Chapter Seven

When Scott first heard the sound of his door opening he'd immediately assumed it was Jean coming in to start another argument with him. A sharp rebuke had festered on his tongue. He opened his mouth to deliver it, when he saw Ororo standing there instead. The words died instantly.

"Oh, um, Ororo? What—What can I do for you?"

"May I have a minute, Scott?"

"Sure," he said with a nod. He cleared his throat and gestured to an empty chair near his desk. "Have a seat."

"Thank you."

Ororo walked over and sat on the edge of the chair. Her gaze and expression was wary. Her fellow co-leader saw it and frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

Ororo's mouth opened, and then shut just as fast. The frown Scott wore deepened. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Well, nothing is wrong, per se. I just…do not want you to get angry with me." Her eyes futilely searched his through the wall of ruby-quartz glasses. He silently studied her in turn for a moment, ruminating over the words. Then it came to him.

"This is about me and Jean," he guessed correctly.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, it is, Scott. I'm a bit concerned."

The oldest X-Man heaved a sigh, stretching back in his chair and running his hands over his clean-shaven jaw. "Why are you concerned, Storm? From what I understand you and she aren't on the greatest terms either."

"Something I plan to rectify as soon as I'm done here."

"Well, Ororo, this really isn't something you—"

"Before you begin to tell me to mind my own business just let me say. . . I was upset at Jean for the same reason you are now, and believe me, I'm not sitting here judging you. Jean hurt you. I know that, and I've told her as much. She hurt me too. She has been in the wrong, Scott, and there is no arguing that."

"So what is this then?"

"You still love her. And she loves you. I've been told she has been a wreck these last several days. Even the students have been speaking in hushed tones about it. She needs you," Ororo insisted.

Scott scoffed. "Maybe it's Logan she needs."

The white-haired woman shook her head. "No, she needs you. Jean loves you. I don't believe she ever truly loved Logan, nor he her. Not the way you do."

"Honestly, I don't know how Jean's been really. We haven't shared a room for several days . . ." he admitted, the tone of his voice growing concerned. He hadn't cared either, he'd been too pissed to care. Scott turned and gazed quietly out the window for a spell. After a long moment, he shook his head vigorously and in defiance.

"Damn it, Ororo, she hurt me, you know? I've done everything for Jean and as soon as Logan showed up she threw it all back in my face. She disregards me, and she sure as hell doesn't respect me. Do you know how many times I've had the opportunity to step out on Jean? How many times temptation has been put in my path and I've stayed faithful. But she had no problem flaunting f—king Wolverine right in front of my face!" He bit out the other man's name with contempt.

The resident weather goddess listened calmly to Scott's rant, not even surprised in the least by his uncharacteristic coarse language. The man was releasing months of pent-up frustration and Ororo didn't fault him for a second because she had felt the same way. Remy had made the difference with her. If it wasn't for him, she most likely wouldn't have been there now, acting as a mediator of sorts between the troubled couple. It still had taken her longer to come around than she'd initially planned. Remy had possessed the good wisdom to show her where was being stubborn. Maybe she could do the same for Scott? Secretly, she wondered if the "temptation" he had spoken of being thrown in his path was a certain platinum-haired headmistress, namely Emma Grace Frost.

Ororo regarded the reddened face of the man before her; eyed the tension in his body language, and even more than before she was compelled to do what she could.

"I bet it seemed like that Scott," she began quietly, "like Jean didn't care about you. But we both know that isn't true. She just didn't know how much you meant to her. I think the last couple of weeks have sobered her up. I bet you anything she's afraid she's losing you, and it's terrifying her. . . The question is: Is she?"

His brows furrowed, as he stared at her. "Is she what?"

"Losing you?"

"Ororo—" A pause. He sat back and glared.

Ororo cocked a brow at him.

"Well, no," he confessed, "no, she's not losing me. I just—damn it I—" He groaned with the aggravation of it all. "No, she isn't losing me. I love Jean. I'm just tired, Ororo."

"I know."

She reached across the desk and stretched out her hand. He looked at it for a moment, before offering her a small smile of resignation, and accepting the kind gesture. She held his larger hand in hers, running her thumb across the back of it comfortingly.

"Scott, you and Jean are two of my best friends. I'd hate to see an unfortunate situation like this one end your engagement. Or for anyone to come in between you both."

She let that statement hang in the air, not mentioning Emma directly, because she didn't want to appear as if she had been nosing around in his business, but Scott was a smart man; he would catch her meaning.

"Don't let bitterness keep you from working things out with her," she told him, repeating the same sentiments Remy had said to her days earlier.

Scott sighed, nodded slowly at her, and gave her a weak smile which she returned with a bright one of her own. "Good. That's all I want, Scott. I didn't want to appear nosey or anything; I just wanted to help if I could."

She released his hand and got up to leave when Scott's voice called out to her. "So, you've forgiven, Logan?"

Ororo stopped and faced him slowly. "Yes, I did," she answered, guardedly.

"Why? Is it because you love him too?"

She nodded her head. "Yes. I forgave him for the same reason I forgive Jean."

"And Remy, right?"

"What!" Ororo's eyes widened with surprise and Scott shrugged at her.

"I always knew you were hurt when LeBeau left the first time. Then your reaction that day in the War Room when he returned . . . it wasn't hard to put two and two together. But now, it looks like you and him are back to being Bonnie and Clyde again, so I figured you must've forgiven him. I was just wondering if it was because you love him."

Ororo's heart raced a bit, feeling tendrils of nervousness and anxiety creep up her spine. She prayed neither her voice nor expression betrayed her. "I do love, Remy. I always have; he's been my closet friend, so yes, that is the reason I forgave him."

Her friend and co-leader's expression was hard to read – then again it always was with his eyes hidden by those ruby glasses. But his mouth quirked sharply to the side as he gazed on at her, making her feel slightly exposed.

When she could endure it no longer she said, "I'll see you later, Scott. I hope everything goes well. Another DR session this afternoon, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see you then."

She waved shortly and immediately left to find Jean, leaving Scott alone in his room. The X-Man sat back in his chair, thinking over what Ororo had said. While he would talk with Jean, see how she was doing, and sort things out, he sure as hell wasn't about to forgive the Wolverine, he decided. Leave that to Ororo.

Wolverine.

Scott smirked to himself, he wondered what the foul-mouthed, bad-tempered Canadian would say if he knew his woman had feelings for LeBeau, to get a little taste of his own medicine. It would serve him right.

Scott's phone rang, breaking the silence in the room, and his contemplation. He glanced at the display and saw: Frost, Emma with the accompanying number following. His thumb hovered over the interface. He and Ororo's recent conversation came back to him.

He tossed the unanswered phone on his desk and let it ring until the call died.

The salty scent of tears swimming in the air froze Logan dead in his tracks.

The soft sounds of wet sniffles followed.

Red.

Inwardly, Logan groaned to himself. Mentally, he urged himself to continue walking, but it seemed cowardly. Still, he didn't know if he should, he'd just begun regaining Ororo's trust. He strode forward determinedly down the hall, his mind made up.

A swarm of rapid-fire images flooded his head.

Moist green eyes. Red hair. Dress – a frilly dress. "Isn't it beautiful, James!" Smiling. Moist green eyes. Red hair.

Logan shook his head, rubbing his rough hands over his eyes. What in the flamin' hell? He heard again Jean's sniffles, and an overwhelming desire to check on her swept over him. His calloused knuckles rapped twice on her classroom door. Logan poked his head inside after opening it a crack.

"Jeannie?" he called out.

The telepath's head slowly rose up from where she had had it buried between her crossed arms. She straightened up from her hunch over the desk and stared blearily at the new intruder. Jean Grey's normally smooth cheeks were blotched and tear-stained, and her eyes seemed nearly as red as her hair (which hung in a messy ponytail, stray tendrils sticking out wildly every which way).

"Lo—Logan?"

He stepped all the way into the room and closed the door half-way. No need to give anyone the wrong idea. He perched him on the edge of a desk just a few feet away from Jean, one leg propped up on its surface, the other planted on the ground.

"Flamin' hell. Ya look like shit, Red," he told her.

Jean snorted. "Gee, thanks . . ." The woman sat back and began wiping at her eyes and face with her hands.

Suddenly, Logan realized that this was the first conversation he'd had with Jean since the day he'd told her it was finished between them that afternoon outside Ororo's loft. He hadn't even thought about her.

"What's wrong with ya, Red? Word is yer've been walkin' around like a zombie the last few days. And ya know when Jubes gets wind of somethin' the whole mansion'll hear of it."

Jean rolled bloodshot eyes. "Great. Just what I need."

It was quiet for a long moment and Logan just looked at her. The fraught woman stared down at her hands.

". . . I have no one . . . ," she muttered finally, so low and quiet only Logan would've been able to hear it properly.

"Why do ya say that, Red?"

"Because I've lost everyone. Scott, Ororo…you, even the team – I'm sure they hate me."

"That ain't true, darlin'."

"Isn't it? Scott will barely look at me!" she yelled. "He spends all his time on the phone with that Frost woman, and he won't even stay in the same room I'm in!"

Logan tried not to show his surprise after hearing of Scooter's behavior. Didn't sound much like the Boy Scout; had he really reached his breaking point? And who the hell was this 'Frost' woman? Logan felt a strange pang of guilt towards Scooter. He was just as much to blame for One Eye's anger as Jean.

"And you," she continued, "you haven't spoken to me in weeks."

He shrugged wide shoulders. "What didja want me say, darlin'? I told ya I was through with hurtin', 'Ro. And I promised her I was through too. I wasn't gonna take a chance of goin' back on either of those promises, Red."

"So you just shut me out?"

"Had to. It was best fer both of us. Wasn't easy at first, and I didn't intentionally mean ter hurt ya. I didn't know ya were feelin' like this."

Logan's ears perked up as he heard a slight sound coming from outside the classroom door. He listened carefully for a moment and sniffed. A tiny smirk flittered across his face and he turned back towards Jean, having identified the scent. Rain and sandalwood.

"And what about, 'Ro?" he prodded, knowing she was listening on the other side of the door," How do ya feel about her?"

Tears sprang to Jean's eyes and slowly ran down her cheeks. "I feel like I've lost my best friend…" she whispered sadly.

"What do ya mean by that?"

"It's just like Scott. She doesn't want to talk to me either. At least before, if I had an issue with Scott, Ororo was the one I could turn to. She's like my sister. When I was at my lowest, I could go to her. Now, I can't even do that," the redhead cried. "They even closed off the psychic links we all shared between us."

Jean sniffed, plucked out a few Kleenex, and blew her nose. "She told me to work on my relationship with Scott because as of then it was the only one that remained intact. She's never spoken that way to me before. I can't even explain how that crushed me. . . I'm just so sorry and miserable. I—I never wanted to hurt anyone! I know I did but, I never thought this would happen. . ."

Jean buried her face in her hands again and balled. Logan had to admit, it was a pitiful sight. Seeing her that way. He could hardly remain there to endure it. If it were 'Ro he'd be right there, pulling her into his arms. But it wasn't. It wasn't his place – had never been. It was Scooter's.

He swung his head back towards the partially opened door and saw the white-haired weather mistress loitering outside it. Her blue eyes were sad, regretful, and sympathetic as she looked on at Jean from through the door.

"Ororo still cares about ya, darlin'. And the Boy Scout does too. I'm sure of it."

"I miss them, Logan…"

"And they miss you, Red. It was never worth it was it?"

"No," Jean remarked, tearfully, "it wasn't."

The Canadian caught Ororo's eye and gestured her inside with a small jerk of his head. She hesitantly pushed the door open wider and allowed herself in, letting the door make a noise as it closed to alert the other woman of her presence.

When she heard the noise, Jean's glassy eyes snapped towards the door. She gasped. Ororo smiled at her, weakly, tentatively.

The redhead's mouth fell open. She blinked at Ororo. Silence stretched.

Dark hazel eyes looked between the two women.

"O-Ororo?" Jean stammered.

She stepped forward. "Jean, I wish to speak with you."

Emerald eyes grew large. "You do?"

"Yes. There is much I would like to discuss."

The Canadian took that as his cue to let the two ladies resolve this alone. He stood on his feet and leaned down towards Ro, his hand on her shoulder. "I'ma leave you ladies to it. Come find me when yer through."

Ororo nodded. He took her lips hard but fast before leaving. He heard them begin to speak just as he shut the door on their conversation, though he could still hear them. But he had other matters to contend to rather than eavesdropping on the two friends.

Outside the room, Logan leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. "Shit," he cursed, wondering what the hell kind of episode he'd experienced prior, right before he'd walked into Jean's classroom. The images... the voice calling him James...

He had to speak with Charles.

Logan pushed off the wall and strode with purpose towards Charles office, feeling himself already drifting towards the edge. He craved a mind-clearing spin on his bike, but the compulsion to find Chuck was stronger. He hardly noticed the near empty halls. It was a weekend and all the older students, more than likely, were downtown getting into youthful mischief, while the younger kids meandered around the Rec Room or played outside.

Gambit was helping Rogue shrug into her jacket when they saw the Wolverine approaching. "Hi, Logan." Gambit said nothing. The other man stopped and gazed at the two of them. His glare narrowed slightly on the Cajun. "Where ya headed, kid?"

"Remy and Ah are goin' ta Harry's," she expressed delightfully. "You and Storm wanna join us?"

Logan glared at Gambit a moment longer then shook his head. "No. 'Ro's talkin' with Jeannie, and I gotta take somethings up with Chuck."

"Oh." Rogue's grin faded and turned into a look of concern. "Is everythang alright, Logan?"

He cut the taller man behind Rogue a look, which Remy returned. Logan sneered. "Yeah. Everything's fine."

Gambit and Rogue watched him as he continued down the hall.

"Wonder what's got him riled? Look like somebody killed his puppy."

Remy didn't much care, as long as Stormy was alright. She was off somewhere in the mansion talking to Jean, working things out like she'd promised him. Dat's my girl, Remy thought before leaving with Marie.

Before Logan knocked on the door the Professor's telepathic voice was beckoning him inside, a common little trick of Xavier's. Logan swung the door open and marched up to Xavier's desk. "Something happened. I need yer help." So much for any pleasantries.

The bald, older gentleman lifted his eyes from the opened manila folder on his desk and settled them on Logan. He nodded shortly, taking up his now tepid tea. "All right, what happened?" he began in that serene tone of his.

"Are ya gonna be able ter help me?" Logan gritted.

"I do not know. Perhaps, you can start by telling me what happened. Please, have a seat Logan."

He quickly did as told. Charles maneuvered his chair around the desk. "Now," he requested, "tell me what happened."

Author's Note: Bit o' filler. TBC.