A/N: Like my others, this is set in my own X-Men universe. Which means it ignores about half of X3 the movie: i.e., Jean didn't turn evil and no major characters died, but the parts about the Cure and Magneto's attempted war all happened. Which is why Jean can reference them here.

I should have expected this. I am a telepath; I should have known this was coming. That's all that runs through my mind for the first full half-minute of the time I spend with my back pressed against the north wing's third-floor hallway wall, breathing hard and feeling grateful to be in one piece. I should have seen this coming. Should have known this was going to, eventually, happen. I got complacent after the first few months, stopped worrying about the way a young girl clung so close to the adult man that had rescued her, because he had done nothing untoward toward her – nothing beyond what my research described as normal affectionate behavior for an alpha-type feral male toward a member of his family – and the situation seemed contained there. Seemed safe.

Safe. Safe while Rogue was immature, I realize now. Safe while she was young and uncertain and exploring teenage romance in books and with a boyfriend she could hardly touch. He kept her safe when he singlehandedly tore apart a small army that assaulted this school, in defense of her and her classmates. He kept her safe when war threatened and she made a decision to take the Cure – thank God that didn't last, for her or most other mutants, because I remember the night after when she came into my room crying that she was sorry, because she just wanted to be able to touch, she didn't want to alienate herself from the only family she had left. But during the rough couple of weeks before the suppressant worked its way out of her body, he was there for her. Close, often silent, protective even when there wasn't need. Once or twice I got close enough that I could swear I heard him purring as they sat together on the couch in the den, a barely-audible low thrum of sound that I had been unaware he could produce. My self-directed studies about the feral species had left me with the impression that he was of a canid line, probably wolf-based; he must have a little felid in him too to allow for that trait, I remember thinking, and leaving it at that without concern for what it might mean other than to comfort her.

I had thought it sweet, that he was still looking after this young woman nearly grown now. I had barely considered that he might enjoy her company as much as she did his. I had been entirely blind to what it might mean to him when she finally began to get a grasp on control of her mutation. I thought it a little odd that he suddenly chose to take a solo mission then, one that would take him away for several months, but after her first days of disappointment Rogue had rallied nicely and continued both her practice with her skin and her X-Man training with no apparent ill feeling.

I was there at the exact moment she proved mastery over her energy-draining skin. The entire Institute knew it by the end of the day; her friends threw an impromptu party and for the first time I got to see her collapse in a sleepy heap with her girlfriends on the floor, touching fearlessly, giggling madly after too much sugar and dancing, and I smiled, happy to see her able at last to act and feel like the young woman she was instead of the self-conscious, wary creature that had so often peered out from behind her wide brown eyes. I saw this, I knew that she had passed her twenty-second birthday while Logan had been gone, and still somehow I thought her, was used to thinking her, as innocent as a child.

I am a telepath. I should have seen this coming a mile off. Years before. I didn't, and I still don't know how I did not.

He came home this evening, just in time for dinner. I watched her run up and hug him, saw his surprise when she told her news, then the rare full grin that stretched his lips far enough to show sharp canines but that was not a snarl. Saw the way he hugged her back and the very deliberate rubbing strokes of the line of his jaw against the top of her head, a scent-marking gesture I hadn't seen him perform since she was young and small and in need of a guardian. I wondered at that, briefly, but was quickly distracted, let myself be distracted from the inkling of a thought I had not wanted to have. Let myself forget all I had read about his race, those years before when he'd first entered our lives. Let myself ignore – and how did I ignore, I wonder now? – the way he stayed close to her side for the rest of the night, joining in casual after-dinner conversation like he rarely did, a conversation, I can now remember, peppered with small, casual touches. Eventually he slid out from the gathering, disappeared as was his habit for some place less populated, and I didn't think to listen in on his thoughts as he went. It was a matter of telepathic ethics not to drop shields and reach into anyone's mind without their permission or known necessity... and I did not then see the necessity. I didn't turn my attention away from the good-humored medical debate Hank and I were exchanging until I abruptly noticed that Rogue was also missing... and even then, I reached out with only half my attention, expecting her to be with Kitty or Jubilee, or maybe that new boy Remy-

When I found her, I was startled into momentary silence, for what she was projecting in that low-level but constant way non-psi's did was not casual humor, nor shy flirtation, but a delighted confidence that had less actual surprise to it than it did anticipation, a knowing on a sensual level I never expected from our Rogue, and which had me opening my mental field wider to find out who she was with-

And then came true shock. A feeling that didn't even leave room at first for any other emotion, one that had Charles and Scott pausing their own discussion to question me, my husband reaching through our bond, our mentor casting his own telepathic net out. What I felt, all tangled with Rogue's sendings – Marie, the contact whispered strong, not Rogue but Marie – was only half human, the unique skewed-feeling mind that had discouraged me in the past merely by its very nature from probing too deep. And the humanity was a thinner layer than usual. What was being projected now was enough to make me flush with heat and embarrassment and horror all at once. Enough to send my eyes locking with Scott's, mine wide, his hidden by his visor but expressive face telling his own reaction to the rush of hot-blooded, ferociously tender lust, wound entirely through with a protective snarling ward strong enough to make me instinctively slam up my shields again almost immediately. I couldn't move but to just stand there and breathe for a few moments, feeling my cheeks flame first with that briefly-shared arousal, then with anger. Taking a sharp, deep breath, I spun to our wheelchair-bound leader, then uselessly toward the doorway into the empty hall. "Professor...!"

Charles Xavier himself was looking a little affected, clearing his throat a couple of times even as he lifted a staying hand. "No, Jean! Do not interfere; he will try to kill you if you interfere!"

"Professor!" Scott turned at my side, scandalized, ignoring the surprise and soon-to-be-clarified confusion on Hank and Ororo's faces. "You can't-! He can't-! The students-!"

"Are in no danger," Charles finished, leaving us both blinking at him. Brushing fingers briefly against his own cheek as though to calm his own reaction, he took a deep breath. "I truly do not know why I did not see this coming. I have some familiarity with the feral mind – I merely became so used to it being the way he was with Rogue..."

Hank blinked twice... then his own nose twitched slightly. He had the grace to look at least slightly embarrassed when he straightened massive shoulders and inquired carefully, "Has Logan claimed her as mate, then?"

There was silence in the room for perhaps a second, the others of us looking at the good doctor. I was reminded all of a sudden that the highly-intelligent man I worked beside, who had a shaggy pelt to match any animal's, who went by the code name Beast, was in fact a full-blooded feral himself. He so rarely showed it the way Logan did. It was too easy to ignore one man's physical form in favor of his oft-flowery diction, and the other's mostly-human appearance when his habits were only just less than wild. But Hank McCoy would know the feral mind...

"You expected this?" It finally came from Ororo, her tone careful, questioning. A gently regal frequent proponent of the philosophy of live and let live, our self-titled African 'weather witch' was a marvelous diplomat, but just now she sounded more non-judgmental than I could bring myself to want to be in this particular instance.

Hank looked a little abashed. "Not... precisely. Not as such. I suspected it could happen, at some point. He has marked her as 'pack' since they first arrived or possibly before, and over the years has not lessened the strength of that claim. In his defense, I do not believe he recognized himself at the time what it could lead to. He has always held most people at arm's length, and since the onset of his amnesia I do not believe he has, in fact, been educated in the ways of our kind. What he knows and does seems to come entirely from the level of instinct. I do not believe Logan ever meant Rogue any harm when she was young, nor would he harm any of our other children. In fact, he has demonstrated in past that his instinct to protect juveniles is quite intact. It is only recently, now that she is physically mature and welcoming to him, that his, ahem, more 'animal' nature has pressed this issue. They are..." and he looked more abashed then; if he could blush under blue fur I would swear he was doing so, "compatible, and not related. They spend a great deal of time together. Their scents were already partially blended; I... suspected it might come to something of this nature. One day."

We were all silent a moment more... finally Scott cleared his throat and looked to Xavier. "So what do we do, Professor? Leave them... let them be together?"

Charles was looking at Hank with a very thoughtful expression, after a moment resting his elbows on the arms of his motorized chair and steepling his fingers in front of his lips. "If it is as Dr McCoy says, it appears there is not much else we can do."

My husband was in full, spine-stiff offense now, and I nudged him with supportive agreement. "Logan is a grown man, potentially over a hundred years old thanks to his healing factor. Rogue is only a girl!"

Hank was looking uncomfortable... but he was holding his chin up. I knew enough about ferals to recognize that part of the reason he and Logan got along so well was that Hank was not of alpha type. This made him dislike contention of any sort. However, he had proven many times over in battle that he knew how to stand his ground when he felt he must. I recognized that same determined look now. "Scott, she is a young woman – she is old enough to legally make her own choice in this matter. The age difference..." He spread one broad, claw-tipped paw of a hand. "May be so vast as to be for all purposes meaningless. In appearance they are not more than ten years apart, if that. With her mutation, if they both chose it, she could theoretically take enough of his healing to stay with him far longer than any other could. And she may not be feral, but she knows the feral mind in a uniquely first-hand fashion. She is well-suited to be his mate... from a purely objective perspective."

I looked at my colleague in shock and no small amount of betrayal; he looked back unhappily. I turned my eyes to Ororo, and after a moment my friend shrugged slightly, smooth face not betraying her own opinion, although I received the vague feeling she didn't have a strong one in this case – which I was going to have to ask her about later. After a moment more, I cleared my own throat, and turned to our leader. "Charles, I have to go on record as saying I agree entirely with Scott that this doesn't seem like a good thing."

Grey-blue eyes met my own green candidly. "I am not certain at this point whether it is or is not myself, Jean. However, I do know that there is nothing we can do to safely address the issue to any resolution until they choose to emerge from wherever they have retreated to."

"Denned," Hank supplied, quietly. "They have denned, and our Professor is correct. No feral would accept intrusion at this time, and we have all seen the Wolverine in action enough times to know that it would not be wise to provoke him. This will be best settled when both ardours and tempers have cooled, and we are all once more capable of acting as rational beings."

Scott huffed, beside me. "Logan is rarely rational on the best of days!"

"Be that as it may," Charles intoned, and now there was the velvet mental edge of command, "Dr McCoy's advice in this case is wise. We cannot afford bloodshed amongst ourselves. We will wait."

Scott shifted at my side, our bond humming with tense anger. Jaw tight, he finally gave a short, sharp nod, spun on his heel, and marched out of the room. I stared at Charles a long moment more, then flicked my eyes to Ororo and Hank in turn, before shaking my head and turning to follow.

I was angry, there was no doubt about that. Angry, worried, a small bit guiltily jealous (although I would never cheat on Scott, I had somewhat enjoyed having Logan's attention in years past). Despite what Hank said, I didn't trust that this was good for Rogue. Age aside, Logan was far too rough and world-wise for a girl like her, best friend or no. He had every capability to hurt her emotionally, not to mention physically; especially with the force of passion I knew him capable of (not personally, but knew). Despite every reason it might not be safe to intercede, I couldn't reconcile myself to leaving her in his hands uncontested, and I was under the firm belief that even in full feral mode he would not purposefully harm me. So with shoulders squared, I changed course from our own suite's hallway to the one Logan's room was at the end of, braced myself, telekinetically undid the lock, and opened the door.

Which... a sudden snarling flurry of movement and hard-muscled force, bare skin moving too fast to allow its features to be distinct, bared white fangs, a heavy stab of two sets of razor-sharp blades placed deep into the wall inches from my arms, and a heart-attack-inducing volume of furious alpha-feral roar delivered straight to my face... brought me to where I am now. Slumped against the wall opposite the re-slammed door, quivering between six plaster-trickling holes, taking quick shuddering breaths, and thanking God that I'm still alive.

Even more than before, I'm convinced that this situation is not a good thing for Rogue. But I'm shaken enough just now that I don't trust even my telekinesis to take hold strongly or quickly enough to keep the Wolverine contained should he attack again. In comparison to what I know him too-capable of, that was a relatively mild warning. Scott is shaken enough, I can feel it through our bond, that he is running my way and wouldn't allow me enough time to even try. Charles – of course he would pick that up – is projecting concern and disappointment in my direction.

And in the midst of all that fury, Logan was strongly projecting protectiveness as well as possessiveness. I can only pray that that element will keep Rogue safe until this... whatever-it-is... is over. Can only pray, and wait with bated breath and mind rawly exposed because, no matter the danger to myself, to ourselves, if Logan hurts that girl Scott and I are going in. My husband's panicked scoldings now aside, I know he agrees with me on that much.

The kids come first, after all. They always will.

A/N: Jean is not being a 'bad guy' here, really... she sincerely wants to do what's right by all the kids, including Rogue. But she was not ready for this. Consider: if cultural differences are hard enough for humans to accept and overcome, think about species differences...