Chapter Three.
Scott clasped his suit case closed and sighed.
"Do you have to go?" Jean whined, picking at some lint on her shirt. Scott smiled synthetically.
"I'll only be gone about four days or so. You know how Alex is."
Jean scowled. "For God's sake, Scott, did he have to pick this weekend? Honestly. You'll see each other in two months for Christmas."
"I'm sorry, Jean," Scott said, kissing her forehead. "I'll be back before you know it. Trust me, I don't feel comfortable with Sabretooth running around."
"Logan will be here," Jean reassured her husband, straightening his shirt collar.
"That's the other part I'm worried about." Scott sighed.
They kissed goodbye, and Jean raised a hand and waved as Scott took a cab to the airport. She sighed, shaking her head, going back inside.
"Don't you just get the feeling he's going to run off and do something untrustworthy?" Jean looked to see Emma leaning against the banister, her arms crossed. Despite the cold weather, she wore even less today then she had the day before. Jean frowned.
"W-what do you mean?"
Emma rolled her eyes and tapped her long, perfect nails on her arms. "Well everyone gets tired of the same old thing eventually, Jean dear," she said with a small, barley there smirk. "There's a reason I'm so single." She raised an eyebrow. "Though, a catch like Scott . . ."
Jean saw red for a moment, and she knew Emma saw if too. She saw the satisfactory shine in her eyes. "Oh, that's why you're single?" Jean asked smoothly, walking past her into the kitchen. "I figured all the men who laid eyes on you were just too afraid to get close because of some weird sexually transmitted disease you can't even pronounce." She shrugged and walked on, hearing Emma's scoff. Jean sighed and took two aspirin. She couldn't let that skanky, spoiled, fake girl get to her head. What did she know of real relationships, anyways? Unless . . . Jean bit her lip, sneaking a peek out the window, where Logan was sitting, looking as though he was meditating. No, Jean told herself solidly. Nothing would ever go on between Logan and Emma Frost.
She shook her head again, walking out to the patio. She stood behind Logan a few moments before, without looking at her, Logan started talking. "I should have stayed with you when I had the chance, Jeannie."
"Why didn't you?" She asked softly in response.
"Because I knew there was no way I could help it to work for us."
Jean sat beside him, crisscrossing her legs. "Are you happy?" Logan asked.
"Yes," She said quietly. "But I think about it sometimes too."
He smiled, and Jean took his hand. "I'd be dead without you – literally."
He squeezed her hand, and they sat there in silence for a few moments. "Logan," She finally said. "For some reason, I just have to know . . . is there anything going on between you and Emma Frost?"
"Nope," Logan said. "Nothing at all. I wouldn't even be traveling with her if it wasn't for the wellbeing of both of us."
Jean nodded, reassured, and Logan smirked. "But it's good to know you care Jeannie."
Jean rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. He laughed, and took her face in his hand, kissing her. "I'm sorry for bailing on you, Jeannie," he whispered as he stood and walked towards the house. "I promise you this though; it won't happen again." He paused in front of the door. "Matter of fact, I was thinking 'bout making this place my home." And Jean was sitting there alone.
Her life had just gotten very interesting.
Again.
Jean opened her eyes at the slightest creak of her bedroom window. There was a gun being pointed at her. Just as the gun left out a small wooshing noise, Jean stopped what was coming at it. She turned it upside down, looking at it curiously. "Tranq dart. How long was this supposed to knock me out?"
"Holy sh – You! Marvel Girl!" He jumped down from the windowsill, and Jean telekinetically turned the lamp on, standing. The man in front of her stood at a tall height and had a muscular build. He wore a black and red catsuit. Two swords hung at his back. "Damn!" He laughed. "So you're Jean Summers, then, huh? He just said a red head named Jean Summers."
"Who did? Deadpool, what is this?" Jean asked, holding up the dart.
Deadpool plopped down in Scott's chair, his original mission totally forgotten. "See here, Red, the guys I'm working for? He told me, he said, 'Wilson, I got a dosey for ya!' so I said, 'Ok, so give it to me.' See, Red, he was going to pay me ten g's to snatch you and take you back to 'em."
"What?" Jean gasped, horrified. "Why?"
"I don't ask the questions, Jean. I'm more of a You-pay-me, I-do-it kinda guy."
"So," Jean said, crossing her arms and standing firmly. "Go ahead. Take your best shot, Deadpool."
Deadpool didn't say anything, and then he burst out laughing. "You sure are cute, Red!" He laughed. "Yeah, right. I helped save you, what, four years ago? Five? Whatever, point is, I like you, and I like my head attached, which is the way Wolverine will keep so long as I let you in peace."
"So . . . you're not going to kidnap me?" Jean asked suspiciously.
Deadpool chuckled. "Course not! Ten grand ain't worth my head rolling down a hill. Still," he said, standing, taking his mask off. "I think I can even the score anyways." Before Jean could stop him, Deadpool grabbed her wrist, spinning her towards him, and dipped her before kissing her passionately. Before Jean could slap him or kiss back, it was over, and Deadpool was back at the window, pulling his mask back on over his head. "Consider yourself a new friend, Red," he said before swinging back through the window. Dazed, Jean sat on the bed. His impulsive kiss, which Jean gratefully felt nothing for, reminded her of her and Logan's first kiss, which she felt much for. Jean sighed, shaking her head, before locking the window tights, drawing the blinds, and curling up in bed. Why does everyone who's not my husband keeping kissing me?