The Sentinels were supposed to have been eliminated. Yet, this particular day the X-Men found themselves facing two of them. They should have posed a moderate but not impossible obstacle for the mutant team. In fact, the X-Men were definitely gaining the upper hand and were well on their way to victory when it happened. Wolverine heard it first, from where he clung on the back of the Sentinel's neck, slashing at its circuitry. It was a high-pitched whine, growing in intensity, followed by a blinding array of light. The flash overloaded his senses and he felt a hot and tingling sensation. It was almost as though something passed through him. He heard Jean screaming, "No!" and he suddenly felt himself falling. The Sentinel was going down and he was going with it. He still couldn't see and his ears were ringing. He jumped, hoping it was fast enough and far enough. It wasn't.

His head hurt. Bad. How long had he been out? He blinked several times and looked across the clearing. Everything was fuzzy, but he made out the shape of the other Sentinel. Neither it nor the one he was entangled with appeared to be functional. He shook his head, trying to clear it further and clambered over the Sentinels to find the others. Halfway over the second one, he was stopped dead in his tracks by what he saw---Storm valiantly performing CPR on the lifeless body of Cyclops; Jean, holding Scott's hand, weeping uncontrollably; and Rogue with her face buried in Gambit's coat. There were no obvious injuries to Cyclops' body, other than the fact he apparently wasn't breathing. As Logan got closer, Gambit looked at him and shook his head slightly. Storm finally gave up her effort to save Cyclops. She took Jean's hand from Scott's and into her own.

"I'm sorry, Jean, there's nothing I can do," she said softly, almost choking on her words. Ckye hadn't made it.

Jean broke away from Storm and fell sobbing on Scott's still form. The sight was gut-wrenching. Logan couldn't stand to watch Jean any longer. Ignoring Storm's, "Thank the goddess you're alive!" he strode past her. He knelt down next to Jean, and put a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, darlin'," he said quietly. "It's time to go." She didn't move. He pulled her up, gently but firmly. She looked directly at him before she collapsed. The pain in her eyes bored down to his soul. He'd seen eyes like that before. Not so long ago they had stared back at him from the mirror.

The funeral was over and Jean was left feeling numb. She supposed it must have been a lovely service, because everyone kept telling her that. They had just returned from small country churchyard where she'd arranged for Scott to be buried. It seemed so peaceful there, but she hated to leave him, all alone. She knew that he wasn't really there; she kept telling herself it was just his body that she had left in the cold ground, but it was of little comfort to her.

The small group which had come to support her had drifted back to the mansion where they began to serve up the food that had been brought by Jean's many friends and relations.

Jean's parents were a steady presence, as were Storm and Wolverine, the two people she counted as her closest friends. Storm was constantly hovering over her, ever the gracious hostess that Jean couldn't seem to bring herself to be. Logan didn't say much, but he seemed to always be there, standing around in the corner of the room, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere else.

Jean was grateful for the kindness of her team mates and friends, although some, like Jubilee and Gambit, seemed uncomfortable and unusually quiet. In the two days since Scott's death, in addition to grieving, everyone was confused and angry. No one was exactly sure what had happened or why all Scott's bodily functions had so suddenly and completely ceased.

Jean could barely force herself to look at the Professor. Every time she did, she both saw and felt the pain and sadness there, like that of a father who had lost his only son. She was mentally exhausted from trying to shield herself from everyone's thoughts and keeping from projecting her own. She dreaded tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life, the life that she would live without Scott. She'd spent so many years of her life loving him, but so little time together as man and wife. What she really felt like doing was crawling away in a little cocoon somewhere to die. But, she told herself, she was stronger than that. She was a survivor, and she knew that she would somehow make it through. She just didn't know how.

The next week, the professor sent a team back to the site of the incident. After a thorough investigation, they still had no idea what had even happened. One thing was certain. Cyclops had not been killed by a Sentinel blast. But what hadhappened to him?

They had picked up some unusual residual energy readings around the area, but no further clues. With all the enemies the X-MEN had, they really had no idea where to start, and any leads they had quickly turned out to be dead ends.

Jean decided to take a leave of absence from the team. She felt she was definitely not at her best, and part of her just wanted to be left alone. For the first few months she worked around the clock trying to find out who or what had killed her husband. But after repeatedly running up against dead ends, and finding herself emotionally and physically exhausted, she decided she had no choice but to go on and accept what had happened. She didn't give up on finding the cause, but she no longer was consumed by it.

Once she reached that point, she felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she also started to grieve for Scott in a way she had previously not allowed herself. She knew the healing process was going to be a long, rocky road.

She sought help from the professor, the one other person who had known and loved Scott as long as she had. As a fellow telepath, he was able to help Jean minimize some of her grief without allowing her to relinquish her feelings and memories of Scott.

It had been a particularly exhausting session. Jean sat across the desk from Xavier, but mentally she had been in another time, another place. She visibly sagged as the the professor released her from the mind link.

"Jean?" he said softly.

She suddenly snapped to attention.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to work with me on some special projects during your leave of absence?"

Jean forced herself to smile. "Of, course, Professor. What did you have in mind?"

"I have need of an assistant, someone to do research and general administrative tasks. I know that's not really your cup of tea, but I thought you might consider it as a short-term assignment."

Jean nodded. "No, I think it might be good for me to do something different for a while."

"Are you familiar with the name Lydia Thurgood?"

"Yes. Isn't she some kind of civil rights leader? A mutant rights leader?"

Charles nodded approvingly. "Ms. Thurgood is a very successful businesswoman who's trying to run for governor of Texas. She has recently invested her entire fortune into a her campaign, of which one of the cornerstones is promoting human and mutant civil rights and co-existence."

"Not exactly a popular cause these days. Is she a mutant?" Jean commented, as the Professor X turned to retrieve some data on his computer. A head shot of an attractive, middle-aged woman filled the screen.

"No. But her son is. I've been extremely impressed with Ms. Thurgood's speeches and presentations. She is an extremely charismatic speaker and has amassed quite a following. I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me with some research and correspondence with Ms. Thurgood's people? I believe we have some common goals and I would like to see if we can be of any assistance to her."

"Of course, I'd love to. When can we start?" Jean asked.

"How about tomorrow morning? Jean, I think this will be beneficial to you as well."

Jean looked down briefly. "Yes, I need something to keep my mind busy."

Jean busied herself throughout the next few months. The warm, sunny weather only seemed to mock her feelings of devastation and grief. She buried herself in her work, as it was the only thing that seemed to give her any consolation, and avoided close contact with anyone but the Professor. She was both relieved and sad when fall finally arrived. The darker, cooler days seemed better suited to her state of mind.

Logan turned over for about the hundredth time in an hour. He was too hot, then he was too cold. He thought about the half-eaten deli sandwich he'd left in the fridge that evening. His stomach rumbled.

"Must be hungry, then," he decided as he pulled on a pair of sweats and padded silently down to the kitchen.

He didn't bother to turn on the light. He had just reached for the handle to open the refrigerator door when he became aware he was not alone. Instinctively, the claws on one hand went out. About a millisecond later, the scent of Jean's perfume reached his nostrils.

He heard her gasp, "Logan, it's me!" She was sitting at the dinette table, in the dark, nursing a cup of hot chocolate. He sighed with relief.

"God, woman, you gave me a start." He reached in and got the sandwich. "Mind if I put the light on? I got me a serious case of the midnight munchies."

"No, it's okay." Her voice sounded strained. He flicked on the light above the stove and crossed over to the table. She was sitting with her face covered with her hands. He realized that she was crying. He deposited the sandwich on the table and slowly walked over to her chair.

"You okay?" He knew she wasn't, but he was at a loss for anything else to say.

She nodded. "Yeah," she breathed. "I'm just having a bad night." Her voice broke on the last word. She looked up at him. Her nose was quite red and her face was streaked with tears. He felt something twisting inside, deep in his gut. He reached out and took her hand.

"C'mere, darling," he said quietly and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her head against his shoulder and clung to him. Silent sobs racked her body. He held her tightly as she continued to cry.

His mind wandered as they stood tightly clutching to one another. Hers was the kind of pain that was all too familiar to him. His thoughts turned to Mariko and Silver Fox. His mind filled with grief and rage, but he pushed it back. No time for that now, he thought. Until now, Jean had politely refused his and anyone else's attempts to comfort or console her. Now she needed him. And he was going to be there for her.

Soon the her sobbing was quieter and she started to relax her grip on him. He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You gonna be all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think so." She sighed heavily. "Oh, I don't know if I'm ever going to be okay." She stepped back and looked at him.

He lowered his eyes and his voice. "Let me tell you something, Jeannie. It's never gonna go away, but I promise it'll get better. I've been through it; I know. You've got a lot of people in this house who love you and care about you and they're going to see you through."

She smiled weakly and disentangled herself from him. "Thanks, Logan. That means a lot to me," she said, and then trying to recover, she smiled. "I guess I better let you eat that sandwich."

"Wha ... ? Oh, yeah. Think I'm gonna see what's on the tube since I'm not doing a real good job sleeping. Wanna join me?"

"I guess I'm probably not going to sleep much, either." Jean watched him gather up the sandwich, a beer, and a bag of chips and head towards the rec room. She followed him balancing her now cold cup of chocolate.

Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went. The others' lives seemed to have returned to normal, but Jean naturally still felt alone and sad. She knew she had purposely distanced herself from almost everyone except the Professor, but she couldn't seem to reach out to anyone else.

She realized she particularly closed herself off when Logan was around and he steered clear of her as well. She knew it was probably due to a feeling of guilt she harbored because she had allowed herself to care so deeply for another man while she was in love with Scott. She considered Logan one of her dearest friends and, in fact, she had recently begun to miss him.

She couldn't bring herself to go out with the others to celebrate on New Year's Eve. She settled down by the fireplace in the sitting room with the radio and a good book. She felt lonely, but she didn't want to go out. After a few hours, she turned off the reading lamp and sat staring into the fire. About 11:30 she heard the sound of boots creaking across the floorboards. It was Logan.

"Hi, Logan. I thought you went with the others!" she exclaimed, surprised to see him back before midnight.

"I did," he said, taking a seat and wrestling out of his jacket. "I got bored." He put his feet up on the footstool and lit a cigar. "Plus I kinda felt bad leaving ya by yourself an' all."

"I'm okay, really." she said, smiling. "But thanks." He smiled back at her. They sat there watching the fire. He hadn't talked to her much since Scott's death, except for the night they had met in the kitchen. If she knew Logan he probably blamed himself as much as she did for not being able to somehow stop what had happened, even though there was no love lost between him and Cyclops.

She also knew the reason for the tension between Scott and Logan was because for a time Logan had been in love with her, that he had, in fact, loved her for several years. Later Mariko had come along and then Jean and Scott were married. Logan had remained silent about the way he felt, but she could always still saw something in his eyes when he looked at her, and felt something in his thoughts. The fire continued to crackle as they sat silently. About a quarter 'til midnight, Logan disappeared to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine.

"Well, it ain't champagne," he said, untwisting the top. "It ain't even got a cork, but I figure it'll do." He poured her a glass and she stood up to take it. She wasn't a tall woman, but she was at least half a head taller than him. They drank a toast and as the clock struck midnight, strains of "Auld Lang Syne" echoed on the stereo.

"Happy New Year, Jeannie. I hope this one's better for you." Logan put an arm around her waist. She grabbed onto him as if for dear life. Instinctively, he pulled her closer. His strength was comforting, and Jean felt safe and secure for the first time in months. She leaned her head on his shoulder as they gently swayed to the music.

He smelled of cigars, aftershave, and soap. Jean realized how starved she was for physical contact, how she'd missed Scott's touch.

But this wasn't Scott. This was Logan. She couldn't deny she had always been attracted to him, both physically and emotionally. She had always refused to let herself act upon those feelings in the past, but she had never been able to completely rid herself of them.

She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed and a hint of a smile played around his lips. He started to open his eyes, but she quickly put her head back on his shoulder and pressed herself closer against him. He responded by tightening his grip on her. Neither one of them moved. They just stood there, holding each other, listening to each other breathe and to the music.

The silence was broken by the sound of the party-goers returning to the mansion. Jean and Logan slowly broke away from each other and went to join them.

Logan thought he was dreaming when he heard the scream. He heard it again. No, he was definitely awake now, but he realized that he only heard it in his head. It was Jean. He hurried down to her room and knocked on the door. There was no answer for several seconds. He was getting ready to break the door down when Jean opened it.

She stood there in her gown. From the light in the hallway, he could see she was pale and shaking. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You all right, Jeannie?"

She nodded. "I just had a nightmare. A bad one." she said, breathing heavily. She motioned him inside.

"How did you know?"

He tapped his forehead with a finger. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him. "You're not a telepath."

"But you are. It's a wonder you didn't wake the whole house. I guess it was just me." He crossed the room, sat on the edge of her bed, and ran his fingers through his hair, which was sticking up in more than just the usual places. He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of shorts.

She didn't look any more respectable. Her long red hair was in wild disarray and she was trembling and shivering in her thin summer nightgown. She sat cross legged on the bed next to him and almost immediately threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Logan was caught off guard, but he recovered nicely and put a comforting arm around her, and a minute later moved the other one around her as well. He knew she needed someone to hold her and he was glad it was him.

Logan wondered what time it was. The days were longer again and the sky was filled with a faint pink light, but no one else in the mansion was stirring.

"Is anything ever going to get back to normal?" she asked, reaching for an answer that would give her some hope. He looked at her. He thought she was so beautiful, even in her unkempt state. It bothered him to see her in so much pain. He wondered at the fact that out of all the people living in the mansion, she had seemingly subconsciously reached out to only him.

He wished he had an answer to give her, but he didn't. "I don't know, darlin'. We gotta just keep tryin'." His voice sounded different to Jean. It still had that rough edge to it, but it was quiet, more reserved than usual.

"I know," she sniffed. "Sometimes it's just so damn hard!"

"Ya don't have to tell me about it, darlin'," he said giving her a quick squeeze.

"I know," she smiled at him through the tears. If anybody knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, it was Logan.

"You know I'm always here for you, Jeannie," he said quietly. He bent his head to hers and almost absent-mindedly kissed her cheek. As he did, she turned her head and her lips lightly brushed his. They were both taken aback, startled. Jean didn't move. Neither did Logan. They looked at each other for a few seconds which seemed like hours. Then, almost simultaneously, they moved toward each other.

The first few kisses were hesitant, gentle, almost awkward. It had been a long time since he'd had the occasion to kiss her. Logan simply couldn't believe this was happening. In fact, he seriously considered the possibility he might be dreaming the whole thing.

His heightened senses brought him back to reality. The scent of Jean's perfume, the feeling of her arms around his neck, the sound of her breathing--no, this was all too real. He let himself go. He kissed her hard, and heard her quietly gasp for breath. But she didn't waver. To his surprise, she returned his kiss with a passion that challenged his own.

Jean tried hard not to think about Scott. She knew that deep inside her, Scott or no Scott, a part of her had always yearned to be with Logan. She knew it, he knew it, even Scott had known it.

She'd never been kissed like this by anybody. She'd never responded like this to anybody, either. The few times Logan had kissed her before paled in comparison. She felt weak and tingly from head to toes. He was kissing her with a hunger and a desire she had only suspected existed. And she hated to admit that she liked it.

Beep-beep-beep-beep. They both jerked, startled. It was Jean's alarm clock, blinking 5:30, rudely interrupting their kiss. Jean laughed nervously with relief. They looked at each other, each suddenly self-conscious. She slowly pulled away from him.

"I have a breakfast meeting with the Professor."

"Tell him you overslept," Logan said, half seriously. What he really wanted to reach out and pull her back to him. God, she had felt so good...and that thin nightgown she was wearing wasn't helping any.

"No, really, I have to get moving. I have to take a shower," she explained abruptly.

"Yeah, me too." A cold one, he added silently as he walked toward the door.

Jean banged the table as the computer screen locked up. She punched a key. Beep! No response. She stabbed another. Beep! Cursing under her breath, she re-booted the system and logged back into the database. She was developing a pounding headache and the sunshine and summer breeze filtering in her window weren't helping her concentration any. The screen locked up again. Beep! She smacked the center of the keyboard with her fist.

"Want me ta get ya a sledgehammer so you can do the job right?" She looked up from the desk to find Logan standing beside it, laughing at her. She had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn't even heard him come into the room.

She leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms over her head. "At this point, I'm willing to try anything. I'm absolutely desperate," she said with a disgusted statement.

"Yer working too hard, Red," he said matter of factly. "Ya gotta come up for air from time to time."

"I know," she sighed. "There's just so much to do. I'm working on this giant project for the Professor.

What are you up to?"

"I'm gettin' ready ta go fishin' up at a buddy o' mine's pond. He ain't there, but he left me his boat and stuff." He paused. "Hey, you wouldn't want to go, would ya? Naw, I guess not, huh?" He felt kind of stupid for asking her. He figured she probably wouldn't consider it much of a good time.

"Are you kidding?" she smiled. "I used to fish all the time with my grandpa when I was a little girl. I usually caught more fish than he did...that was a long time ago," she added, momentarily lost in a childhood daydream.

"So, ya wanna go?" Logan asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager.

"Sure, why not? I'm sick of this thing." Jean gave up and switched the computer off.

They decided to meet about 20 minutes later. Logan couldn't believe that Jean was really going to stop her research to go fishing with him. That was one of the things he liked about her. She always surprised him. He suddenly got an idea and headed toward the kitchen. The only one he saw there was Rogue, who had apparently only recently awakened and was hypnotically gazing at the toaster, waiting for it to yield a strawberry Pop-Tart.

"Rogue!" She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Logan! Don't yell at me! Ah'm not even awake yet!"

"Rogue, ya gotta help me!" He quickly explained his idea. Rogue seemed to liven up and and agreed to help him.

Exactly 20 minutes later, when Jean came down to the garage, he had all the fishing gear and a picnic lunch (thanks to Rogue's help) all packed in the back of the Jeep. He looked at Jean, dressed in cut-off jeans, a sleeveless V-neck t-shirt, canvas shoes and a floppy fishing hat with her hair tucked underneath it and her fishing pole in hand. He thought she looked great.

"I guess you were serious," he said with a smile. "I can't believe I never knew ya liked to fish."

She smiled back just as warmly. "There's a lot of things about me you don't know," she said teasingly as she winked and climbed into the Jeep.

Was that a come-on? Logan thought as he turned the key in the ignition. Because it sure sounded like one. He was lost in thought as they drove for nearly an hour to the lake. Jean didn't say much either; she seemed content to look at the scenery and let the wind blow through her hair. She had asked him about stopping to eat, and was mildly surprised when he answered, "Don't worry, darlin', I got that covered."

The piece of land Logan's friend owned was almost completely undeveloped, and boasted a very small tree-lined lake. Logan unloaded the fishing gear and the picnic basket and closed the top "just in case it rains". The only building around was a ramshackle boat shed badly in need of paint and repair. It was a beautiful day. Jean couldn't remember the last time she'd really been outside.

"So," said Logan, "Ya wanna eat first or what?"

"Yeah, I'm starving. Hope you brought enough," she teased. "I can't believe you thought of everything!" she exclaimed as he spread out a blanket on the ground and she sat down.

"Well, I had a little help," Logan confessed. "Let's just say I owe Rogue one."

"Oh, that was sweet of her. I wondered how you had the time," Jean said, helping to unload the basket.

"Well, it's mostly just leftovers, but I figured it'd do," he commented, wondering if Rogue had remembered napkins and plastic silverware. She had. She'd also managed to find the bottle of wine he'd asked for, which he pulled out along with two glasses.

"That's not leftovers," Jean commented as he poured her a glass.

"No, but I thought we'd drink to Jeannie's day out," he smiled and clinked his glass against hers.

"How about to good friends?" she proposed.

"To good friends," he agreed. "The best." I hope we're more than that, he added silently. I know we're more than that.

"Thanks, Logan. I really needed this."

"I know," was all he said. "I got somethin' else for ya." He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a single red rose, freshly cut from one of the mansion's many rose bushes. He laid it on the blanket between them. Jean stared at it; its significance was not lost to her. She hesitated for a minute, then she smiled as she accepted it.

"Thank you," was all she said as she inhaled its fragrance. Logan let out a small sigh of relief. It had been just over a year since Scott's death. He hoped he wasn't making too serious of a gesture too soon, but he couldn't help it. Ever since he'd kissed her, all those old feelings had come rushing back to him.

They didn't talk much while they ate, but kept looking at each other and smiling. They both were more than content to spend a relaxing time in the company of a trusted friend. But, had they been forced to admit it, they were both pondering possibilities they had long ago given up on, and meditating on the unexpected emotions and sensations their kiss the week before had evoked.

After cleaning up the lunch mess, they took the the aging rowboat out on the tranquil lake. At first, both were deadly serious about catching fish. After they'd caught quite a few, though, Logan kicked back against the boat cushions, plunked his feet up on the seat, and his pushed his hat over his eyes, leaving his pole dangling in the water. Jean did the same in the other end of the boat, and, lulled by the water's gentle lapping against the boat, actually fell asleep for what she figured was close to an hour. She woke up suddenly and although it seemed to be clouding over, she decided it was definitely time to apply more sunblock. As she rustled around in her bag, Logan finally stirred at the other end and lifted his hat off his face.

"Ya okay, darlin?"

"Yeah, I'm just about to broil myself, though." She slathered the lotion on her face, arms, and legs and looked over at Logan. He'd taken off his shirt and his shoes, leaving just an old pair of faded denim shorts. "You want some?" Jean asked without thinking.

"Naw, I don't get sunburned," he answered, stretching and yawning.

"No, I guess not," Jean said, looking at his tanned skin underneath the coarse dark hair covering his chest and legs. "I wouldn't either if I thought about it, but who wants to do that?"

"I wouldn't. Lucky I don' have ta think about it. Ya caught any more?" he asked, sitting up and checking the pole he'd left unattended.

"No, I'm afraid I've been sleeping."

"Some pair of fishermen we are, huh? Ya know, I hate to say it, but it's going to rain so we'd better be gettin' back." He grabbed the oars and started rowing. Jean felt guilty just sitting there, but busied herself with packing up the gear. It took them a little while to cross back to where the boat shed was, and by the time they got there, it was starting to drizzle. The Jeep was parked about half a mile from the boat shed because the road didn't come down that far.

They had just gotten the boat tied up and the gear unloaded when it started to pour. Logan grabbed their stuff and Jean's hand and they ran for the boat shed. They reached the doorway just in time to hear a great crack of lightning almost directly above them followed by a deafening roar of thunder.

"Whew! That was a little too close for comfort!" Jean exclaimed wiping her face with her hat. Despite the fact that they had run all the way to the boat house, they were both drenched. Jean was glad she'd only used minimal makeup that morning; there was much less of it to run down her face.

Her hair was curling up in little ringlets and she was suddenly self-conscious of the fact that both her t-shirt and her bra were soaking wet and she was freezing, which was causing her nipples to stand out rather prominently against the wet material. She stole a glance at Logan, who luckily was not looking at her, but had just finished wiping his face with the front of his shirt and was trying in vain to arrange his hair with his fingers.

He gave up on the hair, and looked over at Jean who was still shivering from the wind blowing through her wet clothes. "Are ya that cold, darlin'? he asked, suddenly concerned. The cold never seemed to bother him. She nodded, her teeth starting to chatter. "Well, c'mere then," he said quietly, reaching for her arm and bringing her close to him and slipping his arms around her waist. "You just let the ol' canucklehead warm ya up," he said with a wink. He held her as the lightning and thunder and rain continued their summer concert. She felt the heat of his body next to hers and soon stopped shivering.

A few minutes later, Logan touched her cheek and guided her face down to his. Jean knew what was coming and savored the anticipation until she felt his mouth on hers. It was a passionate, hungry kiss that threatened to ignite her toes. She wrapped her arms around Logan's neck and pressed herself closer to him as she returned his kiss.

The world could have ended as far as they were concerned. They were lost in each other's arms. Jean felt Logan's passion not only in his kisses, but in his thoughts and his body as well. She became increasingly aware of the modest but definite bulge that was developing against her where their bodies were pressed together and of her own response to it. She really wasn't trying to read Logan's mind, but enough stray thoughts filtered in that she realized that despite this obvious physical manifestation, he was restraining himself from acting further on his desire.

Had she ventured further into his thoughts, she would have been privy to the battle of the will that was being waged in Logan's head. He could have very easily taken her on the dirt floor of the boat shed and part of him wanted to do just that, wanted it very badly. She deserves better than that, the other part of his mind countered. And I don't want to scare her away, not now.

Jean involuntarily picked up on vague imprints of his emotions, and was aware of his respect and concern for her. For some reason, that knowledge triggered an emotional surge in her that only made her want to kiss him more. It was Logan who finally broke it off, once again just holding her close against him.

"Sorry, Jeannie, I gotta quit while I still can," he added with a sly grin, backing away from her slightly. He knew that no matter how intensely he hated doing it, backing down was the right thing to do, at least at the moment.

"Don't worry about it," she said, taking his hand. She was suddenly quite self-conscious as well. "It's almost quit raining, anyway. Fish for dinner?" she asked.

"If you'll cook 'em, I'll clean 'em."

Jean couldn't bring herself to do any one of the hundred things on her "to do" list, although she had written it and rearranged it at least a dozen times. Instead she went down to the rec room hoping to watch an old movie or at least a mindless documentary. Logan was there, as were Rogue and Gambit, but the two of them disappeared shortly after Jean arrived, whispering about some secret known only to themselves.

At 2:00 in the morning, Jean and Logan were both still there, watching a really bad science fiction movie and eating the rest of the popcorn. In between watching TV, they had been talking all night, but not about anything serious, at least not anything more serious than any two close friends would talk about.

They had sat next to each other on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, touching and not touching for hours. It wasn't that they weren't thinking about it. Jean was trying her best notto read any of Logan's thoughts. She had spent far too much time herself thinking about the kiss they had shared earlier that week.

Logan put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Instead of protesting, she smiled at him. She couldn't help herself. There was just something about him that drew her to him. When she thought about it, she had to admit it was amazing that she was so attracted to this man who was so unlike Scott in every way.

There were really no comparisons. Logan was almost a foot shorter than Scott, but heavily muscled; Scott had been tall and trim like an athlete. Scott's hair was auburn and usually neat; Logan's hair was dark and grew wildly, even down the side of his face in exaggerated sideburns. His eyes were piercing. She'd only seen Scott's eyes a few times, when his optic blasts had been neutralized, and they had been a muddy brown.

If Logan was different from Scott physically, he was even more so emotionally. Scott was the born leader; Logan was a born loner. Scott agonized over command decisions; Logan's method was to slash first and ask questions later.

Jean wondered how two men who were so completely different had found such irremovable places in her heart. While Scott was alive, she had forced herself to deny the strong feelings she felt for Logan.

She tried to hide them from Scott, from Logan, and even from herself, but she knew she hadn't always been successful.

"Jean, you still with us?" Logan looked at her, concerned.

"I was just ... thinking," she said, and smiled at him. The truth was she had done quite a bit of fantasizing that week. She put her hand on his knee and pretended to stare intently at the television. After a few minutes, she began slowly moving her hand up his well-muscled thigh. That was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her toward him and kissed her. She responded almost instantly. Her mouth was warm and Logan thought her lips tasted sweet. He pulled her even closer, almost crushing her to him.

The passion and the force with which he kissed her frightened and excited Jean at the same time. She had to admit she was more excited than frightened. After all, she could have thrown him into the next room with her mind had she deemed it necessary. As it was, she was enjoying the feeling of his arms around her shoulder and waist and his mouth on hers.

Logan felt her grip on his neck. It felt good. He was surprised again at the intensity of her kisses and he felt his senses going into overload. The woman he had loved for so many years was finally in his arms, and for the second time that week. He was physically aching with desire for her, and desire finally won out over good judgement.

With one swift movement, Jean found herself underneath him. He was kissing her even longer and harder than before, and she struggled to catch her breath.

"Logan, I--"

"Sshh." He silenced her protest with a kiss. The wheels in her head started turning. She tried to block out her thoughts of Scott, the feeling that somehow what she was doing was wrong. The truth was, she was again becoming very aroused and it bothered her.

His kisses--god, they made her weak. She had never dreamed Logan could kiss her like that. He wasn't holding anything back this time. The weight of his body felt good against her. She could feel the hard stiffness beneath his denim jeans between her legs and she had no doubt what was on his mind as he began urgently pressing it harder against her.

She wanted him, that much she knew. But she couldn't. Her mind wouldn't let her.

"Logan, stop!" She sat straight up and pushed him off her. She jumped off the couch and began pacing. He stared hard at her. He finally spoke.

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

She didn't answer. She stood there with her arms folded, studying the lint on the carpet. He got up and walked over to her. He carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look at him.

"Jean, surely you don't think--You know I'd never force ya to do something ya don't want. Darlin', you know how I feel about you. I love you." There, he'd said it. He knew it came as no surprise to her.

"I know," she bit her lip and lowered her head again. He looked at her strangely, as if something had suddenly dawned on him. Jean was furious with herself. She'd let her mental safeguards slip and now Logan knew what was wrong with her.

"That ain't it at all, is it?" he said, with a hint of anger in his voice. She turned her head away. "He ain't coming back, Jean. You got to get on with your life and live for yourself. Do what you want to do, not what you think you should do--for a change."

"I have to go," she mumbled and took a step back.

"Please stay with me, Jeannie," he said quietly, almost pleadingly. He reached a hand toward her. She shook her head and turned and walked out the door in time to hear his fist smash through the coffee table. As she walked down the corridor, she heard the lamp, and quite possibly the sofa, hit the wall of the rec room.

Tears streamed down her face. She had to be alone. She went to her room, crawled under the blankets and cried herself to sleep.

They had spent an evening at Harry's Hideaway along with Beast, Gambit, Rogue, Storm. It was the first "normal" evening the team had had together in many months. As the night wore on, the others drifted off in small groups. Jean and Logan were alone for the first time since the night she had pushed him away.

"So," Jean said, eyeing Logan over her drink, "Are you still angry with me?"

He looked away for a minute and then stared into his beer. "I wasn't angry with you," he said. "I was just--yeah, I guess I was. A little." he answered sheepishly and gave her a crooked half-smile.

She smiled back. "I know. I saw the rec room," she said matter of factly. By the tone of her voice, and the sparkle in her eyes, he knew that she was trying her best to make reparations between them.

"Yeah? Well, you should see me when I'm really pissed." He raised his glass, gulped down the rest of his drink, and banged the glass rather loudly on the table.

"I have." She carefully sipped her drink. They finally looked at each other. "I'm sorry, Logan. I want to give it--I want to give us a try. But I'm just not ready to get that serious yet. I'm sorry; I know I kind of led you on."

"It's okay," he said and reached across the table. He was relieved when she grasped his hand. "I've been waiting a long time. I guess I can wait a little longer." He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. For a moment they just looked at each other.

"Let's go home." She finished her drink, and got her jacket. They arrived at the mansion, and as they started toward the front door, Logan put his arm around Jean's waist. He pulled her close.

"There's just one thing, Jeannie," he whispered in her ear.

"What's that?" she asked, stopping in the doorway, her heart pounding.

"Don't kiss me like that no more 'til you're ready to get serious. Pushes too many buttons." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared up the stairs, leaving her deep in thought.

The Professor had decided it was time that he and Jean should meet with Lydia Thurgood in person. Their flight to Dallas had been uneventful. Jean had taken a good book with her, but she spent most of the time involved in a silent conversation with the Professor. He seemed so excited about the prospect of working with Ms. Thurgood. They had been communicating for several months now via E-mail and teleconferences and he was confident that they could each help benefit the other's agendas. Besides,Jean thought, winking at him, You find her rather attractive, don't you, Professor?

He smiled at her. Yes, she's a very intriguing woman. I've never "met" anyone quite like her. I'm looking forward to talking with her in person.

The plane touched down, and passengers began filing off, but Jean and Charles waited until a wheelchair could be brought on board for him. He'd seen a lot of improvements in the accessibility of public places made over the past few years, but Charles always found it bothersome to deal with the confines of his disability, especially after becoming used to the Shiar-engineered devices he used at home in the mansion. The flight attendant appeared shortly with a special narrow-width chair and helped Charles transfer to it. Inside the gate area, a standard size chair was waiting. A sandy-haired rough-looking young man was there to meet them.

"Mr. Xavier? Ms. Grey? I'm Bill Dresser from Lydia Thurgood's office. Her private limo is waiting downstairs."

Charles frowned slightly. "I thought Ms. Thurgood's son was going to meet us."

"Uh, something came up. He couldn't make it so she sent me." Something was unusual in his tone of voice, his manner, but Jean couldn't place it. She was also unable to sense anything telepathically from him, which was strange in itself. Mr. Dresser turned down a small hallway. "Regular elevator's out. We gotta take you down the freight," he explained to them. He pushed the button.

As they stepped into the freight elevator, Jean immediately knew something was wrong. She suddenly felt a sharp blow to the back of her head and everything went black.