AN: This takes place after the events of Phoenix - Endsong, extremely AU. After seeing the film Logan I just needed to see him be happy.

He drives home with the windows rolled down, early summer air warming the arm that hangs out of the truck. Everything smells fresh, finally back to life after a harsh winter that stretched well into spring. His clothes are covered in sawdust and he's already fantasizing about taking a cool shower. Usually the healing factor stops him from feeling tired after a day of work, but today he's exhausted. A grin spreads across his face when he thinks about crawling into bed with Jean tonight.

Turning off onto the gravel, he spots the cabin through the trees. His heart jumps a little at the sight of her old jeep in the driveway.

She still drives an hour to the school a few days a week, to teach. They both know that she can't say goodbye to the place she's called home for most of her life, but she can't bring herself to go back to the X-Men, either. She says it's because she wants her turn at a quiet life with him. He knows it's mostly because she doesn't trust herself to use her powers for anything other than simple tasks. Sometimes he wonders if she chose to be with him because he's the only one she can't hurt.

Still, this new way of life gives him little to complain about. He spends his days working at a sawmill a few miles from the house. It's not hard work, but it's enough to keep his mind and body occupied for forty hours a week. No one recognizes him there, or if they do they don't seem to care. At night he gets to come home to a quiet cabin in the middle of the woods. More importantly, he gets to come home to her.

Their love affair began less than a month after she returned to the world of the living. It wasn't hard to see that she wasn't ready to go back to business as usual, so he made her an offer she couldn't refuse. A chance to get away. The two of them took a leave of absence from the X-Men, until such a time that they were absolutely needed. He took her to the country and built her a cabin. In return, she gave him the only thing he wanted: her.

Finally reaching the end of their long driveway, he gets out of the truck and strips off his work shirt, leaving the white t-shirt underneath. She has the front door propped open to let some fresh air in. He closes it behind him, just to be safe. Old habits die hard.

The house is filled with the smell of tomato sauce and mushrooms, making his mouth water. He shucks his work boots, smiles when he hears the music coming from the radio in the kitchen. He never would've pegged her for a Shania Twain fan before they started living together, but she's got a way of proving him wrong. When he walks into the kitchen he finds her at the stove, back turned to him, singing softly to the music. He wonders how anyone can make a pair of denim shorts and a button down shirt look so good. Walking up behind her, he wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her soft hair.

She lets out a sweet laugh when his mouth finds her neck. Twisting in his arms, she smiles up at him. "Hello to you too."

This time he goes for her mouth, grinning against her lips. After years of pining, he doubts the thrill of kissing Jean Grey will ever wear off.

"Been looking forward to that all day," he tells her when they finally break apart.

She reaches out a hand to touch his face, runs a thumb gently under his eye. "You look tired," she says, cocking an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

"Nothing a little bit of Jeannie won't fix," he smirks. "Oh, and whatever you got cooking in that pot."

She tries, and fails, not to laugh as she smacks away the hand that reaches for the stove. He wants to remember her like this forever, smiling face framed by flowing hair, eyes only for him. "Don't you dare touch my spaghetti with your filthy hands. You need a shower."

"You never minded my filthy hands before."

"Go."

After dinner they eat strawberry ice cream on the porch and watch the sun set. He's never been one for dessert, but she's teaching him to enjoy the sweeter things in life. When the bowls are empty she leans her head against his shoulder. He snakes an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her fiery hair.

"The sunset looks so different from down here," she observes nonchalantly.

For a split second his blood runs cold, the way it always does whenever she mentions the Phoenix. Every acknowledgement of the cosmic entity inside her brings a reminder that it's only a matter of time until she goes away again.

Sometimes he loses her for days at a time. She doesn't say where she goes, but he knows it's somewhere he can't follow. He can't smell her when she leaves, doesn't start smelling her again until she's standing right outside the front door. Honestly, he doesn't care where she goes as long as she keeps coming back.

Oh God, does she ever come back.

In the days before she leaves she's on edge. He can tell there's a battle going on in her head that's far more complicated than any mental illness her death might have left her with. He can smell the Phoenix in her on those days, pure heat. Like she's burning from the inside. But when she comes back, she's Jeannie again. From the moment she walks in the door she clings to him, like she's trying to crawl into his skin with him. They make love so many times he might almost think it was too much, if he wasn't so in love and didn't have superhuman stamina. Afterwards, they lie together and she looks at him like he's the only person in the world.

He may not like when she goes away, but he's willing to put up with her absence in exchange for days like that.

"Yeah?" he asks, pretending her words didn't phase him. "What's it look like from up there?"

"Like fire," she says softly. "Like flames lighting up the darkness." She pauses, scoots a little bit closer to him. "Brings back a few memories of the time Magneto tried to hurl us into the sun."

"Those were the good old days," he chuckles. When she starts laughing, he can feel it in his chest.

It's a few moments before she speaks again. "I really prefer watching the sunset from down here."

"Why's that?"

"When I watch the sunset from up there, I'm alone. Well, as alone as I can ever be with all the voices in my head." He can hear the smile in her voice. "If I'm watching it from below, it means I'm with you."

God damn this woman. "Red, have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"I could stand to hear it a few more times." Pushing herself up off the porch, she reaches out a hand to him. "Take me to bed, Logan."

She never has to ask twice.

He dreams of red and gold, of howling winds and blowing snow. She's holding his head in hands that seer his skin. Looking into her eyes, he expects to see the flames of the Phoenix. Instead he sees nothing but green. Rolling fields, sprawling forests, reaching vines. Nothing but Jeannie.

"Are you ready?" she asks, voice wrapping around him like a noose.

He's not, never will be, but he unsheathes his claws anyway. He sinks them into her, one, two, three times, until he loses count. A scream echoes in the night.

Sitting straight up in bed, he realizes that the scream is his own. He looks down instinctively to make sure that his claws aren't really out, that he didn't hurt her. She's standing at the side of the bed, knowing the best thing to do when he has a nightmare is get out of the way.

"The North Pole again?" she asks gently, crawling back under the covers with him.

He runs his hands through his hair, wishing she would just let it go for tonight. It's been almost two years since she died. She never talks about it, but it hasn't been forgotten. She didn't die, he reminds himself, you killed her. But maybe that's not quite true either. Everything gets messy when the Phoenix is involved. He's never quite sure where it ends and she begins. Either way, he can't seem to keep that night out of his dreams.

"Tell me what's happening in that head of yours." She covers his shaking hand with her own, lacing their fingers together.

"Aren't you supposed to know that?" he snaps. He feels a twinge of guilt as soon as the words leave his mouth. She's only trying to help.

To her credit, she doesn't flinch. "What happened that day wasn't your fault, Logan. It was a long time ago and you're never going to lose me like that again."

He steadfastly avoids her gaze. This isn't the first time she's expressed this to him, but it's hard to believe her. Chalk it up to a lifetime of losing everyone he's ever loved. But she's different. She's the only one that comes back.

"I can only watch you die so many times, Jean." He hates the note of desperation in his voice.

She grabs him by the chin, turning his head and forcing him to look her eyes. "I'm here now."

"I know," he sighs, leaning to press his forehead to hers. "I know."

After a long moment she stifles a yawn, and he remembers that it's the middle of the night. He wraps an arm around her, gently guiding her until they're lying together again. Rolling onto his back, he pulls her against him. She reaches out a hand and rests it next to her head on his chest. Her palm rubs soft circles on his bare skin. The combination of the rhythmic motion, her warm weight, and the scent of her lavender soap is like a drug and he's nodding before his eyes are fully closed.

"I love you Jeannie," he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep.

"I love you too, Logan. Now go to sleep"

He does.