Back at Spell's Mansion:
Jean Grey sat in the lab talking to a good friend of Spell's. The man's name was Nova, and he was a brilliant scientist. He loved pineapple, as was evident by the ravenous way he devoured one while talking to Jean. He had a good heart, but did not press Jean to talk about the "accident". This was probably the reason that he was the first person Jean had talked to since the deaths.
Nova had called her down to talk about parts of the mansion that Spell wanted him to reconstruct. She told him what he needed to know, but then returned to her room.
At dinner time, Scott knocked on her door, preparing for another session of cajoling Phoenix to at least taste the food. To his surprise and delight, she not only ate the food but was ravenously hungry and asked for more. Scott grinned, his first real smile in days.
He rushed down the stairs and told Spell's cook that he needed more food for Jean. Remy overheard this and asked Scott, with a glimmer of his old self, if the "Chere" is feeling better. Rouge looked cheered and even Jubilee and Iceman brightened. By the time he returned to Jean's room he had about 12 people following him.
Wolverine:
Logan lunged at her, his fist connecting heavily with her jaw. He saw her stagger but she didn't fall. Instead she snuck up behind him and kicked him. The blow caused him to stumble. While he was down she ground her boot into his throat. Then he grabbed her leg and pulled, tripping her. Her head landed on his chest and her unusually heavy arm lay across his neck.
To prevent a longer battle the referee stepped in.
"In all my days, I have never seen the Queen bested. Or the King, for that matter. Behold, I call a tie."
The woman stood up and helped him to his feet.
"Good Job, Logan."
30 minutes later:
Logan settled at the bar and ordered a drink. He downed it and ordered another one. "Queen" sat beside him.
"Good fight"
She drawled.
He nodded and returned the compliment. Then he ordered her a drink, still marveling at how this woman, so seemingly weak, had nearly beat him. She glanced at him.
She looked him up and down, observing. She deduced that he was running, and alone, by the way he looked. Her gaze took in the faded flannel shirt, worn out jeans and broke down boots. She saw a haunted, hunting look in his melancholy blue eyes. Beside him on an empty barstool was a much mended duffel bag that probably contained the whole of his possessions.
"Running again"
she asked, for he looked no stranger to lonely roads.
He took offense at her words and growled.
"I don't run, 'Queen'."
He used her hard earned name as a vicious insult. She just smiled, although her dark eyes glinted and her jaw muscle tightened.
"We all run, sometimes. I really ain't one to lecture ya on runnin'. But ya sure picked a bad time, darlin'. Jubilee's 'bout half-mad with hate, fear and love."
He growled again, clenching his fists. She looked at his hands and suddenly grinned.
"Just try it, hun."
"Don't think I won't. Just who do you think you are? How do you know all this?
She laughed softly and held out her hand.
"Nice ta meet ya. Ya can call me Spell."