Logan was troubled.
While he had a reputation for being a moody bastard, and that suited him just fine, there were problems, and then there were problems. The problems he was used to were either the kind that could be solved with a good Act of Claw, or were the kind like his memory, that couldn't (According to ol' Wheels, anyways. ) be solved by anything but time. He could handle that, mostly.
Figures that a third kind of problem would have to waltz into his life, all wrapped up in five foot eleven of hot redhead now tucked in behind him on his bike.
He'd figured it would be simple. Give Jean a shoulder to cry on, let her know she wasn't the only one to lose people, drive her back to Westchester where she belonged, and hand her over to folks far better at all this psychology crap than he was. Figured it was just survivor's guilt, a feeling he knew plenty about.
Figured wrong, obviously. Sure, there was guilt there, but he'd never guessed he'd gotten as far under her skin as she had under his. Loners never got the girl in the real world, he knew that, and she'd been pretty clear about his place in her life back underneath the Blackbird. The memory of that moment floated back to him before, with a subvocalized growl, he chased it away again, revving the bike's motor and urging it faster along the straight length of the single lane highway.
So, it seemed he was the last person that should've gone hunting her down and bringing her back. Too late now, though. May as well try and make something from the mess, and much as Jeannie denied it, she wasn't the type to be left alone to grieve. All she'd do was just beat herself up all the more.
Around a curve about a kilometer ahead, he could see a logging truck in front of them. Taking refuge in action, he gunned the engine on the bike again, and grinned a little in spite of himself at feeling the overcharged machine respond. Say what you would about Summers, the kid had known how to treat a motorcycle. May he rest in peace for that, if nothing else.
Behind him, Jean tensed at the burst of speed, and he accelerated a little more, 'til she was clinging to him in a reflexive response. So. Red. What to do about Red?
Well, he'd said he could be the good guy. And she'd said that good guys stuck around. So here he was, and here she was, and she wasn't going to take kindly to Westchester, he could smell it.
Hadn't Chuck mentioned something strange happening out in the Maritimes?
"Ever been to Nova Scotia?" he wondered, voice raspy from the wind and the long silence.
"No... never." came the answer, Jean sounding puzzled.
"Good, me neither." he called back, letting a smirk slide into his voice to try and get a rise out of her. The bike finally caught up with the logging truck, passing it in a rush of wind, and a blare from the irate trucker's horn. "'Cause that's where we're goin'."
**A/N** And that short chapter (Logan-muse is rather taciturn and to the point, despite looking like sex in blue jeans.) brings us to the end of the chapters I had mostly-written, so it may take a little time between updates now. Don't kill me? On the downside, once Reading Week is over, I'll be back to the student-thing, but on the upside, I know where I'm going with the story now. The path of Logan/Jean was never in question, but the original action plot for all the introspection to hang on was a little weak, and the story was proving hard to advance as a result. But no more! I have Ideas. And all the wonderfully encouraging reviews have really convinced me that this, my first foray into longer fic, isn't going to result in me being eaten alive. Thanks!