little wet dream of his!"



"Then why continue this charade, Raven? Weren't you the very one who told K=
urt that you shouldn't have to be someone that you are not? You're not Jean =
Grey, and you will never be half the woman she was-"

"Fuck you, Silver Top!" Mystique sat up, her eyes blazing. "At least I'm ge=
tting some on a regular basis." She sat back, a cruel twisted smile on her f=
ace. "All you've got is your Super-Twirl-Spin-&-Vibrate."

"Raven, do not take this the wrong way," Ororo replied through clenched tee=
th. "But you are the woman who is morphing into another woman just so that a=
  man can have sex with you. You are the last woman I would come to for roman=
tic advice. Do not look down on me because I've chosen to be chaste."

"Have you chosen?" Mystique spat. "Or have the men around you chosen for yo=
u?"

"Better to be in my own body and be chaste than to be someone else just to =
have an orgasm. If that," Ororo added, rising to her feet. "I'm not in the p=
rocess of being used. Good night, Raven."

"Don't you look down on me, you pagan bitch," Mystique slurred as Ororo was=
  leaving. "You don't know what it's like to be lonely, goddess."

Ororo froze mid-stride, and turned back to face Mystique, the expression in=
  her eyes a mixture of disgust, pity, and surprisingly, empathy.  "You'd be =
surprised at how much I know about loneliness, Mystique."   Without waiting =
for a response, she turned sharply and headed back to the mansion.

Now Scott stood before Ororo, shuffling from foot to foot like a little boy=
. He looked as if he wanted to apologize, but Ororo didn't want to hear his =
voice. She reached out and took his hand. "Scott, could we talk at a later t=
ime?  I am in a bit of a hurry. Maybe sometime tonight?" she added when Scot=
t got a perturbed look on his face. Ororo smiled – or at least, she thought =
she did – and Scott nodded back at her, not looking up. She scurried away fr=
om Scott and up into her attic bedroom before he could say anything else. Go=
ddess forgive her, but she was not prepared to hear Scott's inevitable apolo=
gy, or yet another rambling story of grief from, or worse, another attack. S=
he still loved Scott dearly, but a large part of Ororo felt negligent. She h=
ad always promised Jean that if anything happened to her, that she would tak=
e care of Scott. It was one of Jean's very last thoughts before she drowned =
in Alkali Lake. Take care of Scott, Ororo. And Ororo was doing her best. But=
  still, there was a small part of Ororo that was afraid of anything that Sco=
tt would say to her. Because it's the truth and I'm not prepared to face tha=
t.

BAMF!

Even eleven weeks later, the sulfuric stench of the new mutant Nightcrawler=
's bamfing still made Ororo cough violently. "I do wish you'd use the door, =
Kurt," Ororo wheezed, fighting the abrupt urge to vomit.

"So sorry, Windmitfahrer, so sorry." Kurt Wagner grinned widely. "But it's =
easier than putting your door down and climbing up here. I came to inform yo=
u that there's a meeting going on downstairs that you may need to attend. It=
's the entire art department."

A meeting! Ororo wanted to scream, but kept her composure. Her fingers were=
  still unattended to, her head was throbbing and her knees were weak. Still,=
  she managed to half-whisper, "Thank you, Kurt." Turning away from him, Oror=
o gripped one of the iron posts on her bed and began to breathe deeply.

"Sure thing. I will be more than happy to escort you down – Ororo?"

Ororo wasn't listening. She was pressing her cheek against the smooth, cold=
  metal on her canopy while Kurt was speaking. Goddess, this feels wonderful.=


"Ororo?" Kurt circled Ororo, facing her. Holding out the two fingers on his=
  hand, he began to wave them in front of Ororo's face. Her reactions were tu=
rtle slow, her eyes dragging behind Kurt's movements. Ororo opened her mouth=
  to speak, but she couldn't speak over the swelling of her tongue. "Ororo, a=
re you okay?"

She was swaying on her feet, as if any second she would keel over in a dead=
  faint. Kurt carefully approached Ororo, taking great pains not to make any =
sudden movements. "Ororo? Come here. You need to lie down in your bed…"

"I can't lie down," Ororo finally managed to whisper. "I have to go to the =
meeting, and I have a study group with Jean's art history class, and then I =
have to meet Scott because he's so…he's so upset about Jean being gone…and t=
hen Logan will probably want to talk to me…" A single tear rolled down Ororo=
's cheek. "I have to be there for him…for all of them…they're my friends…"


"Who's here for you, Ororo?" Kurt asked gently. "Whom do you talk to when y=
ou're upset?" Ororo didn't answer. Kurt took Ororo's left hand in his, then =
leaned back, horrified at the swollen, bruised fingers and bloody nails. "Or=
oro, when did this happen? What happened?"

"Oh. I had an accident, I…" Tiny tears rolled down Ororo's cheeks. "I was j=
ust being clumsy…"

"Oh, liebchen. Come here, love." Kurt squeezed Ororo tightly, even tighter =
than he had the day he had to teleport them both into the mock Cerebro at Al=
kali Lake. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay, Ororo. Just talk to me=
. Tell me everything that's on your mind. The meeting can wait."

"She…she was my best friend, Kurt! My best friend! We've known each other s=
ince we were fifteen! And she's gone, Kurt. It's my fault." To Kurt's horror=
, Ororo didn't calm down. Her breath was coming too fast, and soon she was h=
iccupping and babbling. "I've gone over that scene in my head a hundred time=
s. There were so many things that I could've done and didn't! I wasn't there=
  for my best friend when she needed me the most!"

"Ororo, you had saved the world just ten minutes prior. I was there, rememb=
er? Got frostbite on my tail." Kurt wagged the thin, blue appendage. "It was=
  not your fault. Jean made a choice, and she made it knowing that you would =
be able to live with that choice." Kurt brushed a lock of hair from Ororo's =
face, then froze. "Ororo, dear, you're burning up! You need to lie down. You=
're not well!" he added as Ororo threw him a look of disdain. "I order you t=
o – Ororo!"

Ororo had collapsed, her smooth chocolate skin turning an ashen shade just =
as Logan crawled into Ororo's attic loft. "What's wrong with Ororo?" he aske=
d, surprised to find her on the ground shaking.

"It's cold…" Ororo mumbled, curling into a fetal position. "Why am I so col=
d?"



Cold? Kurt thought, kneeling by Ororo's side. But her skin is so hot!



"Storm!" Scott Summers poked his head in the doorway. "We have a meeting in=
  five minutes – what is she doing? Tell her to get up!"



"Get up?" Kurt glared at Scott. "Get up? She is sick! She needs to be resti=
ng, not rushing to another meeting!"



"Kurt, if something is wrong with Ororo, she needs to be in the infirmary-"=
  Scott began.



"Get away from her!" Kurt found himself screaming. "Get away from her! You =
selfish pigs, don't you come near her! Sie schmutzige Schweine!" Kurt bamfed=
  over to her barely conscious figure still slumped on the ground. "I'll take=
  care of her, not you and not that new doctor in the infirmary! You never ca=
red about her!" He crouched over Ororo, pulling her close to him with his ta=
il. "None of you care, not unless she's taking care of one of you and listen=
  to you cry on her shoulder like little boys!"

"Kurt-" Logan began.

"You go now! You stay away from her!" Kurt crouched into a fighting positio=
n, drawing his lips back into a ferocious snarl. His white fangs gleamed in =
the light before he suddenly disappeared. BAMF! He was behind Logan, and wit=
h a mighty thrust of his legs, Kurt kicked Logan square in the small of his =
back. He heard Logan howl in embarrassment and anger as his adamantium-laced=
  body flew out of the attic door and crashed through the soft wood…and about=
  two more stories.

Kurt whirled around to Scott, who held his hands up. "Hey, I can take a hin=
t." He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Kurt remained on the ground=
, breathing heavily. I'll take care of her. I'll take care of Ororo, not the=
m. Kurt gently lifted Ororo from the ground, pulling her close to his chest =
before placing her in her bed. "Wha…what are you doing?" Ororo mumbled. "Wha=
t are you…I need to get to the meeting…"



"Nein. You'll do no such. To bed you go."



"Mmmm." Ororo closed her eyes and didn't move, her face a sickly shade of b=
rown. "Ororo…I…I am going to make you more comfortable to the best of my abi=
lity, okay?" Ororo nodded and didn't open her eyes. With trembling hands, Ku=
rt carefully undressed Ororo down to her undergarments – a simple white cott=
on bra and brief white panties to match. Her skin was hot and dry to the tou=
ch…and oh, so soft…Kurt stood back, admiring the African woman's beauty, the=
n rushed to Ororo's bathroom to fetch a cool cloth for the tired woman's hea=
d.

It was truly the bathroom of a goddess, with lush, exotic plants and expens=
ive-looking oils in small glass bottles. Kurt ran a finger across one of Oro=
ro's towels, and was stunned to feel such softness. Slowly, with eyes closed=
, Kurt brought the Egyptian cotton to his face and inhaled deeply. The scent=
  of sandalwood filled his nostrils, and Kurt smiled. Of course she would sme=
ll as beautiful as she looked…as beautiful as she was. Kurt quickly dropped =
the towel and picked up a washcloth, rinsing it with cold water and wringing=
  out the excess.

When Kurt returned to Ororo's bedroom, he was surprised to see her sitting =
up. Her bare shoulders peeped out from underneath the silk sheets, and it da=
wned on Kurt that she had removed her bra…and possibly her underwear as well=
. "Hey, Kurt," Ororo called weakly, drawing her knees to her chest.

"Ororo! You should be lying down, you naughty girl. Lie down this instant."=
  Kurt crossed the spacious attic and dared to pull up a chair next to Ororo'=
s bed. "How are you feeling? Better, I hope. Are you hungry? Cold? I can…"

"I…I screwed up, didn't I?" Ororo asked, her eyes half-lidded in fatigue. "=
I let everybody down. Just like that day. I froze up. I didn't think, and it=
  cost Jean her life."

"It's your time to rest, Windmitfahrer. You are exhausted – that is why you=
  collapsed."

"Did I collapse?" Ororo asked, her confusion genuine. "When?"

"My goodness, you don't even remember! No meeting and no school for you, Mi=
ss Munroe, for at least a week. Nothing but good food and lots of rest." Kur=
t took Ororo's injured hand in his. "Seriously, Ororo. You don't need to car=
ry the weight of this school on your shoulders. You're not a goddess anymore=
. They're not your responsibility. Your main responsibility should be your h=
ealth and your well-being."

Ororo stiffened. "How...how did you know I was a goddess?"

"Because I took the time to find out. Don't you worry about them, Ororo. Yo=
u rest. I'll take care of you." Kurt's demon-like fingers ran through Ororo'=
s snow-white tresses.



"That's so sweet, Kurt, but…you don't have to. I can take care of myself." =




"I know you can, liebchen. But this time around, I will take care of you." =
Kurt kissed Ororo's hand. "I'll always take care of you, because you once to=
ok care of me. You're my friend and I love you, Ororo. I just want to see yo=
u well.

Ororo gave a faint smile, and her chocolate doe eyes disappeared behind hea=
vy eyelids. Kurt pressed the damp washcloth in his hand and pressed it to he=
r forehead, carefully blotting the sweat from her face. Once he was finished=
  with that, he rummaged around in Ororo's medicine cabinet for some gauze an=
d peroxide to take care of her hand. Intertwining her slender fingers with h=
is, Kurt leaned over her sleeping frame and sang in his thick German accent,=
  just loudly enough for Ororo to hear:

"Lean on me
When you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
Until I'm going to need
Somebody to lean on."



-fin-

Disclaimer / Author's Note:  Let's pretend everyone in the mansion (heck,
everyone in the whole X-Men movieverse) had a diary.  And let's pretend that
they were all written like Bridget Jones's diary.  And *then* let's pretend
that I didn't get the idea from Cassandra, who writes the Lord of the Rings
diaries.  (Google 'em.  Find 'em.  Come back when you're done laughin'.)

And while we're at it, let's pretend that these characters are not owned by
Marvel or 20th Century Fox or whoever it is that has 'em this week, and
let's pretend they're owned by ME.  In that case, I'll be auctioning off
everyone except Wolverine and Iceman, whom I'll be putting into cold storage
until he's legal.  Don't worry, I'll give him a couple of magazines and a
Playstation.  He'll be fine.

Son of Author's Note:  The timeline is ... eh.  Close enough.  Spoilers for
the first and second movie, so you're forewarned.

********************************
The Xavier Mansion Diaries:  The Maid
by Troll Princess
********************************

DAY ONE

Alcohol units: 1.  Cigarettes:  13.  Considering the reasons for all, may
not be trying hard enough.

Am being driven insane by hyperactive Chinese girl and blond boy-band
reject.  Professor and redheaded trollop off to Washington, so have left
bloke with funny sunglasses in charge.  Obviously, man should not be left in
charge of an ant farm, as children have gone absolutely mad.  Cleaned
bathroom after boy-band reject had left only to find shower stall covered in
ice.  Am not sure how he did it, but am positive it involves some sort of
teenage sexual thing I'd rather not know about.

Chinese girl, on the other hand, has filled the linen closet with tapioca
pudding.  Again, no idea how this was done, but maybe I should warn her that
the vacuum cleaner has a reverse mechanism and I know where her underwear
drawer is.

DAY TWO

Bloke with sunglasses and white-haired tart off to S&M convention, if
outfits any indication.  Professor and redhead back from Washington.
Children back to pretending they're sane.

Professor asking why his bed smells like pudding.  Decided to pretend I
don't speak English.

DAY THREE

Leather-clad pair returned from Canada with skittish bint and unconscious
and unshaven but still yummy dish.  Adorable bloke taken down to med-lab.

Can pretty much assure you, diary, that med-lab now cleanest room in the
mansion.  Go, me!

DAY FOUR

Help!  Boys have decided that skittish bint most attractive creature on
God's green earth and have resolved to sweep her off her feet.  Boy-band
reject leaving melting ice sculptures all over my clean floors.  Russian
brickhouse leaving holes in mansion ceilings after juggling toasters to
impress her.  Rebellious kid with lighter burning stupid romantic sentiments
onto priceless family heirlooms.

May abduct skittish bint and ship her off to Guam to save myself hours of
work.  Have not decided yet, as am getting the impression the female
students may do this for me.

In other news, sexy chap in med-lab now shirtless.  Day cannot get any worse
with *that* lying around the mansion.

DAY FIVE

Cigarettes:  20.  Every single one needed after nummy med-lab hottie awoke
and ran through mansion shirtless.  May not be able to move legs anytime
soon.  Left a trail of possibly biohazardous waste in lower level, but as
was worn by sexy psycho, won't complain when I have to clean them up.

*Probably*.  Probably won't complain.

DAY SIX

Yummy Canadian lying unconscious and shirtless, this time in his bedroom.
Have changed mind -- *definitely* won't be complaining, as lose all control
of my tongue whenever I catch sight of the man.

Competition for the bint's affections now going full-throttle.  So far, have
found all of the toilets in the men's bathroom frozen solid, fourteen
Playboys somehow stuck in the wall of the boys's room, and the foosball
table in the TV room flipped upside down as if it had always been that way.
Was tempted to have someone right the bloody thing, but heard a strange
growling noise from underneath it and have since resorted to lifting up a
corner, tossing in a fresh steak, and slamming the thing to the ground while
I still have all of my toes.

Also, must learn to perfect proper poker face, as have filled the closets in
the boys's rooms with barbecue sauce and mayonnaise and may not be able to
keep from giggling hysterically for much longer.

DAY SEVEN

V.v. good news, as skittish bint has run away and taken all of her
never-ending laundry with her.  Hooray!

However, also v.v. bad news, as second-floor now ankle deep in noxious
BBQ-sauce-and-mayo mess.  Considering all the strange goings-on in this
place, have told the Professor that condiments made wrong turn at
Albuquerque through interdimensional portal.  Amazingly, he seemed to buy
it.  Right stupid bloke, isn't he?

As was emptying garbage cans in lower levels, overheard sexy bloke and
uptight moron with the sunglasses arguing heatedly in the hallway over
runaway girl.  Considering their volume, am allowed three options -- either
both fighting over skittish bint, both fighting over redheaded trollop, or
both secretly want to ditch trollop and bint and shack up for lover's trysts
in med-lab.

Please let option C be wrong, please let option C be wrong ...

DAY EIGHT

Ugh.  Med-lab a disaster area.  According to white-haired tart, melted
senator all over everything.  Bloke's watery remains currently clogging up
the wet vac.  Suddenly thankful I don't vote.

Also, wish I didn't have to do so much laundry.  White-haired tart and
reheaded trollop taken to changing clothes as if they're in a bloody fashion
show.

DAY NINE

Professor unconscious in the med-lab.  Teachers gone.  Sexy Canadian gone.
Students smiling at me.  Chinese girl and boy-band reject just walked by
carrying two bottles of ketchup, a giant tube of superglue, and a
twenty-five pound bag of cat litter.

Becoming mildly alarmed now an incredible understatement.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Good Lord, I can't get up from my chair.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Have no idea where that strange smell is coming from, but considering the
crazed gleam in the eyes of the students, cannot possibly come to any good.

DAY TEN

White-haired tart constantly following me around and apologizing for leaving
me alone with the students last night.  Others came home yesterday to find
me glued to my chair, which was glued to the ceiling, with my hair dyed blue
and my entire body doused in ketchup.  Was going to complain, but large
bonus check roughly the size of the gross national product of France more
than enough compensation.

However, have decided to play up my sorrow, as is great fun to watch the
tart yammer on about how I'll grow that skin back before I know it and how
she's sure that the blue hair dye will come out with enough shampoo
scrubbings.

Skittish bint apparently ran off to get bad streak job on her bangs and
personality transplant.  Has been killing time by flicking cigar ashes at my
head and calling me "bub".  Also, keeps grabbing the redhead's ass.  Ha!
Feel immensely vindicated, as knew someone in this place had to be gay.

Sexy unshaven dish once again shirtless and on his back in the med-lab.
Spends so much of his time in that condition, it's a real pity more of it
isn't spent conscious.

DAY ELEVEN

Yummy Canadian off on grand adventure to find past.  Let redheaded trollop
and skittish bint behind, but stole boring bloke's motorcycle.  Have decided
to ignore homoerotic subtext to their relationship until something less sub
and more text pops up.

Hmm.  Have reread last sentence and suppose that "pops up" is a bad phrase
to use during this particular discussion.  Let's see ... reveals itself,
emerges, comes up ...

Perhaps buying a thesaurus is in order.  Well, that, or less porn.

DAY FOURTEEN

White-haired tart apparently lost accent in mansion.  Reward poster hanging
up by cafeteria.

DAY FIFTEEN

Tart has now replaced spotty African accent with whiny Minnewegean one.  May
destroy her copy of "Fargo" before things go too far.

DAY THIRTY

Hooray!  Tasty Canadian back from sightseeing trip.  Tasty Canadian's arse
also back.  Not sure which I missed more.

Teachers obviously learned lesson after the superglue debacle.  Have left
sexy psycho in charge for night, but personally expect he wil buy the
students beer, rent them porn, and teach them all how to kill a man with a
cocktail weenie.  Am staying in, as death by cocktail weenie not something I
really want to experience.

New plan:  Hide in room until responsible adult or trained emergency
personnel arrive to break things up.  Good plan!

DAY FORTY-ONE

Am resigning, effective immediately.  Am not sure how they can possibly
expect me to do my job when mansion is swarming with soldiers and students
insist on killing them violently or throwing them through walls.

On the other hand, children missing, teachers gone, and second-in-command of
soldiers apparently poured into his uniform.  Tried to find downside to
situation, but as worst things so far are muddy boot tracks through the
hallways and blood all over the foyer, cannot even begin to complain.

DAY FORTY-TWO

Second-in-command wants me to stay with him *where?!*

Am reconsidering my resignation, as while mansion has its disadvantages,
also has heating system, American money, and windows.  Suspect that living
in dam vast difference.

Hmm.  Wonder if I should get the Professor before I go.

Nope, seems happy enough.  Talking to imaginary little girl, wearing a funny
helmet.  Must be an improvement over mansion, really.  Can't possibly be
opposed to me raiding his pockets, though.  No, of course not.

Now, where was that helicopter ...

****************************

Troll Princess
Flavor of the Moment (http://flavor_of_the_moment.blogspot.com) --
Because sometimes, leaving your brain at home is a good thing.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All I have to say is ... Hugh Jackman?  I want one.  Can I have one?
Please?
-- DuAnn Cowart, spotted on the Scratching Post
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_________________________________________________________________
Help STOP SPAM with the new MSN 8 and get 2 months FREE*
http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail

Ok, here's the spoiler space. I saw the new movie and just have to
write
what I'd like to see happen next. So here's the spoiler space in
case you
haven't seent he movie and don't want it to be spoiled! BTW, it was
GREAT!!!!!
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/

This starts right where the movie left off with Jean supposedly
dead. I'm
warning you right now...I want Jean and Logan together and I tend to
write
that way. Hopefully you'll still read this after knowing this!

Jean woke up on dry land. She didn't know how she got there. The
last thing
she remembered was leaving the jet to save everyone else. They took
off and
she let the water rush over her. "Oh, God, they must think I'm
dead," she
said getting up. "I've got to get back."

Back at the mansion Logan was having a covnersation with the
Professor. "I
need to get away for awhile," he said turning to the Professor.

"I understand; just understand that we're here when you're ready to
return."

"Thanks," he said. He walked to the garage and got on the
motorcycle. He
rode off, not knowing where he was headed and not caring. Nothing
mattered
to him now that she was gone.

A few days went by and he found himself near Alkali Lake. He walked
to the
water's edge. He pushed his hands in his pockets and looked out over
the
water. He stood there in silence for hours, mourning the loss of
Jean in his
own way. He finally looked down the the ground. "Goodbye, Jean," he
said as
a tear made its way down his cheek. He walked to his campsite and
started a
fire.

Jean saw smoke and wandered in that direction. Logan heard a
rustling in the
distance. On instinct he bared his claws and slowly walked toward
the sound.
He slipped behind a tree and waited for whoever it was to pass so he
could
take them from behind. He saw the person pass and quickly grabbed
them. "Who
the hell are you?" he said as he spun her around.

"Logan!" she said hugging him.

"Jean? Jean, oh my God, we thought you were dead! How did you
survive? The
water rushed right over you!" he said pulling back to look at her
and
crushing her body to his again.

"Logan, I know you have a lot of questions, but honestly, I can't
remember
anything after seeing the jet go up," she said replied.

"We missed you...I missed you," he said quietly, holding her as if
he were
afraid to let go.

"It's ok; I'm ok," she said. "Why did you leave the institute?" she
asked
pulling back enough to look in his eyes.

"Too many reminders of you...it was making me insane," he said a
little
embarrassed.

"Hey, it's ok. For once, I'm glad you left and came up here. I had
no idea
how I would get back," she said smiling, trying to relieve some of
the
tension.

He smiled and lightly rubbed her cheek. "I'm glad you approve," he
replied.
He wanted to kiss her, but remembered how she had stopped him before
because
of Scott. She smiled and gently kissed him. "You just read my mind,
didn't
you?" he asked smiling.

"I sensed you needed that," she replied smiling. "Come on, take me
to your
campsite," she added.

"This way," he said taking her hand and leading her in the direction
of the
smoke.

They walked back to the campsite hand in hand in silence. "You must
be
freezing; let me get you something to change into," Logan said going
in his
tent and getting a pair of sweats he'd brought with him. He
reemerged and
handed them to Jean. "They may be a little big, but they've got to
be warmer
than that...and at least they're not wet or torn," he said smiling
as he
looked her over in her tattered leather suit.

"Thanks," she said going into the tent. She emerged later looking
more
comfortable and warmer.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked as she sat beside him near the
fire.

"As long as I can reserve the right not to answer," she replied.

"Why wouldn't you let us save you? Nightcrawler could've gotten you
and been
back in the jet once you'd gotten it up..." he said turning to her.

"I couldn't let you die when I knew I could save you. I didn't want
there to
be more casulaties than there had to be. Maybe I just wanted my life
to mean
something..." she said turning away.

"Hey, you mean a lot to everyone at the institute...you mean a hell
of a lot
to me," he said turning her back to face him. "We've been through
hell these
past few weeks without you...I've been through hell...so has
Scott..." he
said gently.

"Scott...how has he been taking this?" she asked concerned.

"We all took it pretty hard...but Scott has been more obvious. He's
pretty
much secluded himself from the rest of us...snapping at anyone who
intrudes
on his solitude," he said.

"That makes me feel even worse...especially with what I've been
thinking
lately," she replied.

"What's that?" he asked taking her hand, coaxing her to continue.

"I'm not in love with Scott anymore...I love him; I'll always love
him, but
I'm not in love with him...I haven't been for a long time," she said
looking
at their hands.

"THen why stay with him?"

"Out of habit maybe...maybe because he's safe...I don't really know
why,"
she said quietly. "I've been with Scott for so long...I don't want
to hurt
him."

"So you stay with a man you don't love? You're hurting both of you
more this
way than you would by just ending it," he said.

"Oh I see what you're trying to do...you think that if I break up
with
Scott, then I'll come to you..." she said smiling.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it, but I want you to
be
happy...if you're happy with him, then be with him; if you aren't
happy then
get out of it."

"I wish it were that easy..." she sighed. "I hate hurting him...but
I you're
right; this is hurting us both more."

"It'll be ok," he said. "Come here," he said opening his arms to
hold her.

She sat there and let him hold her, comforting both of them. "It's
late; we
should get some sleep," she said softly.

"You go ahead; I'll sleep out here," he said looking at the fire.

"No," she said simply.

"What do you mean 'no'? In case you haven't noticed, there isn't
exactly a
lot of room in there..."

"Can we not fight about this? I'm not kicking you out of your tent
and I
don't want to be alone. You know, we can do this the easy way, or I
can use
my telepathy..." she said crossing her arms.

"Fine," he said getting up and going in the tent. She followed and
laid
beside him, resting her head on his chest. "What about that little
talk we
had about you only flirting with the dangerous guy?" he asked.

"You're not so dangerous after all," she teased.

"See, I told you I wasn't all that bad," he smiled.

"Shut up," she said playfully smacking his chest.

He grabbed her hand. "Hey," he said.

"I can do more than that, and you know it," she sat up a little
smiling.

He impulsively kissed her. "Sorry," he said pulling away.

"Shh," she said putting her fingers over his lips and gazing in his
eyes
before kissing him. She moved so she was on top of him and deepened
the
kiss.

He slid his hands under her shirt and instantly wanted more once he
felt her
soft skin. He pulled back. "Is this really what you want? I mean do
you want
to do this here?" he asked, breathing hard.

"You're right; I haven't even broken up with Scott yet," she said
returning
to her spot beside him. "Thank you," she said, realizing how much he
does
care for her.

"I don't want you to regret anything. If I ever get to make love to
you, I
want it to be right. I don't want either of us to regret it for
whatever
reason," he said rubbing her back.

She sighed and fell asleep moments later, feeling safe in his
arms. "I love
you," he said softly, kissing the top of her head before falling
asleep
himself.

If anyone is reading this, I would like to know...if not, I'll stop
writing.
I guess I'm the only one who wants Jean with Logan in the movies...I
just
think thay have more chemistry than Jean and Scott...

Megan~