Ok, here was go, unfortunately I don't own any of the X men. Please don't sue me, I'm a broke student so it really wouldn't be worth it …

Started this fanfic when I was doing my English coursework, but (surprisingly) got board. It's the first time I've posted one of my fics, so please review and let me know how I'm doing.

If it sucks … I'm sorry.

Chapter One

Scott looked out the bay windows and sighed. Even though his glasses stained all things red, somehow her hair managed to distinct itself.

"Still there," he whispered as her hair along with the rest of her swayed silently too and fro. She sat limply, her body hung in a position that could convey nothing but sorrow. Scott stood transfixed for a moment before letting another sigh… Oh Jean, what's wrong?

"She still there?" Scott jumped. Reluctantly he turned, yet he hardly had to question where the voice had come from. Nobody in the institute carried a rough Canadian accent that cried 'thirty-a-day' quite like Logan.

"Yeah," he replied turning his gaze back to the window. He wasn't really in the mood for a conversation right now, though that was hardly likely with Logan at the best of times.

"Well, you ought to go fetch her in sometime today," Logan growled, choosing to ignore Scott's remote expression. "There's a storm coming and our local weather witch is out of time." Logan opened the fridge and grabbed a can, closing it he headed for the door. "Kid?" He prompted.

" Yeah. I'm on it" Scott turned to watch Logan's back fade into the darkness of the hall. Just on queue a deep roll of thunder echoed down the valley and round the darkened room in which he stood. After a moments pause he let out another sigh and then finally reached for the door.

No sooner had he left the shelter of the house did the purple tinted clouds produce what they had been threatening all day. Scott hurried himself along the lawn, breaking into a jog as countless raindrops begun to hit him. She was still there, a hundred or so yards from the house, hunched and lonely upon the old wooden swing, head hung to one side. She swayed gently in the rising gusts of wind yet her hair, even though thoroughly saturated, still shone violently especially to the nearest on looker.

"Jean?"

No reply.

"Jean. Come on, your drenched." Scott had finally reached her, just as the heavens let loose. He tugged on her wet cotton tee. Still nothing. Not even movement. Scott clung the rope of the swing and swung himself down on to his knees, their faces lay level. Even under the canopy of the oak where she hung and he sat the rain was still falling hard. It was that which made it hard to decipher between rain drops and tears. But that didn't matter right now, all that Scott wanted was to get Jean inside. She couldn't sit out here all night. Could she? Her pale transparent expression told otherwise. Scott brushed his soaking fringe aside, allowing him to try and make eye contact. Her head was still to the one side, eyes gazing effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Jean…" He tried again, "please." He leant over and gently nudged her cheek. Movement, a response. Even if it was a tear, and no questions this time, it was definitely a tear. Scott watched anxiously as a helpless tear formed and fell from her emerald eye. It was followed swiftly by another, then a sniff. She paused and then acknowledging him for the first time Jean caught his gaze.

Taking the initiative, Scott rose up and mustering the best sympathetic smile he could, leant out and levered her limp body upwards and away from the swing. She was light, noticing just how much so as he lowered her back down, his arms still firmly supporting her. Again she acknowledged him, this time with a small forced smile, mirroring that of his own. There was a moments pause. Not the awkward type, but the much needed reflective type. It said and meant so much more than words, but had to be broken.

"Come on, let's go get dry." And with that a drenched arm fell protectively around her shoulders as they ran steadily back to the mansion.