Jean and Logan

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Logan comes across Jean in a truly vile mood and manages to distract her with liquor and dancing. Lots of liquor, lots of dancing.



Logan closed his eyes and let the outside world drift away. He was mostly recovered from his ordeals, but the body was still not entirely up to snuff. He felt his ligaments pop when he moved suddenly and he'd went off and got a chill deep in his bones that didn't seem to want to go away. So in an attempt to get his balance, to refocus, he headed out back into the treeline, to sink into seiza and do nothing but expand his wa as far as it would go. To not do, but simply be.

Jean was not very good at just being right now. She knew meditation would be more productive, but 'skipping stones' by hurling them telekinetically at the lake felt better. And if she was occasionally muttering things like "stupid", "horrible", "frightened" and "argh", well, there was no one close enough to hear, she thought. And the fact that she was talking equal parts to Scott and to the lake didn't really matter, since Scott wasn't there and the lake couldn't answer.

Logan's efforts at just being were being interrupted. By somebody muttering and throwing rocks into the lake. Logan unfolded himself - accompanied by a series of gunshot-like popping sounds from all his joints, and decided to go tell whoever it was to knock it the hell off. He emerged from the treeline to see that the grumbler was none other than Jean. Knowing her fiery temper somebody must have really put her panties in a twist.

Skipping stones were generally smaller and flatter than what Jean was throwing, but she wasn't paying attention. It wasn't even that anything new had happened that day - she was simply still having trouble keeping everything going normally and needed to take the odd bit of break time. Or time the odd bit of breaking. So she was kind of focused on futilely attempting to bruise the lake and didn't actually hear Logan coming up.

"Red?" he said once he was close enough to have a decent conversation. That lasted just long enough to spot the shiner around her eye, in which case the claws inadvertantly came out. It hurt worse than usual, but right now Logan was a little beyond caring. He did, however, pop them back in once he realized they'd come out. Even -that- still hurt.

Jean jumped slightly, and glanced over to see who had come. Not that there were many people who called her 'Red', and Scott knew better than to use the name just know. "Logan, hello." Turning back, she sent one last stone spinning out into the center of the lake before dropping the others she was holding. "How are the lungs? And everything else..."

"Been better," he said in his usual straightforward style. "What hit you?" he asked, trying to get a better look at her face. "Thought you'd learned how to duck by now," he joked lamely.

"Scott." The answer was short, and the look on her face was not one that invited other questions, although she doubted that would stop Logan.

Logan paused for a moment and fought down his first instinct, which was to pop claw, go find the man, and eviscerate him. "Scott hit you?" he asked. "Danger Room run gone wrong?" he asked. Although Scott'd been incommunicado for a while with all this Preservers crap.

"Scott decided that continuing to fight the whole exploding thing was just a bit too tough and, when I wouldn't leave him to die all on his lonesome, knocked me out and stole a plane. Which is why he was in Florida when you all found him." It was strange, really, how even she could hear the faint trace of the Vancouver accent now. She wondered if anger would always trigger that now.

Logan heard it too, but just let it go for the time being. "Want me to go put some pain on him?" he asked, doing an admirable job (for him) of keeping a snarl off his face. His forearms writhed, however, with the effort of keeping the claws _in_. They wanted to come out _bad_.

Jean turned slowly to face him, her expression and voice flat. "Touch a hair on his head, Logan, and I swear to God I will fucking rip your arm off. He's an ass and an idiot but he is my idiot and nobody gets to hurt him."

Well well well. Looks like Jane had just poked her head out. "Fair enough," he said, and the writhing slowly ground to a halt in his forearms. "Maybe, instead of skippin' stones and swearing at the lake, you'd be better off goin' out somewhere. Know a little place, got a dancefloor, pool tables, and the sweetest mojitos this side of Havana," he offered.

Jean considered it, then took a deep breath. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Yeah, getting away from... everything'd be good. There's no... no lakes there, yeah? No large bodies of water I can obsess over? Tired of obsessing." She'd have to change and, if not actually tell Scott, at least leave him a note.

"Nope," he said in a friendly tone. "Meet ya down in the garage in ten? Gotta clean up a litle," he said with a shrug. He was in his usual flannel and jeans, hair swept back into the pseudo-points thing.

"Yeah, ditto. Not exactly dance clothes, these."

---

The nightclub was moderately busy for a Tuesday night, filled with mostly older couples looking for a pleasant night out. The music was set to a reasonable level, the bar wasn't all that crowded, and the dancefloor and pool tables were reasonably uncluttered. Logan got out of the car, walked around, and opened the door for Jean. "Here we go," he said with a grin. "Found this place a while back. You like Cuban food?" he asked her.

"Well enough," Jean said, smiling as she stepped out of the car. And he'd been good and not stolen Scott's and everything.

"Good deal," he said as he escorted her into the club. They had the great good fortune to be able to snag a table and Logan ordered the first round for both of them - mojitos. The music was Latin and bubbly, the kind that gets under your skin and into your blood. "So what the hell happened to you, anyway?" he asked once they were settled. "Not like him to start taking swings at people who aren't me," he joked.

Jean shrugged - she'd calmed enough to actually answer. "Like I said, he decided that there wasn't a solution to his impending explosion and that he didn't want me there when he blew. I took exception to this opinion and wouldn't leave, so he decked me. Knocked me out, stole a plane, and the rest is in the mission report."

"Funny, that's usually how he reacts when I say "Hello"," he said with a snort. "Still can't say I much like him bein' a coward like that."

This was confusing. Jean was used to defending Scott to Logan and vice versa. But she still didn't agree with his decision, so defending that wasn't an option. However... "I'm not sure 'coward' is the right term. Self-sacrificing. Unwilling to endanger others. So, basically, all the things Scott usually is."

"Coward," Logan said with a firm nod. "Things got tough, instead of dancing on the line he bailed. No faith - not in his own wife the scientist, doctor, and telekinetic. Not in his team, not in his support staff. Nope. He just bailed to go commit suicide in peace."

It made too much sense, and Jean didn't like agreeing with Logan about Scott. She didn't think Scott was a coward by her standards, but Logan had a different view of the world, a different meaning behind what he said, and part of the blessing and curse of telepathy was that she could see that other view, that different meaning, and see how it applied in Logan's eyes. Instead of answering, she picked up her drink. "Honestly, Logan, not really feeling like talking about this now. I'm... tired of being irrational, and that's kind of all I can be on this subject."

Logan mentally grimaced at himself. Way to go, asshole. "Nah, you're right. Fuck him for right now." Logan picked up his drink and took a hefty swallow from it. "Still taste good, even though I know why I remember them," he commented, gesturing with his drink.

"And I am in a mood for more liquor in general." She laughed suddenly. "Get me drunk, take me dancing then deliver me home to my husband? Christ, Logan. Why do you put up with me?"

Logan didn't say a word, but the images that formed behind his eyes said _volumes_. "'Ro decided she wanted gumbo psycho and not Canadian psycho," he said. "She's happy and that's good," he added, possibly with more firmness than was, strictly speaking, necessary. "So hey. Here we are."

"I'm sorry." Possibly more so because it wasn't going to change anything, Which, actually, was part of why she was upset with Scott, too; he might apologize, but the decision wouldn't have changed. And, without even realizing it, she'd finished most of her drink - possibly a bad sign. One last swallow killed it and she waved over the waitress again. "Another, please."

"Don't be," he said. "You made your decision and despite the whole ... thing ... going on the two of you love each other." And oh, how _that_ hurt to come out and say. In places he didn't think about much, in the private dark places, Logan still had it bad for one Doctor Jean Grey. He killed his own drink and made the waitress go get him another. One of many, many, many to come. He stood up and held out his hand to her, gesturing with his head to the dancefloor.

That, at least, was an easy decision. Smiling, Jean took his hand, rising to join him.

The dancefloor wasn't all that busy so the two of them had plenty of space to themselves. The Cuban beat was driving, sensuous, a dark and smoky thing that whispered, teased, enticed. Logan was no dancer but he did have the moves and the flexibility to do a decent job of things. And right now his job was driving Mrs. Summers as insane as she wanted to get. Nothing blatant, nothing too overt, just thought and deed together.

Jean was not a big fan of crazy right now, but there was a definite sense of abandon - not thinking was the goal, and she might not be a stellar dancer, but she could go where lead and not worry about it.

Logan caught her mood and shifted accordingly. He got a little more flamboyant, a little wilder. Who cared what the people around them thought? And if Scott ever saw the two of them right now he'd likely choke on his own tongue in sheer outrage. Which was a thought that definitely brightened Logan's spirits a great deal. That, and the beautiful woman he was taking for a spin or two around the floor.

Logan was unlikely to ever get winded, and Jean was in good shape, but sometime between when the first song ended and the second began, she noticed there were new drinks on the table. She laughed, then nodded back there. "Come. Liquor."

"Speakin' my language, Red," he laughed and let himself get pulled back to the table for more drinks. The second mojito tasted just as good as the first and was gone in just about as rapid a speed.

It took Jean a little longer - she was willing to savor both the flavor and the fuzzy that it brought with it. Given all that had happened, if she was anywhere else she'd probably end up quite maudlin at the end of another one of these but, between the music and Logan's company, that wasn't going to happen.

Logan was not by nature a real cheerful guy. Whether that was another one of Bill Stryker's parting gifts or something innate to his nature that survived his transformation he'd likely never know. But tonight, he made an effort to be light. To keep things upbeat, even funny. He slandered Garrison and Marie outrageously and laughed while he did it.

At some point there had been food - it had been fabulous, and had provided a base for yet more drinking, so now Jean wasn't real clear on when there had been food, but she knew it had happened. And that she was drunk enough that it wasn't even hard for Logan to beat her soundly at pool. "You cheat," she informed him, watching the 8-ball go in. "Hyper-metabolism is definitely cheating."

"Right," he said. "Just because you're too drunk to be able to cheat effectively at pool..." he said with a grin and a laugh. Besides, she was bent over the table an awful lot and Logan couldn't help but stare. He was almost beginning to think she was doing it on purpose.

She was, sort of. It was habit she'd picked up years ago from playing pool against Scott and now she didn't really even think about it, particularly not when she was drunk. Pool cue in her hands meant cleavage shots, and the skirt might not be that short, but that could work to her advantage.

Logan had absolutely no objection whatsoever. In fact, he was firmly in favor. Of course, he did have to tell himself several times that the good lady was married and that it was never going to happen, but still. Perfectly natural, that. But she did have all the goods he liked to see. "Another round?" he asked. "Or you ready to pack it in?"

"No, you have whipped me soundly, my pride can take no more. We must go to another bar, where they don't know how badly you've trounced me. Because it's shocking. And you cheat." Had she mentioned that already?

"Can't take any more, eh?" he said with a certain grinning leer on his face. "Time to move on, I suppose, so I can humiliate you all over again someplace new."

"Ohhhh no," Jean said, shaking her head vigorously. "We go somewhere new and you can humiliate the locals. If you want to play against me again, I get to cheat. Too. Cause you're cheating already."

"I can't get drunk and you're a very beautiful woman. They cancel each other out. And you can't focus to use yer teek effectively. That ain't my fault, darlin'," he told her affectionately. "But hey. Can always use some more beer money. Let's go settle up and get outta here."

"Betcha I can," Jean said, following him to collect her coat. "Particularly if the next bar is far enough away. Will be able to focus then. I mean, I can focus enough to keep everybody's minds out of mine, and that's good, so I bet I can keep your balls out of the holes."

Logan almost choked at that particularly unsubtle innuendo. "Gonna need to go find a hole to put my balls into at this rate," he muttered to himself once he was safely out of earshot. He settled the tab and met back up with Jean by the front door.

Jean was leaning against the door jam, letting the breeze from the open door blow across her cheeks. "Can we go somewhere with fewer lights?" she asked when he came up. "I want stars."

"Know just the place," he said as he escorted her back out to the car. "Gonna need to stop for booze first," he said, hitting a liquor store quickly and obtaining a bottle of Jack (for him) and one of red wine (for her). Next stop was about an hour's drive out into the middle of nowhere. Just a big grassy field next to the highway. Logan pulled off the road and drove out into the field, then killed the engine and got out of the car.

The drive definitely had helped, as had the cool air. Jean wasn't sober when the car finally stopped, but she wasn't nearly so fuzzy headed. "Now that," she said, smiling as she climbing out, "is a lot of stars."

"Toldya," he said with a grin, handing her the bottle of wine that he'd picked up for her. He hopped up on the hood of the car - not caring too much about denting it - to lie back and just stare upwards.

Jean joined him, setting the wine on a flat space that was made up largely of air and the focus that had returned, and so it wobbled slightly, but didn't fall. "Night like this is made for flying," she said after a moment, "but I'm not sober enough for that, I think."

"Night like this is made for a lot of things," he agreed, taking a pull from his bottle directly. A _long_ pull. "You think this is nice, you should see it up North." he mused.

"Seen it," she reminded him. "Sometimes I do miss Vancouver - not often, but sometimes. Can admit that, now." There was a lack of corkscrew, so it was just as good Jean didn't need one.

Logan tended to regard corkscews as signs of a decadent and weak soceity. Besides, he had six built-in. "I was thinking more of the Canadian Rockies," he said.

"Vancouver's not that far, and I didn't have a lot of money, but I got out of the city every now and then."

Logan nodded. "Best place on Earth," he said confidently. "Where it's just you and Nature, and the sky above is a lot like this, but more so," he said, gesturing vaguely at the sky. "I think about buying some land up there, maybe building a little cabin for myself."

"Weird to say it," she said after a second, "but I think you'd love Scott's grandparents' place out in Alaska. Mountains straight off the porch." Jean sighed.

Logan bit back a snort at that. "Too cold," he said after a moment. "It's the whole metal-bonded-to-my-bones thing," he explaied with a shrug. "I don't like being cold."

"Not me. Maybe I ought to, given that the hypothermia almost killed me after the lake finished taking it's shot, but give me a high, snowy mountain range over an exotic beach any time. Now, at least."

"Get Heather to tell you about when her and Mac found me," Logan said after a long moment. "Canadian rockies. Winter. And there I am wearing nothing but six adamantium claws. Not my finest moment."

Jean managed to stop the first comment, but it was close. Possibly, she admitted, the wine was a bad decision. Not that that was likely to stop her. "You know, they never did tell me at the hospital about the being found in black leather body armor. I'm... actually not going to follow that thought any farther, given it involves Canadian trappers and me being unconscious."

Logan quirked an eyebrow at Jean. "You wanted to say something?" he said. "And trappers are generally pretty decent folk."

"Nope," she said, grinning faintly and looking firmly at the stars. "Not saying anything about fine moments. Not a word. And I have no problem believing their fine folk. Saved my life. But I don't know a thing else about them."

Logan quirked both his eyebrows at that. "Fine," he said with a shrug, took another slug of the Jack, and then resumed staring up at the stars. "You got something better in mind for my finest moment?"

There were a number that flickered through her mind, most of them along the same lines as said 'naked in the snow' option, but the wine relaxed her enough that she didn't react. Which was nice of it, given she was blaming the wine for the having the thoughts in the first place. "Finest?" she said after a few moments. "Nah. But this is a pretty good moment."

Logan grinned and just leaned back a bit. "Times like this I can almost relax a little."

"And here's to that."

Logan took a deep swig of the Jack and sighed appreciatively. "It's hard, living among all those people," he said after things had settled down a bit.

"Hmmm?" Jean was listening, but she was also on the edge of sleep.

"The noise, the smells, the kids," he said vaguely. "And come on, sleepy girl. Let's get you back into a bed, hmm?" he said, rolling off the hood of the car and tossing the half-empty bottle of Jack into the field.

"Yeah, bed'd be good," she said, sitting up slowly. "Car's not that soft and Scott'll be worried. He does that." Jean gave Logan a sleepy smile.

Scott's was just about the _last_ bed he wanted to put Jean into. However, back to Scott's bed she'd go. "All right, Red, let's saddle up and get you home."

Jean cast about her for a few moments, before pouting vaguely. "Lost the cork," she said, then shrugged. "C'est la vie. Au revoir, dear wine." The bottle arced out after the JD.

Logan watched the bottle fly and then land. "Nice throw," he said with a grin. Then he started the car and drove Jean back to the Mansion. Once they got the car settled out, Jean was fast asleep. Logan thought about it for a moment, then gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and carried her back to her and Scott's room.