Just Wolverine, bub. (slicendice) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-08-21 23:31:00 |
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The Professor “ghost” had seemed harmless all of the first day and most of the second. He’d cycled through memories that left Jean feeling nostalgic, sure, but nothing that tugged at her heart in a painful way. The first time they’d met, her first lesson, the time he’d caught her and Scott fooling around in the hangar and had been kind enough to give two nineteen year olds a break, never mentioning it again. She could see just enough of the scenes to remember where she was and how she felt, and it warmed her heart to see his compassionate face again. But then it all changed. Jean was washing a few dishes when Xavier appeared a few feet away. He was being lifted up out of his chair by a force that whipped around him and at him with obvious ferocity, tearing at his skin. The cause was out of view, but the violence of it was enough to trigger a power surge from Jean’s hands, shattering the wine glass she was washing. Most of the glass landed in the sink, but two chunks embedded in her hand. She gasped, mindlessly reaching for a hand towel nearby. But the majority of her focus was on the scene playing out near the dining room table, which sat undisturbed despite the ghostly destructiveness happening next to it. This wasn’t a memory she had, but all the previous ones had been scenes she’d been apart of. It didn’t take a massive leap to consider the possibility that she hadn’t died at Alkali Lake, that this was her “future”. Shock tightened its grip painfully on her heart as the professor looked straight at her and said “don’t let it control you” before being pulled apart in a million different directions. Driven backwards in horror, Jean collapsed against the wall next to the fridge. Her telepathy stabbed outwards, instinctively in search of Logan, but her thoughts were chaos and she didn’t even realize she was doing it. She could only slump to the floor, holding the towel to her still bleeding hand as her breath came in quiet, ragged gasps. Even if Logan hadn’t been alert and aware to the already dark feeling that had dropped around him, he probably would have picked up on her mental push. As it was, he felt it like a punch to the stomach, and found himself staggering down the hallway without even double thinking his route. His brain felt like it was being stabbed with a mental ice pick by the time he was on the elevator and at her door. Thank fuck for the fact that Jean had the forethought to actually give him a key, because breaking down the door in Stark’s tower was likely to get him a lot of shit and leave her without a door. He slid the key in and stumbled into her apartment, convinced at what he was about to walk into wasn’t going to be pretty. He smelled the blood the moment the door opened, and every step he took toward Jean’s location had the sinking feeling falling deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. It was probably ridiculous to feel relief at the sight of her being injured, but a cut on the hand was far better than anything else he’d envisioned in his brain. “Jeannie?” For all of Logan’s tough exterior, his voice was low and soft as he dropped to his knees in front of her. “What the hell happened, darlin?” She’d managed to get her breathing under control by the time Logan was filling up the space between her and the spot where the apparition had faded away, but that didn’t mean her gaze wasn’t haunted and full of unshed tears as she zeroed in her focus on his face. Realizing she must have called to him somehow, Jean frowned and dropped her eyes to the towel pressed into her palm. “I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--the echo...caught me by surprise. I broke a glass,” she murmured distractedly. Lifting the towel to get a better look, she quickly picked out the two small shards jammed into her palm and set them aside. Her doctor’s eyes knew it looked worse than it was, but she’d still have to clean the cuts and bandage her hand. As soon as she could move without feeling like her legs were made of jello, anyway. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.” Jean tried for a reassuring smile but there was a shimmer over Logan’s shoulder that suggested the echo was about to restart and her eyes clamped tightly shut in reflex. “Chuck again?” Logan sat back on his heels and gazed down at the wound she was sporting. He’d reached up and grabbed a clean towel, and went to work quietly wrapping her hand back up now that she’d pulled the glass out. His calloused hands ran around the edge as he was as delicate as possible with the towel and her open wound. It was always a little bit strange to him when he had to watch other people bleed, with the knowledge that something like this on himself would’ve healed already. And even worse that it was Jean, who he already admittedly hated seeing in pain. Not just the pain from the wound, but the tears in her eyes and the telling expression on her face. He’d known she’d been seeing the ghost of Xavier, which was damn weird for him - first time had been under the assumption it was Logan’s ghost. He had enough of them to haunt him for years. It’d brought back a rush of memories from the Phoenix Force and the end of Professor X’s life, but there had still been something comforting about having him around at all. The version of him that was how Logan remembered. Clearly, the ghostly presence had taken a turn for the worse, if the typically-unflappable Jean was this shaken up. “What’d you see?” It was against his better judgement to even ask, but Logan never was great at doing what was best. Jean didn’t want to tell him anymore than she wanted to watch it again, so she kept her eyes half-shuttered as she watched him tend to her hand instead. She was fully aware that the Professor had been killed by Scott in Logan’s world, while under the influence of the Phoenix Force at that. She’d selfishly felt some comfort in the knowledge that her world was different, and yet here was possible proof that it wasn’t so different after all. That was a hard, horrifying pill to swallow, and Jean wasn’t sure she could handle seeing Logan come to the same conclusion. “It’s a memory I don’t have,” she whispered, as she could sense the echo reforming behind him. Her uninjured hand trembled slightly as she reached to grasp him by the back of the neck, hoping to keep his attention on her. “I don’t know what that means, but I know it’s not something you need to see. I’m sorry I pulled you here. It was an accident. I just--I guess I panicked and you got the brunt of it.” “I ain’t sorry,” Logan grumbled under his breath, huffing a breath out. Someday he’d get it through to her brain that she wasn’t a burden on him. Or anybody. “I wanna help, ‘less you just don’t want me to.” He was easily distracted by her touch, always had been, and it wasn’t difficult to keep his attention focused on her when she had her hand on his neck, even if he could feel the slight tremble of her fingers. Figuring she was still shaken because of the cut, or from the first echo, Logan leaned in a little to press a kiss to her forehead. He smoothed a hand over her red hair and inhaled deeply. “You don’t always gotta be strong, Red. Love it when you are, but I don’t got a problem lettin’ you lean on me sometimes.” Between his touch and his words, Logan’s nearness was a simple relief. Jean let her eyes fall shut as she took a deep, steadying breath. A small smile tugged at her mouth and she eased up her grip to smooth her hand around to the side of his neck. Looming comfort that he was, however, Logan could only block out the sight of the echo. Xavier’s words still reached her and she tensed, pressing her face into the crook of Logan’s neck to make sure she didn’t get even a side-eye view of what followed that warning. “I hope you don’t regret saying that when I start falling apart in a few seconds,” she mumbled past the lump in her throat. She really didn’t want to cry. It wasn’t about being strong. There was simply a time and a place for that and, on her kitchen floor, because of an apparition that she could neither confirm nor deny, was not it. “I’d tell you to get me out of here before I start blubbering on you if I didn’t already know it won’t do any good.” “Ain’t gonna regret a thing, Jean.” Logan dropped his chin to the side of her head and kept a firm grip to keep her close. He could sense the change in her the instant Xavier started his echo, and knew he was there. It took a lot to not immediately round on his old mentor, but Jean’s reaction was enough to keep him in his place. He ran a hand down her shoulder and over her back, trying his damndest at being soothing. It was easier since it was her, but still a little awkward when he wasn’t exactly sure what he was comforting Jean over. Still. Logan was capable of doing damn near anything for her. “Bet he can’t follow us on a motorcycle ride. Least not for long. Be easier if I knew what we were runnin’ away from, Red.” The cabinets closest to her rattled as her powers reflected her emotional state, but the noise was startling enough that she immediately clamped down on that leaked telekinesis. When she was sure the echo had finished its cycle, Jean pulled away and leaned her head against the wall behind her. A heavy exhale let her regain some composure, but she still couldn’t quite meet his gaze, anyway. “I think our worlds aren’t as different as I’d hoped,” she quietly admitted with a defeated shrug and a grim smile. “If that...thing is the truth, anyway. It’s probably naive to hope it’s not. And more than a little surreal to hope I am truly dead back home just so there’s no chance of my suspicions being true.” Annoyed with the morbid and pitiful direction of this conversation, angry even, Jean shook her head and rolled to her knees, careful to not use her injured hand to reposition herself. “But you know, you’re right. I can’t see how it could follow on a ride. Maybe we could at least ride long enough that it’ll move onto to another memory. I don’t think I can deal with this one for hours on end.” For all of that explanation, Logan almost felt like it was a cop-out to simply curse under his breath. “Fuck. Christ.” He leaned away from her, but not in a don’t-touch-me-devil-woman way, just to settle himself next to her so he could mirror her movements. Dropping his head back against the wall, Logan ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I’d hoped that too, Red.” He had. Xavier dying in his world had changed so much, had touched so many lives. For all the people that hated mutants.. His funeral had been a sign that it wasn’t the end, or as lost as they might have thought. “You gotta get that taken care of, first.” He gestured down to her injured hand, As much as he wanted to fix all of this for her, he wasn’t about to drag her out on his motorcycle with an openly bleeding wound. “Think I can convince you to give ‘im the middle finger on the way down to the clinic, darlin’?” His reaction was an odd relief. Sad and frustrated, maybe, but there could have been worse emotions flashing across his face as he settled beside her. Jean nearly starting making promises that the Phoenix Force would never reach them here, that she’d do whatever it took to make sure the people she cared about were safe, but that was a given and she had no way of knowing if she was strong enough to keep that promise. More apologies seem equally unnecessary. Shifting on her knees to face more towards him, Jean leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t need the clinic, Logan. It’s a couple minor cuts and I have a pretty exceptional first aid kit, believe it or not,” she smirked. Determined to get out of the apartment as soon as possible, and not acknowledge the echo at all if she could help it, Jean climbed to her feet. “It’s in the hall closet. Maybe if you come crowd into my bathroom with me, he won’t follow. I could use a nurse, after all.” Logan was on his feet with a spring that was probably meant to be for someone much younger than him. But he could be spry when he wanted to be, and even if Jean was going to insist on not visiting the clinic - hey, who the hell was he to argue with a doctor - he still swept her up in his arms and headed straight for the hall closet without much more than a grunt of acceptance. “You ain’t gonna put one of those stupid hats over my stetson, but I’ll be your nurse.” |