Broken
by Satya Graha

Fandom: X-Men the Movie
Rating: R (lots of angst, minor sexual situations, some blood, and character death -- but not one of the main characters, and it's right at the beginning)
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Feedback: Hey, anything from constructive criticism to gratuitous compliments. :) Either way, let me know what you think.
Summary: Jean's sudden death causes a temporary wipe-out of Scott's mind, and Logan tries to help him gain control again.
Disclaimer: They ain't mine.
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank Chris for beta reading -- here's to a speedy elbow recovery! ;)

It was the first time he had ever passed out from sheer agony.

He wouldn't, however, remember anything from that moment.

He wouldn't remember the scream that tore through his mind, pushing all other thoughts aside. Or the terror that left him writhing on the ground as the bullets continued to fly over him. Nor would he remember the agonizing helplessness of not being able to speak or move the one time he was needed most.

He wouldn't even remember the sight of Jean, his lover, his soulmate, sprawled ungracefully on the ground, the blood from her throat disappearing into her red hair.

Scott would, however, remember the silence. The empty void created as Jean's presence, which had taken over his mind the moment the bullet pierced her, forced it's way into every part of him with terrible, unending whiteness, with pure heartbreaking emotion, and then retreated into nothingness...taking nearly all of him with her.

Logan and Storm realized the second they were alone on their side of the fight. Storm had been stirring up some heavy winds against the gunners, who had ambushed them on the road through the woods, halfway between the mansion and the city. The X-Men were heavily outnumbered, by at least twenty, and they realized this attack had to have been in the works by this notorious group of mutant-haters for some time.

The four of them had handled it well, though, for the most part. Logan had rushed right into the woods, picked out each gunner with animal quickness and made quite sure none of them would be holding a weapon anytime soon. The bullets grazed him in a few places, which only served to make him angrier. He spotted a man about fifteen feet up a tree, wearing a camouflage jacket and firing a semi-automatic pistol into the road. The attacker screamed and fell to the ground as Logan swiftly climbed up the branches and sliced at the gun, taking his trigger finger off with it.

The mutant jumped down, landing with a foot on either side of the man, who was now clearly frightened for his life.

Logan growled, "What did we ever do to ya?" The man looked up with terror-stricken eyes before fainting under Logan's feet. He huffed and left him lying there, trying not to cause any more damage than he had to. It wasn't until the X-Men had taken out or disarmed roughly three-quarters of the men and forced most of the others into a quick retreat, when the scream erupted from the middle of the road.

Logan whipped around from his position in the branches on the edge of the road and saw the source of the noise. Scott was on his back, letting short bursts fly from his visor as he clutched at his head. His screams didn't even sound human. Like someone in the middle of a seizure, Scott was arching off the ground and twisting violently. Logan ran to him and placed a knee on his hips and a hand forcefully on his chin to keep Scott's head from moving around and accidentally killing one of them. Logan scanned his body; there was nothing -- not a scratch on him. He yelled his name, trying to get his attention, "Scott!" But he just kept screaming, writhing underneath the pressure from Logan's limbs.

"Logan!" He turned towards Storm's voice and saw her kneeling fifteen feet behind him, cradling Jean's head in her lap. There was so much blood, running in small rivers all around her and covering Storm's legs and hands. Jean's eyes were closed, and if it weren't for the gaping hole in her throat, she would have looked almost peaceful. She couldn't possibly be alive. As soon as the realization hit Logan, Scott fell silent. He turned to the younger man, now lying still underneath his hands and no longer emitting heat blasts, and realized the gunfire had finally ceased.

"She's dead, Logan, she's dead," cried Storm, now rocking Jean in her arms. Her white hair fell forward and covered the tears running down her face. Logan stared at her. No, this couldn't be real. His first instinct was to run back into the woods and find the man who fired the shot and shred him into pieces so small he could never be identified. The rage boiled up inside him and he nearly let the claws fly from his hands still holding Scott's face. But his logic, for once taking over, told him a pursuit was futile -- it would be stupid to leave the two of them like this anyway.

For the moment he ignored Storm, pushing it out of his mind as a reality to deal with later. He turned to Scott, checked his pulse and noticed his chest just barely moving as he breathed, but he was clearly unconscious now. Logan checked Scott's body again, pulling his shirt up out of his trousers to find any wounds, anything that would have caused Scott such pain. Finding nothing, he finally turned back to Storm.

"Come on, we can't stay here," Logan growled in effort to keep the terror out of his voice.

Storm barely looked up, her best friend still wrapped up in her arms. Logan bent down and easily picked up Scott, trying to be careful so as not to upset any unseen injury, and placed him in the back of the van the team had been driving into the city. They hadn't been prepared for a fight. Hadn't seen it coming at all until the first bullet pierced the windshield and flew straight down the middle of the van. Scott had hit the brakes and spun the van ninety degrees in the road, while Logan and Storm jumped out -- Logan rushing into the woods and Storm flying overhead, using winds to knock some of the men out of their hiding places in the upper branches. Scott and Jean both went out the driver's side door, using the van as cover while Scott picked out careful shots and Jean used her telekinesis to pull the weapons out of the gunman's hands'.

Neither of them saw the man who moved quickly down the side of the road, to a point behind the van where he had a clear shot of both X-Men.

Coming over to Storm, Logan stood there for a moment, looking at the two women. This was why he had originally refused to join the X-Men. He wanted to avoid this, avoid getting this close to a group of people and then stand by as they get hurt. Jean's hand was lying palm up on the ground, so he knelt down and closed his around it. He had never quite gotten over his attraction for her. But he had gotten used to the fact that any kind of relationship with her, even a fleeting one, wasn't meant for them. So, after the incident with Magneto, he was going to leave, but something made him stay. For the first time in his life he felt a strange kinship, a sort of trust he couldn't explain. Partly he stayed for Marie. He knew it would be easier for her if he stuck around, and Logan often felt more than a little pride because of the way she looked up to him.

Other than that, most of his reasons for staying were selfish. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Xavier's great strides for the sake of peace, but he had no concrete opposition to it. He stayed because he was comfortable, here, he felt welcome. And he stayed because he could be around Jean. Logan knew she was with Scott and had no intention of getting between them, although he did enjoy playing with Scott's head -- and he had an inkling that Scott enjoyed it a little too, maybe just because Scott actually did have Jean and Logan didn't.

But this....this was the reason he should have left. He should have fled New York the moment he became comfortable with anyone in this group. Because now one of them was dead -- the one he cared about the most. Logan stared down at Jean and clenched his other fist. Turning his gaze toward the sky, he felt his eyes burning, but quickly pushed the tears away, knowing that no amount of crying was going to bring her back.

Letting go of Jean's hand, he pushed the white strands back from Storm's face and she looked up at him. He didn't know what to say to her, but she could see the tightness in his face, could see him just barely retaining his control.

He put his arms underneath Jean and carefully picked her up, placing her in the back with Scott. Storm climbed in between them to stay with Jean, and in case Scott woke up. She picked up some blankets they kept in the van and gently placed one over Jean, her hands shaking as she pulled it up only to her chest, afraid to disturb the wound, even though she knew there was nothing that could be done to save her. She pulled the other over Scott, tucking it in tight around him so he wouldn't go into shock.

Logan jumped in the driver's seat and, staring through the spider-cracked windshield, drove as fast as he dared with two fragile passengers in the back. His jaw was tight and he could hear his teeth grinding together. The white knuckles gripping the steering wheel threatened with metal claws to crack the windshield even further, but, again, he resisted the feeling. Instead he drove silently back to the mansion, willing this whole scenario to be wrong, believing with everything inside him that Jean was still alive and this was all just one of his terrible nightmares.

Professor Xavier came out of the infirmary, head up but shoulders slightly hunched, looking as if he might have aged twenty years in the last six hours.

"So?" asked Logan. He and Ororo had been sitting outside the infirmary since they had arrived carrying Scott and Jean. They couldn't speak to each other, couldn't understand what had just happened -- couldn't accept the truth staring them in the face.

But instead of giving into the pain of losing Jean, the two of them waited in silence for news on Scott, since they still didn't understand what had happened to him.

"I believe he will be alright," replied the Professor, "But I'm having trouble reading anything from him. He's there, but he's far away."

"I don't understand," said Ororo, "What happened to him out there?"

"Well, this might be difficult to explain. When Jean was hit, her connection with Scott opened up as her mind tried to leave her dying body. Jean's presence nearly took over Scott's mind, and the pain she felt became his pain, which is why he reacted as he did. Unfortunately, she overwhelmed him. Everything that was part of his mind -- his thoughts, his memories, his control of movements and speech -- they were all pushed back to make room for her. The connection did not last though, and when her body finally gave out, she left Scott's mind as well, leaving him with nearly nothing," explained the Professor.

"So how does that make him okay?" interrupted Logan, not understanding how Scott could be, apparently, brain dead and still be alright.

"Well, I believe this is temporary. Because his abilities to speak and move were pushed so far into his unconscious, he is technically in some form of coma. However, he is still there, and in time he should be able to function normally again."

"Can we see him?" asked Ororo.

"Of course," the Professor moved aside as Storm walked past him.

Logan wasn't sure if he wanted to go inside. He'd already seen one of his friends die today, and didn't want to see another lying on a table, nearly dead, with nothing he could do for him. Storm had taken a few steps forward before she realized Logan wasn't following her. She turned and saw him staring at a point on the wall in front of him, but she could see the contemplation on his face.

She reached back and took his hand, making him look up at her. "Come on," she said quietly, "You know you have to see him."

He followed her silently into the infirmary.

Scott was so pale he nearly blended into the sheet draped over him. The only contrast came from the dark hair falling over his forehead and the red glasses, which were left on in case he woke up unexpectedly.

Storm eventually left, after telling Scott they all loved him and that he better not think this was an excuse to forfeit the chess game they had been in the middle of playing.

Logan just stood there, staring, long after she left.

Despite his lack of motion, his mind was racing. Images flashed through his mind. Blood soaking into the dirt road. Scott's back arching off the ground in pain. Storm, on her knees, clutching Jean. Him, just standing there. Kinda like he was doing right now. Kinda like what he had been doing when Jean was shot.

After a moment he realized his hand was on Scott's chest, clutching at the sheet. The helplessness overwhelmed him and the sheet twisted further in his hand as he squeezed his eyes closed.

"I..." I'm what, he thought? I'm sorry? Sorry that you're laying here? Sorry that all I seem to be able to do is stand here and stare at you? Sorry that I didn't see that fucking man who aimed at Jean?

Maybe he was sorry he didn't leave months ago, then he wouldn't be standing here at all, trying to figure out what to say.

He closed his mouth and let the wrinkled sheet fall back onto Scott's chest.

Logan had no idea how to let out his frustrations in words. Instead, he picked up the chair behind him, pulled back, and hurled it at the wall behind Scott. The sight of the wood smashing into pieces gave Logan no satisfaction. With heaving breaths and the odd sensation of tears stinging in his eyes, he stalked out of the room, pushing past Storm, who had still been nearby and heard the noise.

"Logan?" Storm turned to follow him as he moved quickly down the hallway.

"Leave me alone," he grunted at her. God, just leave me alone.

"No, Logan, I don't think that's a good idea."

Why was she still following him? Didn't she realize this Îlet it out' bullshit wasn't going to work with him? "Leave me alone."

He entered his room and slammed the door in her face, hard. Turning around, he slumped against it. This was too much. Putting himself in a position to get hurt was something he avidly avoided. Now he was stuck, he realized. There was no leaving now. That woman had held a light for him that he hadn't seen very often in his life. Now she was dead and her light was laying unconscious on a table...all because he hadn't acted fast enough, because he hadn't been paying enough attention.

Logan put his head in his hands. He had to stay. Storm was right, it was his job to protect Scott now. He screwed up once already, and there was no way the lives of two people he cared about would be lost because of him.

Sighing, he stood up and went to lie down in bed. Thought's of Jean invaded his mind...pictures floating behind his closed eyelids. The soft skin of her neck underneath his rough forearm the first time he met her. She hadn't moved, even though he could tell she was scared. But she gave him no reaction, no reason to do anything but hold her tightly.

He lived for the looks she gave him whenever he flirted with her. She always did the same thing. Her lips would purse together and she'd look down for a moment, before looking back at him and exhaling through her nose, almost snorting at him. Like, "Right, Logan." But he loved it. He never expected her to fall into his arms one day, or even for her to ever return the flirting. He wasn't sure he even wanted that. Relationships always seemed better like this, in the initial stage when you realize this person is perfect and beautiful and probably everything you ever wanted. Even though the relationship may never be realized, you also never have to discover the other person's annoying idiosyncrasies, you never have to have long discussions regarding the state of the relationship, and more importantly, you never get hurt. So he enjoyed playing with Jean, and left the rest to Scott.

A casual fuck was nice, too, and was something he sure as hell got a lot more of before he moved into this place, but also wasn't something he wanted with Jean. She deserved more respect than that, which wasn't a label he put on too many people. And anyway, who was he to mess around with two people who seemed to genuinely love each other.

God, if he was feeling like this, he couldn't imagine how Scott would feel when he finally woke up. Logan sighed, he couldn't fathom what he would do if his life had been completely wrapped up in hers, like Scott's was. His body might heal, but as Logan thought about it, he wasn't sure there was going to be any way to repair the damage this would do to Scott.

Logan was there when he woke up.

Everyone had spent time visiting Scott. Talking to him, trying to convince him to come back, that the kids missed his poetry lectures, really.

Weeks had gone by, and Logan seemed to spend more time with him than anyone else. He never talked, just sat in the new chair, metal this time, next to Scott's bed, and stared at him. He almost figured it was a kind of punishment, since he felt like shit every time he stepped inside the infirmary. It forced him to replay the attack over and over again in his mind. To see what happened to people when he fucked up.

After a few weeks, though, he started to calm down. He went just to see Scott, to comfort him. Logan never did feel comfortable talking to him, always felt like he was talking to the wall. But he got closer to him, stood over him like he did that first night. Finally, he convinced himself that holding Scott's hand, like everyone else did, would not be unmanly of him. And it made him feel like he was doing something, even protecting him like he wanted so desperately to be able to do.

When Scott finally did wake up, nearly six weeks after the attack, Logan didn't see his eyes open behind the glasses. He did, however, feel the pressure in his fingers and thought it was his imagination. He squeezed Scott's hand tighter and looked up at his face.

Scott's jaw muscles were tensing and relaxing. Finally his mouth opened, just a little. Nothing came out.

Scott had no idea what was going on. He felt like his entire body was restrained and someone was sitting on his chest. He tried to call out but his mouth was clamped shut. With every ounce of his energy, he managed to pull his jaws apart and yell. He yelled louder and louder until he realized he couldn't hear anything. Was something blocking his ears, or was he not making any sound?

Scott felt someone touching his hand and moved his eyes downward. Red, why was everything red? Logan's dark eyes were staring back from somewhere over him and he suddenly had the odd sensation of free-falling.

Logan sucked in a breath when he saw Scott's chest start heaving.

"Professor!!" Logan ran outside the infirmary and screamed down the hallway.

The Professor was there in moments, having felt Scott return to consciousness. He was greeted by a panicked Logan in the doorway to the infirmary.

"He's awake but something's wrong."

"I know." He wheeled to Scott's bedside and noted the barely moving jaw, the fists slowly clenching and unclenching, the harsh breathing, but no other movement came from the man. No attempt to sit up, move his head, speak...anything.

Xavier closed his eyes to look inside Scott's mind. What he saw was chaos. Scott was in a total panic. He was wide awake but could barely move and didn't understand why, didn't understand what was going on.

And the optic beams were gone. The Professor reached up and pulled off Scott's glasses. Not being able to move his head, his frenzied blue eyes searched the ceiling for something recognizable.

Scott pulled in a harsh breath. God, there were so many colors; they whirled around in his mind and gave him an even stronger feeling of vertigo.

The Professor turned towards Logan, whose eyes were wide and staring at Scott. "This is excellent, Logan. His mind is coming back. Remember, I said it would be a slow process, but Scott is strong."

"But, what's going on? What's happening right now? And what happened to his eyes?" Logan asked, still confused by this whole process.

"He is still trying to regain access to many parts of his brain. He is fully conscious, but he cannot reach his speech ability yet. It seems that his upper body is somewhat mobile, but I suspect he will be paralyzed from the waist down for a longer period of time.

"As for his power, it gets energy from the sun, remember? He has been down here for over six weeks, which apparently is enough time for it to run out of energy. I am sure it will come back as soon as he spends some time outside."

The Professor paused, thinking. "This step is only one of many he has in front of him, Logan. We must help him regain control. He has extremely difficult times ahead of him." His eyes were dark as he looked at Logan, "It is important we are all there for him."

"I know," he answered quietly, knowing the Professor meant more than just physical recovery. Moving his gaze back to the man on the bed, he leaned against the bed, grabbed his hand and pulled it up onto Scott's chest. Logan placed the other hand on his forehead, moving it down through his hair.

"I know you can hear me, Scott." It was the first time he had talked to him since the accident. An odd feeling went through him as Scott turned his eyes towards him. They were such a brilliant color. Like the cobalt jars Storm kept in her window. "Relax, you're going to be okay."

The clenching fists settled and his breathing calmed, but his jaw muscles still worked slowly.

The Professor was about to speak, to explain to Scott directly what was happening to him now that his mind was clearer, but Logan beat him to the punch.

"You can't speak right now, and you can't get up. You will be able to, but not today, so just relax, okay?" The Professor was taken back at the tenderness in Logan's voice. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard that tone come from him, except maybe years ago, with Rogue.

Scott's mouth finally closed and the tension dispersed. He had expended too much energy and quickly fell asleep. Logan closed his eyes and exhaled, looking drained.

"You should get some sleep, Logan, I'll stay here with Scott."

He opened his eyes and looked tiredly at the Professor. Slowly, the hand withdrew from Scott's, and he walked out of the room.

Xavier was concentrating. He knew there had to be something there.

Scott was still asleep so the Professor searching through his mind, looking for more reasons why Scott had reacted so wildly when he had woken up the first time.

Understandably, he had been afraid because he couldn't move, but it was more than that.

Scott didn't know who any of them were.

It seemed his consciousness was coming back before his memories were. Sighing, Xavier realized this would make it even more difficult for Scott. He wouldn't just need physical therapy, he was going to need immense psychological support to bring back his memories and, in the meantime, help him understand why he was here and who his friends were.

Xavier wondered if he would eventually remember Jean on his own, or if someone was going to have to tell him.

He hoped it was the former.

"...around one hundred students, all with unique gifts," Xavier was speaking when Logan walked in the room.

Scott was nearly sitting up on the reclined bed, but still pressed back into it, like he couldn't quite hold himself up yet. His head slowly turned to Logan as he entered, and those brilliant eyes followed him as he crossed the room.

The Professor motioned to Logan, "Do you remember who this is?"

Logan raised his eyebrows at the Professor, but Xavier was looking steadily at Scott.

Scott, on the other hand, was still staring at Logan. Almost imperceptibly, Scott shook his head, and Logan felt a stab of disappointment as Scott lowered his eyes to the bed, looking almost ashamed.

"This is Logan, he is also part of the X-Men. He's one of your teammates."

Logan was confused, surely when he had spoken to Scott when he woke up he had recognized him. Why would he have become so calm if he didn't know who he was? Wouldn't that just scare him more?

"He doesn't know who I am?"

"He doesn't remember anything yet, Logan. His memories haven't come back yet."

Logan felt the Professor speaking in his head, He doesn't know what happened to him yet. Logan nodded a little, seeing that the Professor was asking him not to bring up Jean yet.

He turned his head to Scott, who was still examining the sheet. What a strange picture. This certainly wasn't the Scott they all knew, there was no air of confidence, much less the touch of immature arrogance that always seemed to come out around Logan.

He didn't look like their leader. He looked like a lost little boy.

Logan had an urge to touch him. Push the hair out of his face. He wanted to put his hands on Scott's cheekbones to make sure it was still the same face from two months ago.

Logan clasped his hands behind his back, "Uh...so what have you been talking about?"

"I told him about the school and his mutant ability and a bit about the X-Men. We have not been speaking too long."

Scott looked up and finally spoke, "So, you should tell me about yourself."

He shifted to his other foot, "Well, there's not much to tell."

"Why not?" Scott's voice was lower, softer...unsure.

Logan sighed, "I can tell you about my mutation, I guess. I heal fast, and I have adamantium metal on my bones..." Logan felt stupid, he'd never explained his mutation to someone before, usually they just ended up figuring it out. "And..." he brought up his fist in front of him and released his claws. Grinned when he saw Scott's eyes widen.

He brought the blades back in and returned his hand behind him. "Aside from that, you know about as much as me."

"Why? Were you in some kind of accident? Did you just forget, like me?"

Interesting, Logan thought, I guess we actually have something in common now. "Yeah, sort of."

Logan started making his visits to Scott as frequent as they had been before he woke up. He almost enjoyed tutoring Scott on the goings on of the house and the outside world. His surroundings had never fascinated him as much as when he suddenly had to describe them to someone else. Didn't realize that he had even noticed the garden with the purple flowers outside or the battered card-table in the den, completely out of place among the dark oak furniture, until he tried to describe the rest of the mansion to Scott. When Scott asked Logan's description of some of the other residents, Logan was suddenly aware that Storm never made a sound when she walked and that Marie liked to twirl that white strand of hair when she was concentrating.

He wondered if he should care that he took everything around him for granted. He didn't really need to know the details to know if he liked or disliked something. But Scott was eager to hear all of his descriptions. Sometimes it seemed he remembered, but mostly he just listened and tried to soak it all in.

But Scott occasionally had his frustrated days. He was regaining movement slowly, but was still confined to his bed. Xavier cautioned him on going outside, so he could deal with the current situation without the burden of his mutation. Not that he called it a burden, but still.

This particular day, Scott was angry. His confidence had been returning as he began to get comfortable with the strange people around him, and it was feeding his frustration.

"Why can't I just remember? This is so stupid. Twenty-three years of my life, just gone -- because I was hit during a god damn mission??" That was the story they gave him. Vague enough so they didn't have to lie, and with the omission of a main character.

"I know, but it will come back, the Professor thinks so," Logan was trying to calm him down, watching Scott punch the air in front of him.

"No, you don't know that," his breathing was hard, and his pale skin was flushed. Logan wondered if he was going to cry. But he didn't. Another fist swung at the air, but this time Logan caught it.

"Calm down, this isn't gonna help."

But Scott wasn't listening. He had stopped all movement and was staring at Logan's fist on his arm. Suddenly he sucked in a breath. Light flashed in his mind and he threw his head back against the pillow. He could feel pain all around him, in him, and Logan above him, holding him down with his knee and a hand forcing his head up and away. And then he was screaming and his throat was raw and he could feel his back arching and body twisting. He could feel her, inside him, forcing and ripping her way through him. Scott grabbed his head, screaming in pain, and Logan must have grown extra hands because he was forcing his chin up and grabbing at both of Scott's hands as well. His name was echoing in his ears, coming from so many places. The voice seemed a mile away and right in front of him at the same time.

Logan was caught off guard. One second Scott was throwing his fist through the air and the next it was a frightening replay of that afternoon that seemed so long ago now. He tried to hold Scott's hands back from his face, trying to get his attention through the boy's screams.

"Professor!!!"

And then, just like before, he stopped. The hands went limp in Logan's grip, but he continued to hold him, staring at Scott.

"Hey...wake up...listen to me." Nothing.

Logan sighed shakily. He couldn't take much more of this. Watching Scott go through this was harder than he had ever imagined. And this wasn't even the worst. He knew what was coming now.

Logan let go of Scott's arms as the Professor came in, concern written all over his face. But Logan didn't look at him, only saying, "He knows," as he brushed past him, walking quickly out of the room.

Logan stared at the wall in his room. He couldn't bear to be there when Scott woke up, which he did quickly this time, only a few hours later.

On his way to his room from Scott's, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. This was too much for him. This was emotional torture, something, unfortunately, Logan did not have the ability to heal from quickly. He concentrated on the burn as the liquid went down his throat. Physical pain he could almost enjoy. Something that hurt like hell and then just...went away without a trace.

Enjoyed it so much that, after half a bottle of whiskey, he grabbed a knife from his drawer and cut the palm of his hand. A clean cut, with tiny drops of blood forming perfectly on the edges. And like that, it was gone. No scar, no pain, like it never even happened. Erased from memory.

But not this. He looked towards the door. Ororo was walking by behind it; he could only hear her crying.

Taking another swig, he tried desperately to ignore what was going on down the hall. The Professor was there, trying to console him. But how do you tell someone -- who just realized their lover died two months ago and she's the reason he'd been in a coma and couldn't move or remember anything -- that everything is gonna be just fine?

Yup, just fine, Logan thought, taking another gulp and holding it in his mouth, letting it burn his gums and soft palate.

If he listened hard enough, he could hear the yelling and the crying and the swearing. But he didn't want to. He curled up on his bed and convinced himself he should be passing out after drinking an entire bottle of alcohol. But his body wasn't convinced, and so he stared at the wall until the tension finally wore him out.

Nearly a week passed before Logan went to see him again. It had taken effort to avoid him, now that the Professor allowed him outside. He needed the fresh air, time and space to breathe. Which meant he was wearing his glasses again.

His eyes powered up amazingly fast. Scott felt the pressure of the headache barely five minutes out the door. Storm handed him his glasses and Logan, watching from across the garden, felt a slight sense of loss as Scott covered up his eyes and roughly ran his hand through his hair.

He still couldn't walk though. And he still wasn't the Scott they had known before. This Scott was angry. It went through him so deep that they couldn't see anything else in him. He was angry at the Professor for his rigorous lessons on everything but what actually happened to him; he was angry at Storm for acting so gentle and caring and yet never caring enough to tell him the truth; he was very angry at Logan for spending so much time with him, having so many opportunities to tell him, and never having done so. He was even angry at Jean. He was angry for Jean.

He sat outside all day, for hours on end, staring at the horizon. Until someone would come and wheel him inside and help him into bed.

One evening Logan came out for him. As he approached from behind, Scott sat motionless. Logan hesitated, almost turned around. Instead he grabbed the handles on the wheelchair.

"Ready to go inside, Cyke?"

Scott sighed, but didn't answer. Logan started to turn the chair around, towards the mansion. He matched the sigh and watched his brown hair fall forward as he hung his head. Logan reached forward with one hand and tried to place it comfortingly on his shoulder, but Scott stiffened under his touch. Slowly his back rose up against the back of the chair and he raised his head to stare ahead, as if saying, "I'm stronger than you think."

Logan let go and pushed him back in silence. He didn't buy the act. Scott had stopped talking and was hardly eating any of the meals they brought him. And despite the extensive hours in the sun, his skin almost seemed to get paler.

When they got to his room, Logan wheeled him up to the bed. Then Scott spoke for the first time in days.

"Get Storm."

Logan looked at him for a second. "I can help you," then flashed a grin, "In fact, I could get you in bed a lot faster than she could."

The attempt at humor fell flat as Scott's jaw set, not looking at him, "Just get her."

"Why? I'm not good enough to help you?" Logan crossed his arms defensively.

Scott turned his head towards him and nearly snarled, "When did you ever help me?"

Logan could feel his teeth grinding again, this man was so infuriating -- and that was a cheap shot. "What was I supposed to say? How do you tell somebody that?" He sighed, "I can't even think about it, so how the hell was I supposed to talk to you about it?"

"Well," Scott shot back, "How nice for you, because I think about it all time," he looked away again, "I can't think of anything else."

Logan took a deep breath. He walked over to Scott, picked him up quickly out of the chair and deposited him roughly on the bed.

Trying to recover, Scott braced his arms behind him and bared all his teeth at Logan, breathing harshly -- and royally pissed off.

"Look at that, I helped," Logan spat at him and walked out.

Later that evening, Logan, passing by Scott's room, stopped dead in the doorway.

Scott's back was facing the door and he clearly didn't hear Logan stop behind him.

The younger man was perched between the side of his bed and the chair next to it. Every muscle in his arms and back was pulled taught.

He was standing.

Just barely.

Scott's feet were touching the ground, but his legs were bent slightly at odd angles, as if he were gently trying to place his feet beneath him like a marionette doll.

Standing in the doorway, Logan couldn't force his eyes off his body. He knew Scott shouldn't be trying this by himself, but instead of moving towards him, Logan's gaze moved over his back and arms, realizing for the first time how truly muscular Scott was.

But those muscles were starting to twitch and strain under the pressure of his full weight and when Scott finally let out a grunt of frustration, Logan broke his trance and felt a spark of anger.

"Hey, you shouldn't be doin' that by yourself!"

He hadn't meant to yell, but the distraction was just enough to startle Scott, unlocking his elbows from their tense position and he dropped, crashing to the floor. His knees slammed into the carpet and the rest of his body fell sideways, throwing his head into the metal frame of the bed and knocking his glasses into the corner.

"Shit!" Logan leapt forward, but not in time to catch him. He crouched down and grabbed Scott's torso, pulling his head away from the bed frame. Oh god, he thought, this is my fault.

Afraid that Scott would fall unconscious, Logan kept talking to him. Or to be more precise, he kept yelling Scott's name in his ear.

It didn't take long to realize Scott wasn't badly hurt. "Fuck!" Scott continued on with a tirade of swear words Logan never even realized were in his vocabulary.

As soon as Scott realized he was on the floor and hands were pulling at him, he started swinging.

"Get the fuck away from me, Logan! Dammit, let me go!" Logan tried to keep his hold on him so he wouldn't fall back against the bed frame, but Scott was a lot stronger than he anticipated and was punching and pushing hard against his chest. Scott let out a swing that landed directly on Logan's kidney and he finally let go, stumbling backwards.

Neither one moved, but their heavy breathing filled up the silence in the room. Logan was staring at Scott, who was now resting against the bed. But Scott turned his head away from Logan, eyes still clenched and his face creased with anger and frustration.

"What the hell did you think you were trying to do?" Logan finally asked.

"Just go away, Logan," he kept his head turned away.

"You know you're not strong enough yet, you could hurt yourself and end up back where you started -- lying in bed not able to speak, to move at all," he paused and raised his voice, "much less walk."

Scott turned towards Logan and yelled, "I was doing fine until you interrupted me!"

Logan was getting angrier, "Why can't you just ask someone for help? What if you had gotten another concussion? What if nobody had been around to find you?!" He was rambling now, but he couldn't stop himself. His fists were clenched and if he hadn't felt so damn protective of this man sitting on the floor, he probably would have hit him.

Scott threw his hands out in front of him, "Why do you even care?!" Scott just wanted him to leave. Logan didn't understand. He didn't understand how hard it was for Scott to ask anyone to help him with this. Everyday for the past week he had been trying to stand on his own. The first time, he had fallen almost like he did this time and it had taken an hour to get back into the bed. He was so ashamed of himself. An invalid who needed people to help with his every action. Like he needed another handicap.

And Logan. Why was he acting like this? Before any of this happened one would think Logan hated him, but now...now he was always around. Scott's shadow. Scott might have half-heartedly admitted that it was nice to know someone cared, but he didn't really want to think about it. He was probably just Logan's pet project. A way to unload his guilty conscious. Scott didn't care, he just wanted him out. The last person he was going to ask for help was this man, who would probably hold it over his head for the rest of his life. ÎHey Scott, remember when you were weak and I had to help you?' ÎScott, remember when you were sitting blind on the floor cause you couldn't even fucking stand?'

He didn't need that.

Logan apparently didn't have an answer to his question, because he was silent for awhile. Scott wasn't expecting an answer, though, and was actually hoping the question would force Logan to realize he didn't care, and leave.

Scott almost thought that Logan really had left, when he felt a strong hand close around his wrist and another one pressing his glasses into his palm. He closed his fist around them and tried to yank his hand away, but the other hands kept a firm hold on him.

"I do care." Logan was so close he could feel his breath on his cheek. How had he moved that close? Scott turned his head away and Logan saw his face tighten again.

Barely audible, "I'm not your project, Logan, and I don't need your pity."

A moment passed, and the hands let go of his wrist. This time he did leave.

Scott tried to let out a sigh of relief, but it came out shaky and he realized how absurdly close he was to crying. Shaking his head, he concentrated instead on how he was going to get back into bed. Right on cue, Ororo walked in, apparently notified about his fall. At least she was calm, and though he could feel the pity in her, too, like he felt in everyone, she never provoked him like Logan did.

Finally in bed and worn out, he tried to fall asleep. God, he missed Jean. He pulled the other pillow down next to him and hugged it tightly to his chest. The softness filled his arms and if he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine her beside him.

And if she had been there, she wouldn't pity him. She would be understanding, but more importantly she would be strong for him. Supporting, encouraging. Like she was when they were younger, when both of them struggled to control their powers. Jean had always believed in him. Unlike Logan. Jean would have never been angry with him for trying too hard, for taking small risks in order to recover control of his own body. The words "you're not strong enough," would have never fallen from her mouth. But they had from Logan's.

And still, for all his anger, he couldn't push the man's presence out of his mind. Scott could still feel Logan's warm breath on his face. He wished he had had his glasses on at the time, so he could have seen Logan that close. Could have seen the lines on his face, the look in his eyes. He imagined over and over again the feel of Logan's hands on his arm. The grip was so strong -- Logan could have easily broken his wrist with a flick of his own -- but his skin was smooth. Such a contradiction. Like Logan himself.

Logan hadn't answered his spoken question, but he had answered the one Scott was really asking. It made Logan even more of a contradiction. The angry voice from the doorway was non-existent in the soft one used so close to his face moments later. The Logan he knew from before the accident made snide remarks and flirted with his girlfriend, the one on display lately had been toned down and at times even...gentle towards him. Was this all in his imagination?

Scott sighed and moved his face in the pillow. It still smelled like her. Even months later. Sometimes it was actually too much and he would throw the pillow across the room in frustration that it was only cloth and not her skin. But the next morning, he would always have Ororo or somebody get it for him, ignoring their questioning looks of why it kept getting over there in the first place.

He let go of the pillow and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Finding no answers in the stucco he rolled onto his other side, away from her side of the bed. Maybe he should change rooms. Her presence permeated this room, even if her body didn't.

Suddenly he was wide awake. That was it, he just couldn't be in here anymore. The walls practically echoed her voice. Everything in the room had been touched by her, had been affected by her. The life this room once carried was an intertwined one and made the life of one man alone seem so small and insignificant.

Insignificant. That seemed to fit him so well right now. Her love had made him feel powerful, and the absence of it forced him into withdrawal. Made him feel so small he was surprised people could actually see him at all.

Continuing to stay in this room without her was draining him of all the energy he possessed. If he could, he would have left that moment and spent the night on the couch in the lobby until he could move into a new room in the morning. But, of course, even that was beyond him. So he lay there, staring at the ceiling again, waiting for someone to come rescue him.

The sharp knock on Scott's door woke him up. Before he could answer, it swung open and Logan quickly walked inside holding a tray with his breakfast.

Without looking at Scott, he moved towards the nightstand and mumbled, "The Professor wanted me to bring this for you."

The dishes rattled as he set the tray down with typical Logan grace. Scott sat up and watched him as he moved. He didn't know what, if anything, he should say to him.

Scott wasn't mad about last night anymore, not really. And he had other things on his mind now. Logan paused next to his bed, seeming to wait for the other man to say something, but either changed his mind or lost his patience because after a moment he turned and headed for the door.

Scott knew he couldn't wait for the next wanderer to come visit him.

"Wait."

Logan paused and waited for Scott to continue before he turned around.

"I...um, I need you to do something for me." He tried to make it sound like a command rather than a plea, but the leader-ness in his voice wasn't what it used to be.

Logan just looked at him, hands at his sides. Outwardly, he looked rather calm, but his face was just the slightest bit tense and Scott wondered what he was thinking.

"I need to move. I want another room. Tell the Professor to arrange it." It all rushed out in one breath. So much for trying to be smooth about it.

Logan's eyes started wandering around the room like he was going to find something that explained Scott's request.

"Why?"

"I just need to leave. I don't have to explain myself to you, do I?" He knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn't help it. Exposing himself to Logan wasn't high on his list of things to do today, nor was getting laughed at for trying to start a heart-to-heart with Mr. I Don't Talk About My Feelings.

"Why are you such an asshole?"

Hmm, busted.

Logan could see Scott's face close down. He probably shouldn't have said it, but he was tired of being snapped at for no reason. Scott had to be holding a lot of pain and wasn't saying a word about any of it to anyone, and it was starting to bug him. Okay, so Logan wasn't the most talkative person in the world, and if they switched places he'd probably be a bigger asshole than Scott was being, but their places weren't switched. And some unidentifiable part of him was telling him that Scott needed to let go of something soon, or he was going to break.

Logan took a step forward, "Alright, nevermind," and then, calmer, "Why do you want to move?"

There must have been something really interesting going on with Scott's hands, because suddenly his eyes were glued to them. And he looked mad. Really mad.

Fuck, thought Scott. Why was he pressing him? For someone who doesn't exactly talk a lot he sure was trying hard to make Scott more verbal. Damnit, he didn't want to tell him why, it would just make him look weak, like he couldn't handle the situation. He kept staring at his hands, getting angrier at Logan for not just going to the Professor with his message.

Logan continued, since Scott didn't look like he was going to answer anytime soon, "Look, I'm not gonna bite you. Maybe if you tell me you'll stop looking like you're going to burn holes through your hands."

He looked up at Logan. Fine.

"She's everywhere." He stared at Logan, trying to convince him that this was all the explanation he was going to get, at the same time wondering what Logan would do if he did tell him why, tell him how it hurt to stay in this room with Jean's presence everywhere. That might actually make him leave.

Logan didn't say anything, and Scott knew he wasn't going to get away with the minimal answer. And after a moment he realized that he really, really wanted to talk to somebody. The feeling churned its way inside him, starting in the back of his mind and slowly moving down his spine to the pit of his stomach, leaving behind a trail of heat and panic. For a moment he felt he might throw up. Yeah, he was desperately hanging on to something and needed to let go, somehow. He just didn't know if he wanted Logan to be the one to catch him.

A thousand words and images flooded his mind, all trying to be voiced at the same time. Logan was still standing there, waiting for him to speak, and all of a sudden Scott lost every shred of courage he could have had to do this. He opened his mouth and then closed it again as the blood rushed to his face in embarrassment.

He was going to cry in front of Logan.

Scott's hands flew to his face, nearly knocking his glasses off, and his body hunched over as far as it could go. He wished his legs could move because he really wanted to run, or at least curl up on himself.

Instead he tried not to move, using every ounce of strength to keep his shoulders steady and lungs quiet as the anguish started tearing through him. He had done so well keeping it leashed...leave it to Logan to rip it out of him, and he hadn't even really done anything.

Logan's mouth dropped open. That little part of him was right, except it was happening now, right in front of him.

Scott was breaking.

He was barely moving on the bed, but Logan could sense the sorrow and the fear and the loneliness overwhelming him. He could smell the salt of the tears hidden behind Scott's hands. Comforting was not his best skill -- or one he was even sure he had -- but he was suddenly taken with the same protective need he felt last night when Scott fell.

Logan was over to him in an instant. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Scott, and hesitated before reaching forward and pulling the younger man's face to his chest. Scott tried to pull away, and the whole scene was starting to feel very familiar, but this time Logan won and managed to keep his hold on him.

But Scott still kept every one of his reins in tight. He was so clearly crying but his body was rock solid with the effort of keeping the sobs back.

"It's okay, Scott," Logan whispered in his ear.

At the feel of Logan's breath once again on his cheek, he felt it all rush forward. A despair he had never felt before attacked his thoughts and a quiet, strangled cry escaped Scott's lips as he dug his fingers into Logan's back.

God, he didn't know what to do. He just kept holding Scott against him tightly, running his hand through his hair to sooth him, as his cries got louder and his body finally started to shake with the force of his now escaping sobs.

Logan started whispering in his ear, stroking his back, even rocking him -- anything to calm him down. He felt his own chest tighten at the sight of their stoic leader crumpled in his arms. The flannel of his shirt was wet with Scott's tears, and if he didn't know better, he would think there would be bruises later on his back from Scott's clutching hands.

"It's okay, Scott, you have to let it go...you have to let her go," he whispered, running his hand down Scott's tensed and shaking arm.

Logan could barely discern the answer muffled by sobs and flannel, "I can't..." Scott's body tightened as he spoke as a new wave of pain flowed through him and his shoulders shook harder.

Scott couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he could only feel. His body hurt. Everything, everything he had experienced in the past weeks came back to haunt him. Everything he had tried so hard to push into the back of his mind, in order to provide the face everyone wanted to see. It all coursed through him, and he couldn't even remember what had set him off.

"You have to, it'll kill you if you hang on," Logan breathed in his ear.

He knew. It was killing him.

"Oh god," Scott cried, the emptiness had to go. She would always be with him, that wasn't a choice he even had. But he could break his entanglement with her. He had to unwrap his mind from her -- that was the choice he had to make.

And so he made it.

Logan began to breathe again as Scott slowly calmed. His body relaxed and the hands on Logan's back stopped digging into his flesh, but they didn't move from their spot.

Suddenly Scott was quiet, and on impulse, Logan hugged him even tighter. Scott's hands crept further around the larger man's back so he could hug him back. Neither of them moved for a few minutes.

Logan realized with a start that his own face was wet. Guess he couldn't let Scott cry by himself. All Logan wanted, at this moment, was to take away his pain. He wanted him to be free of everything that made him feel so much torment. Logan was familiar with torment, and it didn't belong in this man. The man in Logan's arms deserved so much better.

He wondered if maybe he was able to give it to him.

Scott finally pulled back, head down, avoiding Logan's gaze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled and leaned back against the headboard. Scott's arms went protectively around himself, hugging himself tightly, partly to keep the warmth that Logan's body had given him. Partly because he was waiting for Logan's scorn, preparing himself for the impending humiliation.

"Stop it." Logan's quiet, but sharp, words made Scott look up.

Logan reached for his wrists and pulled his arms away from his chest. Scott's mouth opened in surprise and Logan leaned forward, stopping just in front of his face.

"Blaming yourself is what helped get you here in the first place, isn't it? Nothing that happened was your fault, nothing. And it's not a sign of weakness that you can't walk, but a sign of strength that you've come so far already. Don't you understand? Don't you understand how strong you are? This would break other men." Logan whispered harshly, willing him to understand.

Scott's face was still flushed from crying, and his eyes still wet. He tried to lean farther back into the headboard, to get away from Logan's words and his gaze so close to his own. He tried to ignore the tear tracks on Logan's face; he wasn't sure what those meant.

Scott looked defeated, "Christ, Logan, are you blind? I am broken," he bowed his head and whispered, almost to himself, "I'm completely broken."

Logan sighed at the empty look on Scott's face. He was almost glad he couldn't see his eyes, he could feel what they looked like right now.

Scott looked so alone. Even with Logan sitting just a few inches away, it was like he wasn't even there anymore. Scott was withdrawing inside again, and Logan, still gripping his wrists, shook them to get Scott's attention.

He knew this was gonna hurt him, "What would Jean say if she were here?"

Scott's head snapped up and his fists clenched under Logan's grip. He was right though, Jean would never allow him to wallow in self-pity. But fuck that, Jean wasn't here, that was the whole fucking point. So, "Fuck you, Logan."

Logan tightened his grip, "Do you think no one is ever going to love you again?" All of a sudden it made sense. He thought the only person in the world that cared for him was gone.

Scott breathed audibly, "So many questions, Logan, why don't you have some god damn answers?"

"Why do you keep avoiding them?"

Scott just stared at him, jaw clenched.

Logan, never one to rely much on words anyway, tried another tactic.

Leaning forward, he kissed Scott hard on the lips.

Scott tried to move away, and in surprise, opened his mouth to gasp. Logan took the invitation and moved his tongue inside Scott's mouth.

A muffled sound came from the man against the headboard, and heat flooded through him. His hands came up to Logan's chest, but he didn't know if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer, so instead he grabbed the shirt in his hands and didn't move him anywhere.

Logan moved his grip from Scott's wrists to his hands, releasing the younger man's hold on his shirt and pressing his hands flat against his chest instead, rubbing them back and forth. Logan groaned into his mouth and moved one hand up to Scott's face, running it through his hair and behind his head to pull him away from the headboard. The other hand moved to Scott's chest, this one running around his ribs to his back.

Scott didn't know what was going on. His thoughts were whirling around inside his head. This wasn't actually Logan kissing him, it couldn't be. Is this why he's been acting so strange lately?

He'd never been touched like this before. Logan was so much stronger than him, so overpowering. Still, was this one of Logan's plans just to make him feel better? He probably wasn't really attracted to him, and Scott knew that no matter how good it felt right now, he'd just feel like shit later if that's all this was.

Scott moved his face to the side, out of Logan's kiss. Logan moved his head lower and started leaving trails of heat down the side of his throat.

"Oh, god," Scott breathed as Logan continued his assault, "Logan, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing," he mumbled against Scott's collarbone.

"Logan," he swallowed, trying to keep his breathing under control, "You don't have to do this for me."

Logan stopped and moved to look Scott in the face, a look of anger crossed over his face. "What makes you think I'm doing this just for you?"

He stood up and looked down at him, "Jesus, Scott, when are you gonna get it out of your head that I'm here because I feel sorry for you," he spit out, "I don't feel sorry for you. And sometimes you make me so angry that I don't even know why I want you so much. But I do, and when you finally come to grips with that, give me a call." With that, he turned around sharply and walked to the door.

"Wait, Logan," Shit, he really fucked this up.

Logan didn't stop, slamming the door behind him.

Scott fell backwards against the headboard. Reaching over, he grabbed the glass from the breakfast tray and threw it hard against the far wall. Watching the orange liquid slide down, he wondered what ever happened to the semi-normal life he used to have. It hasn't been all that confusing, sure he had some fucked-up mutant power, but he knew his place. At the school, with the X-Men, with Jean.

Now, he didn't know anything. He didn't know anything anymore.

Logan prowled the hallways. He was furious. He moved down the corridor, the few students he passed quickly moving to the side to make way for him. Anger was radiating from him.

Why did he care so much for the little snot, anyway?

You know why, you idiot, Logan thought. Because he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Because he's intelligent and sensitive and so many things that you're not.

Because if Logan had Scott's love the way Jean did, he knew he would never, ever want anything else so long as he lived.

He stopped in front of the Professor's door, which was cracked open.

"Logan, come in," called the Professor.

Logan pushed open the door and got right to the point, "Scott wants to change rooms."

"I know."

Logan huffed and mumbled, "Yeah, of course you do." He paused and it hit him, "Is that why you asked me to bring him his breakfast this morning?"

"Yes, I heard him broadcasting it all night. But I felt him on the edge, I knew he would need someone this morning. And I knew who it had to be."

Logan stared at the floor. He knew that if the Professor knew what Scott was thinking, then he sure as hell knew what Logan was thinking, which meant he knew what just went on between them as well.

"You can't keep leaving him," said Xavier.

Logan gritted his teeth, it was no use trying to keep his personal life personal around here, "He doesn't want me there."

"He does, Logan, he just doesn't want to admit that you care for him."

He kept staring at the floor. Even Logan wasn't sure he wanted to admit to himself he cared for Scott.

Xavier continued, "You need to tell him. In some cases words do speak louder than actions. Scott won't tell you he needs you, not right now. The problem is that he needs you right now more than ever, and if you stand by him and help him, well," he paused and Logan looked up at him, "I believe the two of you would both get exactly what you want."

Walking down the hallway to his room, Logan thought about the Professor's words. He supposed he was right. His constant leaving was only making the situation worse. Logan always left angry and he was pretty sure how Scott felt. He had heard the glass break against the wall after he walked out.

No one had ever made Logan run such a gamut of emotions. No one made Logan feel anger the way Scott made him feel it. Like he wanted to punch a wall but have his fist give way instead of the plaster. It was a guilty anger, like he deserved the pain.

He stopped in mid-stride and turned around. Towards Scott's room.

Logan didn't knock, he just walked right in and found Scott in nearly the same position he left him in, staring at his hands.

But Scott looked up when he heard Logan walk back in. He sucked in a breath as Logan kept moving and sat back down on the bed, where he had been not ten minutes earlier.

"Look. I don't really know how to do this, so listen close, I'm only gonna explain myself once." He had Scott's close attention but felt himself stammering out the words, "I care about you, I don't know why or when it happened, but it did. I mean, I did. Care about..." Logan huffed and rolled his eyes at himself in frustration. He tried again, "I told you, I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. You're strong, Scott, and you're not broken, not in my eyes," he could feel it start rushing out of him now, "I want to help you, and not because I think you can't do it, but because I know you can. I just want you to be happy, Scott, and," he paused and put his hand down on Scott's thigh, then closed his eyes and whispered, "I guess I just want to see if I can make you happy."

Logan held his breath as he waited for Scott to react. He felt like he just ripped his heart right of his chest and laid it in Scott's lap. Now he just had to wait to see if Scott would crush it or pick it up.

Scott looked like he had been struck with something. He stared open-mouthed at Logan, not sure if what had just happened was his imagination or real. But he could feel the warmth of Logan's hand through the blanket. His legs may not be able to move much, but suddenly they were hyper-sensitive. He could feel the weight and heat from Logan, sitting pressed up against his other leg, and finally, still not sure what he was doing, he moved his hand to cover Logan's.

Logan opened his eyes at the two hands pressed together. He moved his gaze up slowly to the face before him, which now looked gentle and had what almost looked like a smile creeping across his lips.

Scott felt the chuckle rumble up from his chest and started grinning like a madman.

Logan frowned. "What's so funny?"

Scott kept grinning, "Nothing. We're so stupid, the two of us."

"Yeah, I know."

Scott gripped the hand in his lap and held it with both of his. The smile faded from his lips and he said, "Look, Logan. I'm sorry. I know I've been a jerk. I guess, I just...this has been really hard for me."

Logan ran his eyes over Scott's face. That hadn't been easy to say.

"And, uh," he stared at Logan's hand in his, "thank you for saying that. Thank you for helping me."

Logan sighed. Thank God, he thought. He couldn't believe this was actually working out. Now, with words out of the way, he knew just how to handle the rest.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Scott's. Scott didn't try to back away this time, instead bringing his hands up to hold Logan closer to him.

Logan wrapped his arms around Scott and, using one hand for leverage underneath his hips and the other for balance underneath his shoulders, lifted Scott off the bed a few inches and moved him so he was lying down.

Scott broke the kiss and grabbed Logan's arms, "Whoa."

Logan grinned, "What? None of your other lovers strong enough to pick you up?" He was loving this. He finally had Scott where he wanted him, and now he felt like a puffed-up teenager, enjoying himself trying to impress this beautiful man in his arms.

"No, but I think I like it," answered Scott.

"Good," Logan moved to lie on top of him, pressing his weight onto every inch of him. He sighed again, putting his head in the crook of Scott's neck and imagined what this would feel like without all the material between them. Using his forearms as leverage, he started moving a little, slowly pulling his body up and down, feeling every inch of muscle beneath him.

Scott groaned, "Logan..."

He latched his mouth onto Scott's neck. The taste was incredible, and this time he would have time to enjoy it. He ran his tongue down to his collarbone, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin.

"Oh...," Scott felt like he'd never been touched before. Of course, he hadn't, not by a man anyway. He grabbed onto Logan's hair, which was softer than he thought it would be, and gently pulled him away from his neck, "Kiss me."

No problem, Logan thought, he grinned and did exactly as he was told.

From across the room, Logan heard a soft clicking. Turning his head to the door, he started laughing.

Scott looked mortified.

"It was Storm," Logan managed through his laughter. He could smell her just outside the door. He wondered how long she had been standing there watching.

"Sorry, guess I forgot to close it when I came back." Logan grinned at his shocked companion.

Storm stood with her hand on the doorknob.

She'd just walked by a second ago, meaning to have a chat with Scott and had seen the two kissing through the open door.

Figuring they might want some privacy, and soon, she closed the door as silently as possible.

Walking away, smiling, she was relieved those two stubborn men had finally stopped holding out on each other.

They were both gonna be just fine.

The End