The Raven Has Many Calls . . . And Faces

Summary: What if the tent scene in X2 had gone differently? What if Mystique hadn't left when Logan told her to? And what exactly was going through Logan's mind? AU--well, alternate ending to the scene.Wolverine(Logan)/Mystique(Raven)

Chapter One

Logan lay in his tent, his mind going over all that had happened. They had allied with Magneto, something he'd never dreamed possible a few months ago, during that Liberty's Island fiasco. Professor Xavier had been captured by William Stryker—Stryker, who had seemed to know an awful lot about his, Logan's, past. How were they going to rescue the Professor from an underground base crawling with Stryker's people? They didn't even know where the Professor was being held . . .

And had Magneto been telling the truth when he'd said it was Stryker's fault that he was the way that he was? That he, Logan, was an experiment of a military scientist who was trying to stop the "mutant problem"?

Briefly, he thought about Bobby and how his family had reacted to his being a mutant and going to a mutant school. They obviously thought about it being a "mutant problem;" hell, they'd even said as much, asked him if he could try to not be a mutant . . . It was sad, but Logan felt that the kid needed to face rejection sooner of later. Life was full of it, especially for mutants.

But even more than all of those things, one particular event was in the forefront of his thoughts:

His conversation with the beautiful doctor Jean Grey.

He had been such an idiot. They had been having a normal conversation and out of the blue he had touched her face in a lover-like manner and come at her with questions and made her choose between him and Scott.

And she had chosen Scott.

Folding his arms under his head and staring up at the ceiling of his tent, Logan didn't see why. Scott was a possessive jerk, who was smart, granted, and the Professor seemed to like him, but Logan thought "Cyclops" was a bit of an idiot. The first time they'd met he had barely looked appreciatively at Jean before Scott had jumped down his throat and made it blatantly obvious, to everyone in the entire school, that Jean was his—and that they were sleeping together.

Which was another thing Logan thought was a mistake on Jean's part. He himself was much better looking that Scott—he had the broad shoulders, the lean, toned muscles, thick hair, and a chiseled face that, he was told, made him look like the Greek god Apollo. Well, he didn't know what Apollo looked like, but he did know that he had a lot on Scott. He was funnier, Jean flirted constantly with him, and there was always that animal magnetism between them. It was much more tangible than anything Jean had with Scott.

Logan briefly wondered how good the Cyclops was in bed compared to him…He imagined it was a set back having a boyfriend who had to wear sunglasses all the time. What if they fell of when there were…doing it…?

A bit disgusted with himself at thinking of Scott and Jean having sex, Logan went back to his original train of thought.

She had chosen her "one-eyed" boyfriend.

Logan had been a bit taken aback when she'd said she loved Scott—had only half believed her—but he'd had to accept the truth; she had made him accept it. He didn't know what had made him do it; what had made him kiss her. All he knew was that there she was, talking about how much she loved Scott, how girls like her didn't end up with guys like him, and all he'd been able to think about were her lips. They were red and slightly chapped and beckoned to him. Her eyes had been fiery, but also full of sorrow and (dare he say it) attraction. Deep auburn hair had framed her face and her suit accentuated her figure almost like a second skin.

He'd wanted her.

So without thinking about what she was saying or what she wanted, without thinking about who might come upon them, and certainly without thinking about what Scott would do if he ever found out, Logan had done what he'd wanted to do since he'd practically first met her: kiss her senseless.

He'd captured her mouth and muted her words, which had quickly turned into soft sounds of pleasure as he kissed her. Her lips had been soft and yielding, different than he'd expected. Pulling her close up against him, her body had melded to his and her hands had come up to his face. She'd felt good in his arms and he'd just started deepening the kiss when she'd broken away, her hands holding him back, a slightly reluctant look in her eyes.

"Please," she'd whispered softly, and he'd just leaned forward to continue where they'd stopped when she had pulled back from him, ruining the mood.

"Please," she'd said again, this time fore forcefully. "Don't make me do this."

"Do what?"

"This." It had come out sad and regretful, but Jean had walked away, not looking back, leaving him standing there feeling like a fool.

It had been a strange exchange and was just as confusing now as it had been then. Logan still didn't know where he'd gone wrong. Perhaps it has been a mistake to kiss her while she was talking? Or perhaps she had been telling the truth and really did love Scott. Either way, Jean had rejected him. And he wasn't used to it, at least not by women.

He'd been rejected by strangers, by townsfolk who were afraid of mutants, or others who feared differences and the unknown. But women were different. If he concealed his "talent" well enough—and sometimes when he didn't conceal it at all—they flocked to him like birds, all ready to spill their hearts and spread their legs to a bad-boy badass in leather.

But Jean didn't seem to care about all that. What was it she'd said?

"Girls flirt with the dangerous guys, but we don't take them home. We marry the good guys."

Christ, he'd never been rejected before because he was a bad-boy. Maybe Jean had been speaking the truth after all. Maybe she really did love Scott and had just been attracted to, and lusted after, his bad-boy image.

Although it pained him to admit it, Logan thought it was true: Girls didn't take home guys like him; they might fool around or flirt, but they always ended up marrying good guys.

Groping for his dog tag in the dark, he grabbed it and squinted, reading 450 25 243 WOLVERINE. He wondered briefly if having a murky past enhanced his bad-boy image or not, and if the air of mystery was what had first attracted Jean. He wondered if his strange, metal-enhanced skeleton and wolfish tendencies were a barrier between the two of them. He wondered if he'd ever find a woman who did more than flirt with dangerous guys and would take him home, like a lost dog . . . or wounded wolf . . .

So Jean and Scott loved each other enough to get married did they? Logan pursed his lips, thinking. He supposed he was okay with that. As much as he didn't like Scott, he wanted Jean to be happy. He didn't love her. He liked her, sure. He wanted her, yeah, badly even, all those dreams could attest to his desire. But love? No. He didn't love her. And Jean deserved someone who did.

His train of thought was broken when he sensed someone outside his tent. He could hear them approaching, the grass bending under their feet, their quick, heavy breathing; and he could smell them, the clean, feminine scent of arousal, a thrilling excited musk, and . . . a hint of fear . . . ?

Logan tensed and narrowed his eyes when he saw the shadow on the tent flap. The sound of the zipper sent chills down his spine and his whole body tensed when the flap was moved and a body stepped into his tent. Logan's eyes focused on the intruder and his breath caught in his throat as he sat up quickly.