Author's Note:
Sorry it took so long for an update, but it's been a busy summer. I've been frustrated with fanfiction.net and the way stories are uploading, and I moved last week, so things have been a mess. Also, thank you for all the support I've been getting for this story. I know most Movieverse fans seem to prefer Logan/Rogue, but as a diehard Rogue/Gambit fan, the only person I can honestly see with Logan is Jean. I know she often comes off as weak and annoying, but I think she has so much potential, and it could be well utilized by a relationship with Logan. I know this chapter is on the short side, but the really important stuff is coming soon.
And on a side note:
I'm thinking about starting a long-planned story about Rogue/Gambit that centers around the events of Uncanny #350. Would anyone be interested? Please let me know. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.
~ * ~
"The best proof of love is trust." - Anon
~ * ~
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to Michael. Happy birthday to you!" Cheers erupted as Scott blew out the candles on his son's birthday cake, and cameras flashed as the partygoers took pictures of the birthday boy. Logan watched in annoyance as Scott kissed Jean, his face genuinely loving as he nuzzled his wife. Jean looked just as radiant as she returned the kiss, her cheeks flaming as Bobby and Remy made a series of loud whooping sounds. Pulling away from her husband, Jean turned towards the birthday boy himself.
"Happy birthday, Mikey," Jean said with a smile as she dropped a kiss on her bewildered son's cheek. He giggled in response, reaching his chubby arms towards his mother. She picked him up, oohing and ahhing as Scott cut the cake and began distributing pieces. Logan watched as Scott and Jean fed Michael his first piece of cake, getting more on his face than in his mouth. He turned away and walked towards the window. He hadn't wanted to come to this party, hadn't wanted to watch his son turn a year without him. He hadn't wanted to see another man's eyes light up with love and affection for the child he thought of as his own; he hadn't wanted to see Jean playing house with Scott.
He was dying inside, watching the guests giggle and coo over the baby, remarking about how much he looked like Scott and how much he was like his father. He had to get out of there, had to hop on his bike and stick a cigar in his mouth and disappear into the horizon. The only thing keeping him at the mansion was Michael. He had gotten to the point where he was convinced he could live without Jean. He'd be miserable, but it had to better than living with her, yet being unable to be with her. But he couldn't live without his kid; even if he couldn't claim Michael as his own, just being near him was what kept him going. He was dead inside; Jean Grey had captured his heart, only to ruthlessly destroy it. She was never going to leave Scott, not even if her heart belonged to someone else.
The truth was she wasn't so miserable without him. Scott was good to her, even more so now that the baby had arrived. Michael's birth had mellowed him, relaxed him some how and he was a much better husband now. He listened to Jean more, really listened to her--like he had used to do. Logan wondered if she ever loved him at all.
Cursing under his breath he pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed towards the garage to where his bike was stored.
~ * ~
Jean watched Logan over the baby's head, her heart breaking at the pain she saw in his eyes. His features were set in his usual mask of indifference, but his eyes gave it all away. They burned a blue fire, filled with jealousy and rage, but love as well. He loved Michael, would do anything for him--but he was furious with her. As he'd said before, he could never hate her, but he could hate what she was doing to him--keeping his son away from him. The last year had been agony for her. She'd forced herself to stay with Scott: for his sake, for Michael's sake, for the Dream's sake--for everyone's sake but her own. On the surface she'd been the loyal wife, devoted mother; but on the inside she was dying. Scott was trying to understand her better, he really was, but it wasn't the same. She needed Logan, the one person who didn't judge her or make her feel like she had to be someone she wasn't; she needed the man who touched her soul. She loved Scott in an easy, comfortable sort of way: she knew he would always be there for her, no matter what, and that his love wasn't something she had to fight for, it was just there, as stable and reliable as he was. But, Logan--Logan--she loved with all the passion of her being; every day without him was torture; every time she saw him flirting with another woman was a stab in the heart; every time she woke in the night and reached for Logan, only to find safe, dependable Scott beside her reopened a would she'd spent months trying to heal. She loved Logan, but she wasn't sure she could ever be with him.
She glanced over at him, at the stiffness of his muscles and his taunt posture and knew he was suffering. She couldn't bear to see Logan so forlorn, not when she was to blame. It was time to set things straight. Boosting Michael on her hip she headed in the direction Logan had disappeared to.
Logan was just about to hop on the bike when he heard footsteps behind him. He stiffened as a familiar scent filled his senses. "Whaddya want, Red?" he said softly as she approached, the baby clasped in her arms. "I'm on my way out."
"I thought you might want to say "Happy Birthday" to your godson."
Logan turned and glanced at the smiling baby in Jean's arms. His hair was a mess of blond curls, but his eyes were a deep, intense blue; eyes like his eyes. He reached out and mussed with the kid's hair, a smile forming on his face as Michael grinned at him. "Happy birthday, Michael," he whispered. "I hope it's a good one."
"It is," Jean said gently. "Now that you're here. We've missed you."
Logan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Not now, Jeannie," he whispered. "I don't want to do this now."
She held out her hand. "Come with me."
He stared at the outstretched hand in front of him, unsure if he wanted to take this step; he wasn't sure he wanted to risk his heart being ripped out again. He took her hand, his body relaxing as the softness of her skin met the roughness of his. They walked in silence, Michael's squirms and chattering the only noise breaking the quiet. Logan glanced up in surprise when they reached the boathouse sitting sullenly on the edge of the half-frozen lake. The boathouse had always been Jean and Scott's special place, the place they went to for a private tryst or a little time away from the chaos of the mansion. Now they were renovating it into a small cottage for themselves and the baby; as Jean had said, as much as she loved the mansion, they needed privacy for Michael. Rogue and Remy had already converted a large portion of the living area into a private apartment, so she and Scott had no choice but to move out.
"Why are we here?" he asked angrily. The boathouse, with all the memories it held for Jean and Scott, was the last place he wanted to be.
"To talk," Jean answered. "It's time we work things through."
"There's nothing left to work through. We're done, Red, remember?"
She sighed. "We're never going to be through." She laid a hand on his arm, her finger curving around the tightness of his biceps. "Please, Logan? I just want to talk to you."
Shrugging off her hand, he reluctantly agreed. "Okay. We can talk."
"Thank you." She pulled out a key and opened the door, Logan following behind with Michael. The inside of the boathouse was surprisingly cozy, decorated with oversized chairs and sofas and rich, warm colors. Taking Michael from Logan's arms, she settled him down for a nap in one of the bedrooms, opening a psychic link between the two so she could monitor his sleep. She found Logan building a fire when she came back.
"Thank you," she said again. "You don't have to do that."
"I know you get chilly easily." Jean nodded in response and settled down on the sofa. Logan watched her warily as he dropped into an armchair opposite her. This wasn't going the way Jean had planned it. They were acting like complete strangers, not former lovers who shared a child.
Logan broke the ice. "Whaddya wanna to talk to me about?"
"I think you know."
"Don't play games with me, Red. Get to the point."
"Logan, what happened to us? Why are we this way?"
"What way?"
"Acting like strangers, not two people in love."
"Don't say that." His voice was edgy with suppressed emotions: anger, rage, bitterness. . .
"But that's what we are."
He shot out of his seat and stalked to the window, bracing his weight on his forearms, which rested on the windowsill. "We're not in love, Red. Not anymore."
Jean got up and stood behind him. His body stiffened at the close contact. "Why do you call me that, Logan?"
"Call you what?" he asked tersely.
"Red. Why don't you call me Jeannie anymore?"
He turned and faced her. "Because I don't love you anymore."
Her hand shot out so fast he didn't even have time to deflect the blow. But as much as the slap hurt, the pain in her eyes hurt him more. He couldn't risk letting her break his heart again; and the only way he knew to avoid pain was to inflict it. "You don't mean that. . ." she whispered.
"Don't I?"
"But I love you," she said huskily. "You know I love you."
"Sometimes love isn't enough. You don't love me enough to want me, Jean. You just wanted sex."
"That's not true. It was never about sex; it was about being with you. Don't you see that? I've always loved you. I've loved you since the day you roared into the mansion full of anger and bitterness over a forgotten past and hideous experiment. I loved you when you were nothing but an animal, and I love the man you've become even more."
"You have a great way of showing it."
"I'm sorry!" Jean screamed. "Is that what you want to hear from me? I admit it: I was wrong. I treated you horribly. I was mean and selfish; I shouldn't have kept Michael at such a distance from you. I should have acknowledged you as his father. I should have told Scott the truth! I. . ." She sank to her knees, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just trying to do what's right."
Logan knelt down in front of her. He took her in his arms while the tears continued. "I'm so sorry, Logan," she continued brokenly. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I made the right decision, that I could live with the choice I made. I thought I was doing the school a favor by keeping my personal problems to myself, by not letting my business interfere with that of the school. . . but I was wrong, so wrong. I hurt myself so much more in the process. This past year. . .it's been hell for me. Do you know how many times I wanted to touch you, to kiss you, but know I couldn't? How many times I wanted to say I love you?. . . Can. . .Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for everything I've done to you? Please forgive me. I couldn't stand it if you hate me."
Logan pulled her closer, murmuring soothing words. "Jeannie, why do you always have to do what's right? Didn't I teach you that you have to put yourself first sometimes?"
"I wanted to. But if I told. . . I thought about how disappointed in me the Professor would be. I couldn't bare him to be disappointed in me. And then Scott. . .it would kill him if he found out the truth."
Logan pulled away from her. "But it wouldn't kill me." It was more of a statement than a question.
"No, not you. I knew you could live with whatever decision I made. You're so much stronger than him. . .than me. I'm weak, Logan. I'm not strong to stand up to Scott, to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. I'm not strong enough to do what's really right."
"You are strong, Jeannie. You made a decision, a fucking hard decision, and you stuck by it. And it nearly killed you, but you kept your word. You're so much stronger than you think."
She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "You think? I want to be strong. I want to set a good example for Michael. I want him to grow up right. But what do I have to give him? A mother that forsakes her marriage vows, that hides his real father from him--."
"You said I wasn't his father." Logan interrupted her, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"I. . . I wasn't sure. I mean, he has those blond curls. I know genealogy. Dark hair is dominant; he should have been born with dark hair. . . but he has those eyes. Every time I look at him I see your eyes. . . so dark they're almost black, but when you look at them closely they're the purest blue. Scott couldn't produce those eyes."
Logan sucked in a breath. He rose to his feet and went back to the window. "I've missed so much already. When he took his first steps, said his first word. . .Scott was there, not me."
Jean brushed the remaining tears from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting against his strong back. "You don't know how sorry I am."
"Saying you're sorry doesn't change that I wasn't there."
Jean didn't disagree. "You know, his first word was Lo Lo. He was trying to say Logan."
He turned to face her. "Really?"
"I wouldn't lie about something like that." Her fingers reached out to brush his cheek, the stubble tickling her skin. He turned his face into the caress, kissing her palm. She sighed in response.
"I want to be a part of his life, Jeannie. I want to be there for him."
"I promise things will change," her response came out on a small moan as his lips traced their way down her arm, his tongue flickering over her wrist.
"You gonna keep this promise?" the words were cold and clipped, but necessary.
She framed his face in her hands and leaned into his embrace. "I promise. I promise on our love that things will be different. I want you to be a part of his life as much as you do."
His head dipped and he kissed her, his tongue slowly twirling with hers. It had been so long, but nothing had changed: the excitement, the passion, the love was still there and just as strong. The kiss deepened and clothes began to disappear. He gently lay her down in front of the fireplace, his eyes brimming with love. It was different this time, just as amazing, but different. It was slower, more intimate; they weren't rushed like they usually were; there was no abandoned husband on the verge of walking in on them. Jean felt him enter her and let out a cry, her legs rising to wrap around his hips. It was mind-blowing, soul-shattering, completely unbelievable. Never, in all their years of dating and marriage, had Jean ever experienced something like this before. She began to convulse beneath him and he felt himself let go, plunging into her for a final time.
Afterwards they lay in the each other's arms, the fire drying their damp skin. "I could stay like this forever," Jean whispered.
Logan leaned down and brushed a red curl behind her ear. 'Cept you can't. Scott will be wonderin' why you left the party."
"I told him I was taking Michael to spend a little time with his godfather. He knows we're missing."
"I love you, Jean. I always have. I always will."
She moved her head from where it was resting on his chest and raised herself over his body. "I love you too. Nothing will change that." She twisted the ring on her finger. "This means nothing. My love for you. . . it doesn't take a diamond to make it true. It's here where it counts," she added, crossing her hands over her heart. "It's here where I love you."
"I--" Logan started, whatever he was saying interrupted by the baby's cries coming from the bedroom.
Jean laughed and disentangled herself from Logan. "Hold that thought." She quickly pulled on her clothes and hurried into the opposite room to get Michael. Logan put on his own clothes and waited for Jean and Michael. A few minutes later she came back into the room, a well-awake Michael clasped in her arms. "Hey there sleepyhead," she said. "Say hi to Uncle Logan."
"Hi, Lo Lo," Michael squeaked as he buried his head in his mother's neck.
"He's a little shy sometimes," Jean explained.
Logan frowned. "He shouldn't be shy with me. He should know who I am."
Jean took his hand in hers and squeezed. "He will know," she promised. "Just give it time."
He looked at her skeptically. "I promise. Remember? I'm going to make sure it happens this time," she added
"It's hard trustin' you, Jeannie."
"I'll teach you to trust me. I'll make you happy this time."
He squeezed her hand back and led her towards the door. Outside it had stopped snowing and the landscape was a beautiful shade of pristine white. Michael turned in Jean's arms and smiled at Logan, a smile of such innocence and naiveté that it made Logan believe it would all be okay in the end. He never predicted how soon the end would come.
~ * ~
Review! Review! Review! I love hearing from you! Thanks!
Sorry it took so long for an update, but it's been a busy summer. I've been frustrated with fanfiction.net and the way stories are uploading, and I moved last week, so things have been a mess. Also, thank you for all the support I've been getting for this story. I know most Movieverse fans seem to prefer Logan/Rogue, but as a diehard Rogue/Gambit fan, the only person I can honestly see with Logan is Jean. I know she often comes off as weak and annoying, but I think she has so much potential, and it could be well utilized by a relationship with Logan. I know this chapter is on the short side, but the really important stuff is coming soon.
And on a side note:
I'm thinking about starting a long-planned story about Rogue/Gambit that centers around the events of Uncanny #350. Would anyone be interested? Please let me know. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.
~ * ~
"The best proof of love is trust." - Anon
~ * ~
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to Michael. Happy birthday to you!" Cheers erupted as Scott blew out the candles on his son's birthday cake, and cameras flashed as the partygoers took pictures of the birthday boy. Logan watched in annoyance as Scott kissed Jean, his face genuinely loving as he nuzzled his wife. Jean looked just as radiant as she returned the kiss, her cheeks flaming as Bobby and Remy made a series of loud whooping sounds. Pulling away from her husband, Jean turned towards the birthday boy himself.
"Happy birthday, Mikey," Jean said with a smile as she dropped a kiss on her bewildered son's cheek. He giggled in response, reaching his chubby arms towards his mother. She picked him up, oohing and ahhing as Scott cut the cake and began distributing pieces. Logan watched as Scott and Jean fed Michael his first piece of cake, getting more on his face than in his mouth. He turned away and walked towards the window. He hadn't wanted to come to this party, hadn't wanted to watch his son turn a year without him. He hadn't wanted to see another man's eyes light up with love and affection for the child he thought of as his own; he hadn't wanted to see Jean playing house with Scott.
He was dying inside, watching the guests giggle and coo over the baby, remarking about how much he looked like Scott and how much he was like his father. He had to get out of there, had to hop on his bike and stick a cigar in his mouth and disappear into the horizon. The only thing keeping him at the mansion was Michael. He had gotten to the point where he was convinced he could live without Jean. He'd be miserable, but it had to better than living with her, yet being unable to be with her. But he couldn't live without his kid; even if he couldn't claim Michael as his own, just being near him was what kept him going. He was dead inside; Jean Grey had captured his heart, only to ruthlessly destroy it. She was never going to leave Scott, not even if her heart belonged to someone else.
The truth was she wasn't so miserable without him. Scott was good to her, even more so now that the baby had arrived. Michael's birth had mellowed him, relaxed him some how and he was a much better husband now. He listened to Jean more, really listened to her--like he had used to do. Logan wondered if she ever loved him at all.
Cursing under his breath he pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed towards the garage to where his bike was stored.
~ * ~
Jean watched Logan over the baby's head, her heart breaking at the pain she saw in his eyes. His features were set in his usual mask of indifference, but his eyes gave it all away. They burned a blue fire, filled with jealousy and rage, but love as well. He loved Michael, would do anything for him--but he was furious with her. As he'd said before, he could never hate her, but he could hate what she was doing to him--keeping his son away from him. The last year had been agony for her. She'd forced herself to stay with Scott: for his sake, for Michael's sake, for the Dream's sake--for everyone's sake but her own. On the surface she'd been the loyal wife, devoted mother; but on the inside she was dying. Scott was trying to understand her better, he really was, but it wasn't the same. She needed Logan, the one person who didn't judge her or make her feel like she had to be someone she wasn't; she needed the man who touched her soul. She loved Scott in an easy, comfortable sort of way: she knew he would always be there for her, no matter what, and that his love wasn't something she had to fight for, it was just there, as stable and reliable as he was. But, Logan--Logan--she loved with all the passion of her being; every day without him was torture; every time she saw him flirting with another woman was a stab in the heart; every time she woke in the night and reached for Logan, only to find safe, dependable Scott beside her reopened a would she'd spent months trying to heal. She loved Logan, but she wasn't sure she could ever be with him.
She glanced over at him, at the stiffness of his muscles and his taunt posture and knew he was suffering. She couldn't bear to see Logan so forlorn, not when she was to blame. It was time to set things straight. Boosting Michael on her hip she headed in the direction Logan had disappeared to.
Logan was just about to hop on the bike when he heard footsteps behind him. He stiffened as a familiar scent filled his senses. "Whaddya want, Red?" he said softly as she approached, the baby clasped in her arms. "I'm on my way out."
"I thought you might want to say "Happy Birthday" to your godson."
Logan turned and glanced at the smiling baby in Jean's arms. His hair was a mess of blond curls, but his eyes were a deep, intense blue; eyes like his eyes. He reached out and mussed with the kid's hair, a smile forming on his face as Michael grinned at him. "Happy birthday, Michael," he whispered. "I hope it's a good one."
"It is," Jean said gently. "Now that you're here. We've missed you."
Logan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Not now, Jeannie," he whispered. "I don't want to do this now."
She held out her hand. "Come with me."
He stared at the outstretched hand in front of him, unsure if he wanted to take this step; he wasn't sure he wanted to risk his heart being ripped out again. He took her hand, his body relaxing as the softness of her skin met the roughness of his. They walked in silence, Michael's squirms and chattering the only noise breaking the quiet. Logan glanced up in surprise when they reached the boathouse sitting sullenly on the edge of the half-frozen lake. The boathouse had always been Jean and Scott's special place, the place they went to for a private tryst or a little time away from the chaos of the mansion. Now they were renovating it into a small cottage for themselves and the baby; as Jean had said, as much as she loved the mansion, they needed privacy for Michael. Rogue and Remy had already converted a large portion of the living area into a private apartment, so she and Scott had no choice but to move out.
"Why are we here?" he asked angrily. The boathouse, with all the memories it held for Jean and Scott, was the last place he wanted to be.
"To talk," Jean answered. "It's time we work things through."
"There's nothing left to work through. We're done, Red, remember?"
She sighed. "We're never going to be through." She laid a hand on his arm, her finger curving around the tightness of his biceps. "Please, Logan? I just want to talk to you."
Shrugging off her hand, he reluctantly agreed. "Okay. We can talk."
"Thank you." She pulled out a key and opened the door, Logan following behind with Michael. The inside of the boathouse was surprisingly cozy, decorated with oversized chairs and sofas and rich, warm colors. Taking Michael from Logan's arms, she settled him down for a nap in one of the bedrooms, opening a psychic link between the two so she could monitor his sleep. She found Logan building a fire when she came back.
"Thank you," she said again. "You don't have to do that."
"I know you get chilly easily." Jean nodded in response and settled down on the sofa. Logan watched her warily as he dropped into an armchair opposite her. This wasn't going the way Jean had planned it. They were acting like complete strangers, not former lovers who shared a child.
Logan broke the ice. "Whaddya wanna to talk to me about?"
"I think you know."
"Don't play games with me, Red. Get to the point."
"Logan, what happened to us? Why are we this way?"
"What way?"
"Acting like strangers, not two people in love."
"Don't say that." His voice was edgy with suppressed emotions: anger, rage, bitterness. . .
"But that's what we are."
He shot out of his seat and stalked to the window, bracing his weight on his forearms, which rested on the windowsill. "We're not in love, Red. Not anymore."
Jean got up and stood behind him. His body stiffened at the close contact. "Why do you call me that, Logan?"
"Call you what?" he asked tersely.
"Red. Why don't you call me Jeannie anymore?"
He turned and faced her. "Because I don't love you anymore."
Her hand shot out so fast he didn't even have time to deflect the blow. But as much as the slap hurt, the pain in her eyes hurt him more. He couldn't risk letting her break his heart again; and the only way he knew to avoid pain was to inflict it. "You don't mean that. . ." she whispered.
"Don't I?"
"But I love you," she said huskily. "You know I love you."
"Sometimes love isn't enough. You don't love me enough to want me, Jean. You just wanted sex."
"That's not true. It was never about sex; it was about being with you. Don't you see that? I've always loved you. I've loved you since the day you roared into the mansion full of anger and bitterness over a forgotten past and hideous experiment. I loved you when you were nothing but an animal, and I love the man you've become even more."
"You have a great way of showing it."
"I'm sorry!" Jean screamed. "Is that what you want to hear from me? I admit it: I was wrong. I treated you horribly. I was mean and selfish; I shouldn't have kept Michael at such a distance from you. I should have acknowledged you as his father. I should have told Scott the truth! I. . ." She sank to her knees, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just trying to do what's right."
Logan knelt down in front of her. He took her in his arms while the tears continued. "I'm so sorry, Logan," she continued brokenly. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I made the right decision, that I could live with the choice I made. I thought I was doing the school a favor by keeping my personal problems to myself, by not letting my business interfere with that of the school. . . but I was wrong, so wrong. I hurt myself so much more in the process. This past year. . .it's been hell for me. Do you know how many times I wanted to touch you, to kiss you, but know I couldn't? How many times I wanted to say I love you?. . . Can. . .Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for everything I've done to you? Please forgive me. I couldn't stand it if you hate me."
Logan pulled her closer, murmuring soothing words. "Jeannie, why do you always have to do what's right? Didn't I teach you that you have to put yourself first sometimes?"
"I wanted to. But if I told. . . I thought about how disappointed in me the Professor would be. I couldn't bare him to be disappointed in me. And then Scott. . .it would kill him if he found out the truth."
Logan pulled away from her. "But it wouldn't kill me." It was more of a statement than a question.
"No, not you. I knew you could live with whatever decision I made. You're so much stronger than him. . .than me. I'm weak, Logan. I'm not strong to stand up to Scott, to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. I'm not strong enough to do what's really right."
"You are strong, Jeannie. You made a decision, a fucking hard decision, and you stuck by it. And it nearly killed you, but you kept your word. You're so much stronger than you think."
She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "You think? I want to be strong. I want to set a good example for Michael. I want him to grow up right. But what do I have to give him? A mother that forsakes her marriage vows, that hides his real father from him--."
"You said I wasn't his father." Logan interrupted her, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"I. . . I wasn't sure. I mean, he has those blond curls. I know genealogy. Dark hair is dominant; he should have been born with dark hair. . . but he has those eyes. Every time I look at him I see your eyes. . . so dark they're almost black, but when you look at them closely they're the purest blue. Scott couldn't produce those eyes."
Logan sucked in a breath. He rose to his feet and went back to the window. "I've missed so much already. When he took his first steps, said his first word. . .Scott was there, not me."
Jean brushed the remaining tears from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting against his strong back. "You don't know how sorry I am."
"Saying you're sorry doesn't change that I wasn't there."
Jean didn't disagree. "You know, his first word was Lo Lo. He was trying to say Logan."
He turned to face her. "Really?"
"I wouldn't lie about something like that." Her fingers reached out to brush his cheek, the stubble tickling her skin. He turned his face into the caress, kissing her palm. She sighed in response.
"I want to be a part of his life, Jeannie. I want to be there for him."
"I promise things will change," her response came out on a small moan as his lips traced their way down her arm, his tongue flickering over her wrist.
"You gonna keep this promise?" the words were cold and clipped, but necessary.
She framed his face in her hands and leaned into his embrace. "I promise. I promise on our love that things will be different. I want you to be a part of his life as much as you do."
His head dipped and he kissed her, his tongue slowly twirling with hers. It had been so long, but nothing had changed: the excitement, the passion, the love was still there and just as strong. The kiss deepened and clothes began to disappear. He gently lay her down in front of the fireplace, his eyes brimming with love. It was different this time, just as amazing, but different. It was slower, more intimate; they weren't rushed like they usually were; there was no abandoned husband on the verge of walking in on them. Jean felt him enter her and let out a cry, her legs rising to wrap around his hips. It was mind-blowing, soul-shattering, completely unbelievable. Never, in all their years of dating and marriage, had Jean ever experienced something like this before. She began to convulse beneath him and he felt himself let go, plunging into her for a final time.
Afterwards they lay in the each other's arms, the fire drying their damp skin. "I could stay like this forever," Jean whispered.
Logan leaned down and brushed a red curl behind her ear. 'Cept you can't. Scott will be wonderin' why you left the party."
"I told him I was taking Michael to spend a little time with his godfather. He knows we're missing."
"I love you, Jean. I always have. I always will."
She moved her head from where it was resting on his chest and raised herself over his body. "I love you too. Nothing will change that." She twisted the ring on her finger. "This means nothing. My love for you. . . it doesn't take a diamond to make it true. It's here where it counts," she added, crossing her hands over her heart. "It's here where I love you."
"I--" Logan started, whatever he was saying interrupted by the baby's cries coming from the bedroom.
Jean laughed and disentangled herself from Logan. "Hold that thought." She quickly pulled on her clothes and hurried into the opposite room to get Michael. Logan put on his own clothes and waited for Jean and Michael. A few minutes later she came back into the room, a well-awake Michael clasped in her arms. "Hey there sleepyhead," she said. "Say hi to Uncle Logan."
"Hi, Lo Lo," Michael squeaked as he buried his head in his mother's neck.
"He's a little shy sometimes," Jean explained.
Logan frowned. "He shouldn't be shy with me. He should know who I am."
Jean took his hand in hers and squeezed. "He will know," she promised. "Just give it time."
He looked at her skeptically. "I promise. Remember? I'm going to make sure it happens this time," she added
"It's hard trustin' you, Jeannie."
"I'll teach you to trust me. I'll make you happy this time."
He squeezed her hand back and led her towards the door. Outside it had stopped snowing and the landscape was a beautiful shade of pristine white. Michael turned in Jean's arms and smiled at Logan, a smile of such innocence and naiveté that it made Logan believe it would all be okay in the end. He never predicted how soon the end would come.
~ * ~
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