Title: Starting Over

Pairing: Well, several. Jean/Logan and Scott/Emma for sure. Maybe a bit of Kitty/Colossus and Rogue/Remy for fun and flair. We'll see what we get into. :)

Rating: T at the beginning (mainly for language, because dude...seriously...Logan swears a lot.), M (for fluff, maybe?) later on.

Author's Note: I've had some lovely messages from some of the readers. Thank you so much for your support! I present to you the next small chapter. Have a little angst with your coffee.

What have I to say to you

When we shall meet?

Yet—

I lie here thinking of you.

William Carlos Williams

Back at the mansion, Logan was able to fob off a few comments about meditating in the forest to ward off further inquiries his late outing. He was lucky to have avoided Emma as he wasn't remotely confident she wouldn't pick up his evening adventure just from his surface thoughts. He was tired, and rightly so.

Stretching out on his bed, covers pulled up almost as if to ward off the terrors of the night, he was finally able to slow his thoughts down enough to really examine the events of the day. He'd never thought that Jean would come back. It was was one of the many possibilities he hadn't allowed himself to hope for.

And yet...

And yet.

There was that tiny part of him that'd sprung to life at her call. That pico of hope had set him on fire, raging to his fingertips and his toes with desperation and longing. And each time Jean died and came back, it inevitably got worse. He'd wake, throat tight with silent screams and body aching in despair for all that could have been and all that was not.

Logan tossed, his mind scrambling for all the meditative techniques that would calm his thoughts and his senses and let him rest. One by one, they failed him.

Wonder if I can get Peter to punch me senseless in a late night session.

He stood, stretching and popping his joints, to retrieve some workout gear and go for a walk. Stopping outside the door to Peter's room, he caught the sounds of a female voice from inside.

"...and all that time, it was so quiet. I can't sleep now without music or something to remind me I'm not still..."

Logan walked on, shaking his head at the thought of interrupting Kitty's reunion with Peter. As long as it had been since Jean nearly killed them all in the Arctic, much had happened. The Hellfire Club had reformed, Emma had been under the influence of Cassandra Nova, and Kitty had been lost and (finally) found again. And none of them were quite used to Kitty scurrying around, twitching at every loud noise and chattering so much at anybody who would stop and listen, even for a minute.

He paused, struck again by the acute observation Jean had made. They all really were suffering from prolonged PTSD.

I don't remember a time when it wasn't like this.

Huh.

Shaking his head, he headed to the danger room to wear himself out. Even without a partner, he could run through some training exercises and exhaust himself.

·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·

3 Hours later and it was almost 2 am. 4 scenarios run through in the danger room and Logan was exhausted. It was all he could do to drag his tired carcass to the showers and then to his room, collapsing on the bed without even bothering to pull the blanket over him. In less than two minutes, he was lost to dreams of fire and ice and longing.

·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·

When he woke up, well past 11 am, he was still on his stomach, feet hanging off the end of the bed where he'd sprawled the night before. Lifting his head, Logan was surprised to see how late it was and even more surprised someone hadn't come to wake him up. As he began to sit up, he felt the stiffness of being in one position all night overtake him for just a moment before his healing factor kicked in again.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and wondered, briefly, if the previous day had been real. It'd felt real, but then again all his dreams felt real. Even more so when those dreams revolved around Jean.

Logan stood and rooted in his drawer for the cell phone he'd had yesterday. Switching it on, he looked through the call logs and saw the unfamiliar number. The tiny glimmer of hope pulsed painfully in his chest, and he fought it reflexively.

No sense in gettin' your hopes up. Nothin' good ever comes of it.

He was about to turn off the phone when he noticed a text message. Opening it, he found one word and a number from the same number Jean had called him from.

Thanks ❤

The hope exploded in his heart all over again, and this time he couldn't even bear to tamp it down. What would be the point?

I'm fucked.