That Look 

by paxnirvana

E-mail: paxnirvana@home.com

Rating:   R 

Pairing:  Scott/Logan [Movieverse]

Archive:  if you must... let me know

Author's Note:  The rating is for language, mainly and a little blood.   Hmmm.  Not sure exactly.  Blame Vic for getting me started on Movieverse again, and Eoen for one little twist…      11/01/01

Follows: ‘That Smile’

 

Disclaimer:  Uh-huh.  Still not mine.  Damn.

 

*******************

 Part 1

Scott found himself watching Logan.  Actually, watching Logan watch him.  Since he’d kissed him that one day.

 

Scott went about his business as usual, with his usual cool aplomb.  Grading papers, teaching class, mediating disputes between students.  Nipping trouble in the bud.  Trying to get Jean to relax more, to cut down on the intensity of her research.  Helping the Professor frame new arguments on the political front.  Handling all the day-to-day administrative chores of running a school with quiet efficiency. Through it all he was aware of Logan’s hot, speculative gaze, but was careful to pay him no more attention than usual.

 

He’d long since noticed a tendency for the eyes of people he conversed with to slide off his glasses after a while.  They would often end up talking to his ear, or the air beyond his shoulder, or his chest.  There were a rare few who had mastered the trick of actually catching his eyes behind the concealing lenses.  Jean, of course. The Professor.  Ororo.  Kitty Pryde, Bobby Drake and Rogue, of the students.  And Logan. 

 

Lately he’d noticed that Logan’s gaze wandered whenever they spoke.  But it only wandered to one place.  His mouth.  He would wait for Scott to become aware of his gaze, then flick it back up to his eyes.  Catching them through the glasses.  Trying to read him.  It was getting harder to keep his cool, yet he almost found it amusing.  Almost.

 

But it was the daily training sessions that had become most difficult.

 

Twice a week they fought in leathers instead of looser clothing.  Because they needed to know how to move in their combat gear.  Old leathers, granted.  Broken in and worn.  But still more restrictive than standard exercise clothing.

 

Scott was quick to note that the leathers Logan wore in training were the same slashed and stained ones that had barely survived the Statue of Liberty incident.  The uniform Scott had loaned him.

 

Once he’d come back from his apparently fruitless journey of self-discovery, they’d fitted him for a uniform of his own.  Logan had half a dozen custom-made outfits hanging in his own locker now.   Ones that fit him much better, that didn’t bind him anywhere.  But he never chose any of those for practice.   And Scott was loathe to question him.  Because he could see Logan anticipating that very thing.

 

The women would bail early.  Storm, because she disliked hand-to-hand combat.  Jean, because she was always eager to return to her research.

 

That often left him alone with the Wolverine. 

 

“Not bad, Fearless Leader,” Logan’s mocking voice brought his attention sharply back to matters at hand.  They were both circling warily around the room, moving fluidly through the obstacles.  This was a no-powers exercise.  He’d already thrown Logan once, surprising him from around a blind corner.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to use that move again.

 

The lighting was low in the Danger Room.  A pungent odor of pine filled the air.  The only way to tone down Logan’s enhanced sense of smell was to flood the room with a single scent.  That was how he’d managed to catch him by surprise once.  Scott paused, listening closely for the sound of movement.  Nothing.  Where had Logan gone?

 

He heard a soft scrape behind him, but too late.  He started to spin, but a hard arm had already closed around his neck.  He brought his own hands up, to pull down, to try to break the hold, but a clenched fist pressed hard against his spine.  He froze.  Death waited inches away inside that strong arm.

 

“Bang – you’re dead,” Logan whispered in his ear.

 

“Shit,” Scott said, disgusted. “How do you move so quiet?”

 

“Practice,” Logan said softly, his breath ruffling the short hair on Scott’s neck.  He shifted under Logan’s pinioning arm, becoming suddenly very aware of their isolation, and their position.  Tension spiraled up, betrayed by his sucked in breath.

 

“You never asked me why,” Logan said, his fist moving away from Scott’s spine.  But the arm around his throat didn’t relax.  Scott lowered his own arms, letting them fall to his sides.  One hand brushed a hard, leather clad thigh behind him.  He closed it into a fist and pressed it against his own leg instead.

 

“Why what?” he asked.  Knowing, but asking anyway.

 

“Why I kissed you,” Logan said.

 

Scott stayed silent.  Breathing as steadily as he could, feeling his blood pumping faster in his veins.  And not just from recent exercise.  Hot breath feathered against the back of his neck.

 

“Don’t you want to know?”

 

“No.”

 

He could almost feel Logan’s surprise.  Could imagine his bushy eyebrows climbing toward his hairline then dropping.  Logan sucked in a hissing breath, his arm flexing against Scott’s throat.  Not dangerously, just there.  Immovable.

 

“You should watch the Discovery Channel more.”

 

Scott almost laughed at the apparent non sequiter.

 

“Why?”

 

“Then you’d understand about pack structure, alpha dog,” Logan said, his voice lowering ominously.  Scott stiffened.  Still not understanding completely, but with a better sense of the danger now.

 

“Humans don’t work that way, Logan,” he said flatly.  Warning him.  Logan snorted in his hair.

 

“Don’t think so, huh?”

 

Scott considered that for a moment, then said, “So, what does that make you?”

 

“Challenging you, top dog,” Logan said, lips brushing against the back of his neck.  “Deal with it or…”  Scott jerked away from the touch, pushing back briefly against the hard body behind him, then leaning forward.  His hands closed around the irregular obstacle in front of him.  Gripping it tightly.  He choked slightly as the arm around his throat reminded him of the position he was in.  Logan never moved.

 

“Or what?” Scott finally managed to say.

 

“You put me in my place or… I rip you apart.”

 

And Scott could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice, feel the anticipation in the body behind him.  Logan obviously thought he’d already won.  Scott thought quickly, glancing around the room.  He knew where he was, he always knew where he was.  But was Logan in the right place?

 

“Computer!  Activate Pit 14,” Scott called to the air, already in motion.  There was a metallic click, and the floor below Logan snapped opened.  His right arm started to tighten around Scott’s throat as he fell, but Scott was prepared; he dropped and spun into his arm, pivoting on the handhold under his left hand, slamming up with his own right arm to knock Logan’s away. 

 

He was free, half hanging off the obstacle, feet braced at the edge of the pit.  Logan tumbled into the padding at the bottom, extended blades on both hands scraping loudly against the metal walls, sending up sparks.

 

Scott let off a tight blast of energy that struck the wall just over Logan's shoulder.  Exactly where he'd aimed. 

 

“Fuck!” Logan shouted from where he lay on the pads, glaring up at him.  Shaking metal bits out of his hair.

 

“Bang – you’re dead,” Scott said, free hand steady at the controls of his visor as he stared down into the pit.  Logan snarled up at him and brandished his claws.  Then he deliberately retracted them with a harsh flick of his arms.

 

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Logan screamed up at him, bouncing up on his feet, his face dark with outrage. “I could have fuckin’ killed you!”

 

Scott just shook his head, a tight smile on his face.

 

“You didn’t.  And I didn't kill you either.”

 

Logan froze then, staring up at him.  His expression suddenly paled with shock.

 

“Fuck, Scotty,” he said hoarsely. “I cut you.”

 

Scott’s peripheral vision was greatly constrained by his combat visor.  But he saw something dark drip down and splash against the padding below.  He lifted his arm, gazing curiously at the long clean slice down the leather that covered his forearm.  And the welling blood underneath.  There was no pain yet.

 

“So you did,” Scott said calmly, trying to assess the damage.  Logan scrambled to the far side of the pit, slapping at the safety controls that extended the exit ladder.  Rungs popped out of the wall and he was halfway up them in a flash.  Scott watched him come as the blood dripped, holding his position.  When Logan was clear of the pit, he ordered the computer to close it again, stepping easily onto the sliding hatch.

 

Then Logan was on him, one hand around the wrist of the cut arm dragging it up, the other coming up sharply under his chin, elbow planted in his chest.  Momentum drove them both back hard against the obstacle.  Scott grunted as he hit, pinned again, and gritted his teeth, glaring at Logan.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.  Logan snarled at him and covered his mouth with his.  Hot lips pried his mouth open, a strong tongue surged inside.  Searing.  Fierce.  Scott groaned as Logan savaged his mouth, finally twisted his head away.  Both of them gasped for air.  Logan buried his face in his neck, breathing harsh, hand gently stroking the other side of Scott’s neck.

 

“I cut you,” he repeated, voice shaking.  Then he stepped back and examined the wound.  Scott watched Logan warily.  Confused by his actions.  First competitive, then sexual, then almost emotional.  Logan looked into his visor, frowning when his gaze couldn’t pierce the thicker ruby quartz.   He wrapped his hand carefully around Scott’s arm, squeezing tightly to slow the bleeding.  Scott's leathers were already slick with blood and he felt the first sharp sting of pain.

 

“Gonna need stitches,” Logan said gruffly, tugging him away from the wall.  “C’mon. I’ll let Jeannie tear you a new one.”

 

“Thanks a lot.  I needed that image,” Scott said dryly.  Logan’s laugh was low and dark as he led him to the medical bay.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott sat, stripped to the waist, on an examination table in the middle of the lab.  His leathers were bunched around his waist, smeared with blood.  There were streaks of it on his chest as well, but no more cuts.  A rough pressure bandage had been wrapped around his arm to slow the bleeding while Jean prepared to stitch the cut.  It was long, but fairly shallow, running through the meat of his forearm.  The leather suit had saved him from worse.

 

Logan was standing just outside of his range of vision in the visor. Scott twisted around and stared at him.

 

“Stand where I can see you,” he said with quiet intensity.  The command registered.  Logan lifted his chin aggressively, a sneer on his lips, but he moved over to lean against the table opposite Scott.  Then he folded his arms over his chest and glared.   

 

Jean shot him a puzzled look as she readied her supplies.  Her hands were covered in fresh rubber gloves.  One bloody set had already been discarded after she finished the initial examination of her fiancée's wound.

 

“Well, this is certainly an interesting twist on the usual pissing contest,” she said, brows raised behind her working glasses. “Is any of that yours, Logan?”  She nodded toward the blood visible on his skin through the old claw marks on the leather over his belly.

 

“No,” Scott answered for him, still staring at him.  Logan’s lip lifted in a silent snarl.

 

Jean rolled her eyes and turned back to Scott, sliding her equipment table over the floor.  She began removing sterile pre-threaded sutures from their protective packaging, laying them out neatly on the stainless steel tray.

 

“He all right, Jeannie?” Logan asked, shooting her a hot glance.  A frown furrowed her brow.  She glanced between the two men curiously.  Scott was still staring at Logan for some reason, his expression hard.

 

“He’ll be fine once I stitch this up, Logan,” she said calmly, spreading out her tools.  "It looked like more blood than it actually was."

 

"I want my regular glasses," Scott said, watching Logan.  His voice was hard, cold.  Logan frowned and shifted, lowering his arms to his sides.  He tried to meet Scott's gaze.  Couldn't through the visor and snarled in frustration.  The moment dragged.  Tension rose.  Jean looked up, staring at Scott with puzzled concern.

 

"All right," Logan finally snapped.  Then he stalked away, angry steps echoing loudly in the big room until the hiss of the closing door cut them off.

 

Jean stared after him in astonishment.

 

"What was that all about?" she asked cautiously, glancing at Scott out of the corner of her eyes.  He sighed heavily and something seemed to drain out of him.  A tension or a kind of battle-readiness.  He lifted his uninjured arm and rubbed wearily at his forehead, frowning behind his visor.  She recognized the small signs of stress on his face.

 

"I wish I knew for sure," he said, a wry smile twisting his lips.  She smiled gently at him and held up the needle and it's dangling suture.  She shook it back and forth teasingly.

 

"Didn't want him to hear you whimper when I stitched this up, huh, big boy?"

 

Scott just smiled and held out his arm.

 

 

Part 2:

His arm ached and they needed a new blackboard for the atrium.  Scott grimaced slightly and tried to ignore the pain as he wrote trig functions on the freestanding blackboard, bracing the shaking surface with his left hand.  The flex in the board made writing with his wounded right arm more painful.  He didn’t deliberately court pain, but taking anything stronger than aspirin wasn’t really an option.  Not with his mutant power.  Or with his responsibilities.  He couldn’t afford to have his wits dulled at all.

 

“Mr. Summers,” came a voice he didn’t hear very often.  He turned around, brow rising as he faced the pale, red-haired boy who had spoken.  Gavin didn’t fit in very well, even at a school for mutants.  And Scott was still trying to figure out why.

 

“Gavin?” he acknowledged. 

 

“Mr. Summers, you’re bleeding.”

 

One of the girls stood up, gasping.  Kitty.  Scott turned his gaze on her and she sat down again with a hard plop in her seat.  Then he looked down at the sleeve of his sweater.  He should have known better than to wear a light color.  A dark stain had spread in a line across it at where he knew the bottom edge of the bandage to be.

 

Scott sighed and moved toward the table at the front of the room, gaze flicking to the clock over the door.  Class was almost over anyway.  Anxious faces looked back at him from the two rows of filled seats.  They knew about the team.  There was no hiding it from them.  And Scott had never made the mistake of assuming teenagers were stupid.

 

“Thank you, Gavin,” he said calmly, meeting the boy’s eyes for a moment.  He found a surprisingly mature appraisal there.  “There was an accident in the gym yesterday.  I must have popped a stitch.”

 

“Cool.  Stitches?” St. John said, eyes brightening as he leaned closer with teenage boy goulishness.  “How many?”  Scott let a wry smile cross his mouth.  Then sobered slightly.  Time for another kind of lesson.  He perched on the edge of the table, looking over the kids.  Making sure of his audience.

 

“Stitches aren’t cool, John,” he said quietly, unbuttoning his cardigan.  He shrugged out of it carefully, not wanting to pull off the bandage on his arm yet. “They hurt like hell.”  He heard nervous laughter from some of the kids.  He didn’t swear in front of them often.

 

He’d chosen to wear a medium color tee shirt under his sweater today, so the sleeves were short. Some of the kids were standing now to get a better look.  The bandage ran the length of his forearm, tape curling away in spots where his normal activity had rubbed it against his sweater.  Blood had soaked the end near his elbow, where he knew the deepest part of the wound to be. 

 

Scott reached over and grabbed the box of tissue from the table, pulling out several sheets and folding them into a pad.  He laid the improvised wadding on his thigh, then grabbed a dangling piece of tape and ripped the bandage away in several steady jerks.  He heard hissed in breaths and groans from the kids just for that.  Then gasps as the line of the still-angry wound dotted with stitches was revealed.  He was right.  He’d popped the bottom stitch and blood was steadily oozing from the gap.

 

“Twenty-six, to answer your question, John,” he said, examining the rest of the stitches to make sure he hadn’t strained any others.  They looked solid.  He picked up the pad of tissue and pressed it to the bloody part, careful not to press too hard.

 

He looked up, gauging the various reactions.  Most of the kids were staring in a kind of horrified fascination; a few looked away, squeamish.  Kitty looked ill.  Gavin was watching his face, rather than his arm.  He met the boy’s look steadily for a moment, then scanned the rest of the class.

 

“This is one consequence of what we do,” he said, voice low and even. “If you fight, you can get hurt.  Even if you just train, you can get hurt.”

 

“So why do it?” Bobby Drake asked, his expression confused.  Bobby’s parents had placed him at Xavier’s.  Bobby still had a home that would accept him.  So did Kitty.  Most of the others didn’t.  Scott looked around the room, picking out faces.  Jubilee they’d rescued from the streets of Los Angeles.  Rogue had been on the run.  St. John’s parents had put him here, but had made it clear he wasn’t welcome home again.  Gavin as well.

 

“Because each of you are worth it,” Scott said, pinning each of them in turn with his gaze.  Rogue put her hands over her mouth, stifling a soft sob.  He knew she still had nightmares about what had happened in the Statue of Liberty.  He did too.

 

“It was Logan, wasn’t it?” Rogue’s soft voice asked.  Scott looked at her and shrugged.

 

“That’s not important.  What I want you all to understand is that this isn’t a game.  It’s deadly serious.  But we fight only when we have to, when all other options have been exhausted.”

 

“But you fight,” Gavin said, pale eyes bright.  Surprising him again.  Scott met his gaze and nodded.

 

“Yes,” he said simply.  Then the door to the atrium opened and he looked up at Ororo as she entered.  Her eyes widened when she saw his unbandaged arm, but she came forward calmly.

 

“Time for History, guys,” she said as she approached.  Students moved back to seats with groans and mutters, the spell broken.  She stopped beside Scott, setting her books and papers down on the table beside him.  Glancing at his arm.

 

“You’d better get Jean to look at that again,” she said quietly, her dark eyes concerned.  Her gaze flickered to the chattering kids and he nodded at her reassuringly.  She didn’t look appeased.  He knew she’d have more questions to field.  And while it didn’t seem to be something she was looking forward to, he knew she would handle it well.

 

Scott stood up and smiled at her. “I was planning on it.”

    

* * * * *

 

At dinner that night, Scott had more than his share of curious, admiring followers.  Jean watched, amused, as several boys plied him with questions about his wound and how he’d gotten it.  He patiently answered most of them, passing along the ones to her that he felt needed a doctor’s perspective.  The only thing he wouldn’t discuss in detail was how it had happened.  Logan sat at the far end of the table, scowling at them all.  Eating with a fierce concentration.  Scott ignored him.

 

After shooing the boys away finally so both he and they could eat dinner, Ororo shot Scott a dark look.

 

“Thanks for bailing on me today,” she said, a touch of humor in her voice.  “They wanted to know everything about fighting.  It turned into a synopsis of military history.  I’m going to have to get a whole new set of textbooks.”

 

“Sorry, but I was bleeding, you know,” Scott grinned back at her.  She smiled and rolled her eyes at him in amused disgust.  Then sobered and poked at the salad on her plate with sudden concentration.  As if the tomatoes were going to run away if she didn’t keep them in line.

 

“I think you should go talk to Gavin,” she said after a moment, something in her tone alerting him to trouble.  Scott sobered immediately, shooting Jean a surprised look.  She just shrugged, equally puzzled.

 

“Why?”

 

“I’d rather you just did.  He asked some… disturbing things in class.”

 

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow.  Ororo wasn’t easily spooked, but she seemed uneasy.  Scott looked down the table to the Professor.  His mentor raised a brow in reply.

 

//Gavin is stable enough, Scott,// the professor said in his head. //And you know I prefer not to pry.  I suggest you take Ororo’s advice and visit him tonight.//

 

He nodded shortly, noting in passing Logan’s dark frown.  The Wolverine was still uneasy around telepathy.  “I’ll take care of it, ‘Ro.”     

 

* * * * *

 

It was study time.  The hour after dinner was allotted as quiet time.  To be used as each student saw fit, but most used it as a time to catch up on homework.  So that they could join in evening activities.  Falling behind got you suspended from the rec room.  A fate worse than death to most teenagers.

Scott made his way up the back stairs in the boy’s wing, heading for the top floor.  Gavin’s room was at the back side of the mansion, in the corner.  Actually one of the bigger rooms.  When he’d first arrived, Gavin had run through roommates like no other.  It wasn’t because of fighting or anything to do with his mutation, but after a few days, most of the boy’s they’d put in with him had asked to be moved.  They’d never given a solid reason, just that he was weird and they didn’t want to room with him any more.  But that had all stopped when Julio arrived a few months ago.  Julio was two years Gavin’s junior, but they somehow clicked.  The two boys were mostly inseparable outside class. 

 

Scott paused when he heard footsteps behind him on the stairs.  He wasn’t surprised at all to find Logan following him.

 

Logan stopped on the landing below, glaring up at him.

 

“Avoiding me?” Logan said, his tone sharp, mocking.

 

“No.  I’m busy,” Scott said, watching him calmly.  Aware that his knuckles had gone white on the railing beside him.

 

“Nothing’s settled between us.”

 

“It can wait,” he said, then turned and continued up the stairs.  Logan snarled at him, but stayed where he was.  Scott approached Gavin’s closed door, and paused outside.  Head cocked, he listened for a moment.  Logan hadn’t left.  He shrugged and knocked on the door.

 

“Yeah?” a voice called through the door.  Not Gavin’s.

 

“It’s Mr. Summers, Julio, can I come in for a moment?”

 

“’Spose.”

 

He opened the door and stepped inside.  Took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the low lighting before closing the door behind him.  The only illumination came from a desk lamp.  A slender dark-haired Latino boy sat at one of the two desks in the room, papers and books spread out in front of him.  He stared at Scott with barely veiled hostility.  Julio was always like that.  He didn’t trust any of the adults much.  He’d had it rough before he came to them.  They still didn’t know exactly how rough, but Scott had his suspicions.

 

“Studying?” Scott asked with a quirk of his lips.

 

“Yeah,” the boy said, not relaxing his rigid posture. Scott glanced quickly around the room.  Gavin was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Where’s your roommate?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Julio,” Scott said quietly, gentle reproach in his voice as he cocked his head at him.  Julio glared back.  Scott just waited, face calm.  Then the boy seemed to wilt slightly.  The thin shoulders shrugged carelessly.

 

“Gym probably, like always,” the dark-haired boy said.  Disgust in his tone.

 

“The gym?” Scott asked, surprised.  Julio’s dark eyes flashed with anger again.  So defensive.  It made Scott’s heart ache.

 

“Yeah, he can use the gym during study time if he wants!”

 

“It’s okay, Julio,” Scott said soothingly. “I just didn’t realize.  I’ll go talk to him there.”  Thinking that it would be better to talk to Gavin without Julio around anyway.  He had turned around and had his hand on the doorknob before Julio’s voice stopped him.

 

“He’s not in trouble, is he?”  The voice was low, scared.  Scott looked over his shoulder.  Julio’s eyes were wide, and the lamp on the desk began to shake, then the desk rattled.  The boy’s mutant power was to generate force waves.  Kind of like earthquakes. 

 

“No, he’s not, Julio.  Take it easy,” Scott said soothingly, turning around to face him again, hands spread wide.  “I just need to talk to him about something that happened in class today.  No big deal.”  The shaking eased, but the boy’s expression stayed wary.

 

“I’ll ask him,” Julio said defiantly, warning him.  Scott smiled reassuringly, trying to keep the expression easy, but feeling rather grim inside.

 

“You go ahead and do that, Julio, but he might not want to talk about it.  It’s up to him.  But I’m telling you he’s not in trouble,” Scott said firmly.  Julio stared at him, his expression far too hard for a fifteen year old boy, then finally nodded.

 

“Okay, Mr. Summers,” he said.  Scott nodded back, then left the room.

 

He stood outside the door for a moment, frowning.  Julio needed more help than they could give him.  There were so few of them on the teaching staff that they just didn’t have enough time to spend with every kid, even with the Professor’s telepathic monitoring.  But they couldn’t send him to an outside therapist, for obvious reasons.  Julio’s attitude had improved greatly once they moved him into Gavin’s room.  Both boys had done better.  But there was still a long way for them to go.  He looked up into Logan’s eyes.

 

Logan was standing, tense and wary, at the top of the stairs.  His gaze flicked to the closed door behind Scott.

 

“Felt it. What’s up with the kid?”

 

Knowing that the doors weren’t that thick and that any of the boys could come down the hall at any time, Scott moved toward him, heading for the stairs beyond.  Logan watched his approach intently.  Scott passed him without answering.  Logan’s hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm.   Scott’s head snapped around and he pierced Logan with a furious look through his glasses that made the other man rear back in surprise.

 

“Not here.  And never around the kids,” Scott said, his voice low and dangerous.  “If you’ve got a problem with me, it stays private.  Anything goes down in front of them and I’ll take you out myself.”  Logan’s hand tightened painfully on his arm and his eyes narrowed to angry slits, then he flushed with something like embarrassment.  Scott stared him down, his blood pounding in his ears.

 

Logan’s gaze finally fell and he stepped away.   Scott continued down the stairs.  Alone.

Part 3:

The mansion had two gyms – three, if you counted the Danger Room.  The one upstairs was a converted ballroom with a beautiful old hardwood floor.  Used mainly for aerobic and dance classes, lined with mirrors.  The one downstairs was more serious.  Exercise machines of various types.  Free weights.  A wide, matted floor for tumbling.  A racquetball court.  A basketball half-court.  A lap pool and a sauna.  There was even a suspended running track for when the snow was too deep outside in the winter.

 

The Danger Room was in a whole other class by itself.  Students weren’t allowed in the Danger Room unsupervised, and the security on it was almost as tight as the security on Cerebro itself.

 

Scott almost discounted the ballroom entirely, thinking a boy like Gavin would be in the main gym downstairs, possibly pumping iron.  If he was doing it alone, then they’d have a talk about using a spotter.  But something made him look through the partially-open ballroom door on his way past.

 

What he saw astonished him.  And made Scott realize just how little he still knew about the boy, even though he’d been with them for more than a year now.

 

Gavin had pale red hair, or so he’d been told.  With his red-tinged vision, he couldn’t tell.  Scott just knew it was lighter in shade than Jean’s.  It was also very likely that Gavin’s hair had never been cut in his entire life.  At age seventeen it reached, even in the habitual thick braid, to the top of his thighs.

 

But it wasn’t the boy’s hair that had surprised him.  Gavin was stripped to the waist, wearing only a pair of sweatpants.  His body was lean and rippling with finely toned muscle that gleamed with faint sweat in the dim light.  He’d been at this for a while then.  Scott watched in open-mouthed astonishment as Gavin moved through a series of tightly controlled moves.  Martial arts moves.  Scott knew enough to recognize them as such, but not enough to identify the discipline.

 

Gavin moved with supreme grace and skill, his heavy braid whipping around almost like a tail.  Each move flowed from one to the other with what looked like flawless precision.  He’d had extensive training.  Enough so that he’d apparently kept it up on his own, like a dancer or an athlete, but on the sly.  Gavin had never given any sign of his skill during their basic athletics classes, except the boy didn’t do well at team sports, and Scott now had an inkling why.

 

When Gavin came to an apparent resting point in his routine, Scott pushed the door open slowly, stepped inside and shut it behind him.  The boy’s head jerked up and he stared at Scott with wary resignation, rising out of his crouch with fluid ease.   He wasn’t even breathing hard.

 

“When were you going to tell us?” Scott asked quietly, careful to keep his tone and face clear of anger.  But he was angry.  At himself, mostly, for not reaching out to this boy sooner.

 

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” Gavin said, still watching him warily from pale eyes.  Jean said they were a silvery gray.  A strange color.

 

“Did you compete?” Scott asked.  He made a move to cross his arms over his chest, hissed at the throb of pain in his right arm and stuffed his hands in his pockets instead.  Gavin watched him soberly.

 

“Yes, from the age of five,” the boy said.

 

“What happened?”

 

Gavin shrugged with careful nonchalance, his gaze flicking away toward the rest of the school, “I’m a mutant.”

 

Scott knew a little of Gavin’s background.  Son of a career diplomat, he’d been raised all over the world.  He spoke bits and pieces of at least twelve languages so far as they’d managed to determine, possibly more.  Most of his youth had been spent in the Far East, isolated from his birth culture.  Which was one reason he didn’t fit in with the other students.  He’d manifested his mutation at age fifteen, and his father had dumped him on the Professor shortly thereafter with a huge trust fund and instructions for him never to contact his family again.  For a diplomat to admit to having a mutant son in this day and age was career suicide, you understand, the man had said.  It still made Scott furious even to think about it.

 

“We all are here.  Why didn’t you want us to know you can fight?” Scott asked as calmly as he could.  Gavin tensed.  He could obviously sense Scott’s anger.

 

“All the Professor talks about is peaceful coexistence.  I didn’t think he’d like it if I brought it up,” the boy said warily.

 

“He’d understand, trust me.  It’s just a skill, Gavin,” Scott said, forcing himself to relax.  The last thing he wanted was for Gavin to think he was mad at him.  “One you might even be able to share.  You certainly don’t need to be ashamed of it.  I’m no expert, but you look like you’re really good.”

 

He startled the boy into a brief, shy smile.  But the expression swiftly faded.

 

“I was.  I won a lot,” Gavin said with no modesty. “But I can’t compete anymore, so what’s the point?”

 

Scott shrugged.  “You kept it up.  You must enjoy it.”

 

The boy’s smile returned, wider this time and it lasted longer.  “I do.”

 

“That’s reason enough for me,” Scott said, smiling back at him.

 

Gavin looked away, blinking, his eyes suspiciously bright.  “Thanks, Mr. Summers.”

 

Scott turned away and looked around the room, giving the boy a chance to compose himself.  Pulled his hands out of his pockets and waved them at the ballroom.  “Is this the right kind of place for you to work out?  Do you need different equipment?”

 

He heard a brief sob behind him, but didn’t turn around, just continued his unnecessary examination of the walls, the mirrors and barres set up for the dance classes.  He could see the boy out of the corner of his eyes in one of the mirrors, watched him swipe at his face.  Overcome by such a simple thing as understanding from an adult.  Scott was even more angry with himself, and saddened.  There were so many kids in their care and too few adults around to give them what they truly needed.  He thought of Logan and his mouth thinned into a grim line. 

 

“Maybe a few things,” Gavin said in a watery tone that firmed with each word.  Scott turned around, pleased to see the boy had gotten himself back under control.  Wouldn’t do to embarrass him.  Teenage boys had fragile egos.

 

He smiled at him.  “Make me a list, and I’ll see what we can do.”

 

“Thanks, sir,” Gavin said, gratitude shining in his eyes.

 

“And make sure you tell Julio you’re not in trouble, okay?  I stopped at your room first.”

 

Gavin’s eyes widened in surprise, then his expression fell.  “Julio worries.  He’ll be okay.”

 

“You guys have been good for each other,” Scott said.  “Thanks for helping him, Gavin.  He needs a friend.”

 

Gavin blushed.  “He’s a good kid.  Really.”

 

“Well, let’s keep him from shaking the boy’s wing down, okay?”  Gavin gave a sharp laugh, smiling at Scott from the corners of his eyes and nodding, remembering Julio’s first few days in the house just as vividly as anyone else.  New York State wasn’t prone to earthquakes, a fact for which Scott was eternally grateful after experiencing Julio’s temper tantrums.

 

“I’ll go talk to him,” Gavin said.  Then he went to the side of the room, gathered up his shirt and shoes and a towel and slipped out of the room after shooting Scott one last smile.

 

Scott sighed heavily and leaned his left arm against the mirror beside him.  Stared under it into his own face for long, silent minutes.  Feeling guilt and sorrow tug at his heart.

 

“Squeaked by on that one, didn’t you, Summers?” he finally said to his reflection.

 

“Talking to yourself is a bad sign,” a gruff voice replied from the other side of the room.

 

Scott tensed.  Shifted his focus in the mirror to see Logan standing inside the door.  Watched as the other man closed and locked it behind him.  The anger he’d suppressed while talking to Gavin surged.  But he held his position and just watched as Logan stalked toward him.

 

When he was halfway across the room, Scott straightened and turned around.  Logan stopped.

 

“I’m really not in the mood for your shit right now, Wolverine,” Scott said, his voice cold. 

 

Logan’s eyes narrowed and a sneer curled his lips.  His gaze raked over Scott’s body, coming to rest on his mouth before flicking up to his glasses, then down to his mouth again.  Scott felt his own anger strain at his control.

 

“What’s your price?” Scott asked him suddenly.

 

“Price?” Logan’s eyes narrowed to slits and his hands fisted ominously.

 

“The school needs you.  These kids need you.  Jean, ‘Ro, the Professor and I can’t do it alone any more,” he said, biting the words off like they were bitter.  Logan just stared at him for a long moment. Then shook his head.

 

“I don’t like kids,” he said, scowling.

 

“Bullshit,” Scott spat. “You saved Rogue.” 

 

Something flickered in his eyes.  Logan looked away, then looked back and it was gone.  Then he sneered again.  “One time deal.”

 

“You are so full of shit,” Scott said viciously, taking a step toward him, hands fisted at his sides.  “I want to know your price.”

 

Logan moved then, and Scott saw him coming.  Knew what was coming and held his ground, readying himself.  Logan tackled him, driving him down to the hard floor.  Scott twisted, rolling them as they fell so that they both hit equally.  The impact still drove most of the air out of his lungs, but he fought the pain and the spasms and kept his left arm wedged up under Logan’s jaw.  His right hand clutched his glasses, holding them in place.

 

“For Christ’s sake, I could blow your fucking head off!” he gasped, pleased to hear Logan gasping as well.  A healing factor didn’t deal with simple loss of breath.

 

“You’re too much of a Boy Scout for that,” Logan wheezed.  Then he rolled them over, pinning Scott beneath him, straddling him and grabbing his wrists, one in each hand.  Scott bucked up, but it did no good.  Logan was too heavy and he had no leverage with the other man sitting on his thighs.  Logan leaned forward, pressing his arms down beside his head.  Scott didn’t make it easy for him, straining against his hold, but Logan had position on him.  He felt stitches tear on his arm again and cursed.

 

“I smell that,” Logan said, hot gaze flicking from his face to his arm.  Scott frowned at him.  “Aw, hell, Scotty, I didn’t want to hurt you again.”  Then he leaned down and kissed him.

 

Scott bit him.  Logan reared back, an ugly look on his face, and spat blood to the side.  The tear on his lip was already healing, but the sting remained.  He stared down at his own blood on Scott’s lips.  Watched as Scott licked it away.  Logan groaned, gaze locked on his mouth.

 

“Is this your price, Logan?” Scott asked, voice tight.  Logan glared at him.

 

“I don’t fuckin’ believe you.”

 

“Is it?”

 

Logan tried to search his gaze through the glasses, frustrated that he couldn’t do so in the dim light.  Then he bent down low over Scott’s face, raking his gaze slowly and deliberately over him, his breath washing over Scott’s skin.  Close, but not touching.  Breathing him.  Scott couldn’t suppress a shiver.

 

“What if it is?  Will you whore yourself for this place, Scotty?”

 

Scott’s face went absolutely still, and his body stiffened under him.  Then a sharp smile crossed his lips.

 

“Would a whore buy you, Logan?” Scott asked slowly, mockingly.  Rage washed over Logan’s face as he reared back.  He bared his teeth and snarled down at Scott.  Then he released Scott’s wrists and sat up, glaring down at the man underneath him, hands fisted in front of him. 

 

For an instant, Scott saw his own death in those wild eyes.  Then Logan scrambled up and was gone.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott sat in the medical bay again, arm braced on the exam table for the third time in two days.  Jean was slamming drawers and equipment around as she readied suture material again.  Four stitches had popped this time. Anger radiated off of her in waves.

 

Scott watched her with weary patience. Flinching slightly at each near-deafening ring of metal on metal.

 

“What is going on here, Scott?” she said finally, hands braced on the side of the autoclave, turning to shoot him a tight-lipped glare before she fished her recently sterilized tools back out.  “And don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t know’ shit, or I’m going to rip it out of your brain.”

 

He had already noticed she hadn’t set out the topical anesthetic this time.  He winced as forceps and clamps rattled down onto the metal tray in front of her.  Scott let out a deep sigh.

 

“I’m recruiting,” he said.  That stopped her angry motions.  She lifted a brow at him, expression carefully blank.  He continued,  “Logan.  I want him to commit to the school.”

 

“He already came back,” she said, gaze narrowed.

 

“Yeah, and he’s nominally part of the team, I know.  But we need more adult help around here and it isn’t like we can just hire someone off the street,” he said, lifting the gauze away from his wound to see if the bleeding had slowed any.  Jean stepped close and slapped at his hand, gesturing sharply for him to hold it over the wound again.  He rolled his eyes behind his glasses but complied.

 

“You want him to teach, or something?” she said, frowning.

 

“Or something.  I found something out about Gavin today.  He has talent, Jean,” he said eagerly, veering off the subject of Logan for a moment. “Martial arts training of some kind.  Apparently he used to compete – and win.” 

 

Jean turned to face him again, eyes wide with astonishment.

 

“Our Gavin?  The silent one?”

 

He nodded, but continued, “He’s been here more than a year, Jean.  We should have seen this before.  But there are so many of them, and so many more vocal ones that he just slipped through the cracks.  And he’s done wonders with Julio.”

 

Jean looked briefly guilty, biting at her lip.  “I know, but Julio’s been so calm, so quiet I was afraid to pry and start his tantrums back up again.”

 

Scott sighed deeply, guilt heavy on his mind for the exact same reason.  “I know, but they aren’t just unruly mutant powers.  They’re kids.  They need us, and we just don’t have enough time for all of them.”

 

“And this macho game you’re playing with Logan,” she said, shooting him a hard glance.  “Do you think it will work?”

 

“It’s not a game,” he said, nodding at his wound.  She frowned at him again, but this time it was out of concern.  “And I hope so.”

 

She stepped up to the side of the table, taking his face tenderly between her gloved hands.  Jean tipped his head back and stared into his eyes through the glasses.  Scott felt the soft brush of her mind against his, but he kept his shields up.  She didn’t push, but she frowned again and he gave her a lopsided smile of chagrin.

 

“Be careful, honey,” was all she said.  Then she leaned down and kissed him.  He dropped the gauze and wrapped his left arm around her, drawing her close as the kiss deepened.  She stepped between his legs, breaking the kiss and relaxing into his hold with a contented sigh.

 

He looked up into her beloved face and hoped he was right.

 

Part 4:

Rogue had been tracking Logan for a while.  Since class that morning.  She finally found him coming out of the ballroom, alone, his face dark with anger, his eyes wild.  A shiver seized her.  She followed him anyway.  Out the back door, out onto the grounds alone in the early evening light.

 

Logan came to a halt next to one of the trees dotted about the vast lawns, hands fisted at his sides.  Back firmly presented.  He cocked his head over his shoulder, one glaring eye piercing her, freezing her in place.

 

“What do you want, kid?” he snarled ominously.

 

She waited several feet away, gloved hands toying nervously with the long scarf around her neck.  The white streak in her hair gleamed in the fading light.

 

“It was you who cut Mr. Summers, wasn’t it?” she asked.  Logan’s chin jerked up and he stared into the distance.

 

“He tell you that?”

 

“No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.  You guys train together.  I just didn’t…” she stopped, biting her lips, hands gripping each other hard. “I thought you liked it here.  I thought you came back because you missed… us.  But all you do is fight with him.  And now you’ve hurt him.”  She took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

“I like him, Logan.  All the kids do, even though they give him a hard time.  He makes us all feel so…” Her hands waved helplessly in the air, encompassing the grounds, the entire school. “Safe.”

 

Logan half-turned back toward her, his expression cold, silent.  Watching.  Waiting.

 

Her dark gaze raised and met his, something pained in the depths of her eyes.  Far too mature, too knowing for her years.

 

“I still remember a few things, from when you healed me.  Like I know you only chased Dr. Grey to make him mad.”

 

He turned around sharply, thrust his hands into his jeans pockets, glaring.  “That all you remember?”

 

She looked away, at the tree, then back at him, her face pale.  She shook her head, eyes filling with tears.  He let out a sharp sigh, expression softening slightly.  Regret, maybe.

 

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said.  She stood there, fighting tears for a moment, sniffing quietly.

 

Then he held out his arms, and she ran into them, burying her head against his chest as his arms closed around her, holding her close.

 

* * * * *

 

Gavin burst through the door, a wide smile on his face, making Julio jump.

 

“Mr. Summers is so cool!” Gavin said, still flying from the earlier encounter.  He tossed his bunched up clothes on the floor and fell back onto his bed, the grin still plastered across his face, body wrapped only in a big towel.  He’d stopped in the boy’s communal bathroom for a quick shower to wash the sweat off, then come right back to their room. 

 

Julio sat on his own bed in the far corner of the room, his knees drawn up into the circle of his arms.  Dark eyes narrowed, face pinched with concern.

 

“He came by here.  Looking for you.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Gavin rolled his head to the side, shooting his friend a big smile. “Did he bug you, Julio?  He shouldn’t.  He’s great.  He’s gonna let me set up my own dojo.”

 

“He wasn’t mad?”

 

“No way!  He said I had a great skill and I should use it.  And he wants to help me.”

 

Julio stayed silent.  Curled up on his bed, faint shivers running through him, through his bed.  He’d never seen Gavin so animated before.  Never seen his friend smile like that for anyone other than him.  Something dark rose in him, clawed at his heart, his thoughts.

 

Julio watched as his best – his only – friend Gavin bounced off the bed, unable to contain his excitement as he paced around the room, red braid whipping around behind him, talking of equipment and uniforms and sparring and how great Mr. Summers was for letting him have all that again, and was afraid.  Very, very afraid.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott wasn't really surprised to find a neatly printed list of supplies and items waiting for him in his office the next morning.  Gavin was obviously enthusiastic about setting up a real training area.  He stared at the list, uncertain where to start.  His own training in hand-to-hand combat had come under far less formalized circumstances.  He certainly didn't know what a 'tonfa' was.

 

Taking the paper with him, Scott joined the usual semi-conscious crowd of teenagers on their way to the dining hall for breakfast.  Ororo had kitchen duty this week, with a rotating selection of students as her helpers.  That meant another mostly vegetarian meal.  At least she didn't have anything against coffee.

 

He fielded the usual mumbled morning greetings and a few queries about his arm as he helped himself to hot food and a gigantic mug of coffee.  It was a small vice that hurt no one – unless he didn't get his one cup every morning.  He paused briefly when he turned toward the teacher's table and saw Logan seated on the far side of Jean.  The Professor was absent this morning; probably had already been and gone.

 

Jean gave him a smile of greeting.  Logan was noticeable by his silence.  Jean shot Scott a concerned glance.  Scott set his tray down, determined to ignore the other man.  Though, for some reason, the snapping tension between them was less this morning contrary to what he’d expected after their last encounter.  Could the Wolverine actually be behaving himself in public now, as he’d asked?  The idea made him smile slightly as he started in on his breakfast.

 

"What's this?" Jean asked after a moment, picking up the paper beside his plate.  Scott checked to make certain none of the kids were near when he answered.  He still needed to find out how public Gavin wanted knowledge of his skills to be first, and he just hadn’t had the opportunity yet.

 

"Gavin's list. It was on my desk before I got to my office this morning."  He smiled into his coffee cup, still pleased by the boy's eagerness.

 

"'Bokken', 'sai', 'tonfa'," Jean read off the list, frowning slightly. "What are these?"

 

"Bokken's a wooden sword; sai's a kind of short knife," Logan said from the other end of the table, head lifted in sudden interest.  "Looking to start a war, Summers?"

 

"No, but Gavin might be," Scott answered with a wry smile.  Not looking directly at Logan. "He's had serious training in martial arts.  I agreed to set him up with a place to train."

 

"Dojo," Logan grunted.

 

"What?" Jean asked.

 

"A place where martial arts are taught is called a 'dojo'.  But it needs a sensei to be a real dojo," Logan said, turning back to his food.  Somewhere he'd found sausages this morning.  Scott glanced at his plate enviously.

 

"And a sensei is?" he asked, even though he had a fairly good idea.  Too many late night kung fu movie marathons during college, probably.

 

"A teacher, a master," Logan said, shooting him a dark glare.

 

“Sounds like you know something about this,” Scott said, tone challenging.  Logan turned to face him fully, his expression strangely remote.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Scott looked up, scanning the room for the boy with pale red hair.  He frowned when he didn’t find him.  He did see Julio sitting at a table by himself, however.  The dark-haired boy turned his face sharply away when he noticed Scott looking his way.  Scott noted the reaction absently, his thoughts focused in another direction.

 

“Where’s Gavin?” he asked the table in general.

 

“I think he has kitchen duty today,” Jean said, glancing around the room too.

 

“Feel up to judging the boy’s skills today, Wolverine?” Scott asked, fixing the other man with a firm look.  Logan scanned his face, eyes flicking to a cautiously curious Jean, then he looked out over the room, gaze pausing on something or someone on the other side of the room before coming back to Scott.  Veiled.  Controlled.  Logan shrugged.

 

“When?” he agreed gruffly.  And Scott felt the first, faint touch of success.

 

* * * * *

 

Logan stood silently on the far side of the main gym, arms folded across his chest, staring thoughtfully at the mats on the floor. Gavin had long since disappeared into the locker room to shower and change.  Then he had some study work to catch up on for the rest of the evening.

 

Gavin had been eager to demonstrate his skills for both men, practically glowing with the attention.  Only sobering with concentration just before he had begun.  It had been an impressive display.  On both sides.  Because after a while, Logan had bowed with strange formality to the boy, who halted to return the gesture with equal seriousness before they’d traded blows.  Fast and furious.  When they were done, Gavin was grinning like a lunatic, asking questions of Logan with bright intensity.  Who actually answered a few of them, to Scott’s deep surprise.

 

Scott had had to remind Gavin of his school work.  The boy had left reluctantly, still brimming with excitement.

 

Scott shifted his weight on his foot and Logan's head shot up.  He stared at Scott.

 

"Kid's good," he said finally, eyes glittering.  "Might even be better than me someday.  He could compete."

 

A wave of regret washed through Scott. "He did once.  But he can't now."

 

"Why not?"  Logan's narrow glare was almost savage.

 

"He told me he was outed as a mutant at a match.  He inadvertently sent an energy pulse through the metal blades he was using and burned a hole the size of a refrigerator in the arena floor," Scott said grimly. “He was very lucky no one was hurt.”

 

Logan just continued to glare at him.  Scott met the look with equanimity.  Then Logan glanced toward the locker room door, frowning thoughtfully.

 

"I think the kid's got a healing ability too," he said. "Not as good as mine, but he shook off blows that should have done some damage."

 

“You were trying to hurt him?” Scott snapped, outrage flooding him.

 

“I didn’t,” Logan said with a dismissive snort.  “I had a pretty good idea going in what he could take.”

 

Scott stalked toward him, hands fisted at his sides.  Logan’s eyes narrowed and he came subtly more alert, watching Scott’s approach with dark intensity.

 

“You assumed a great deal after only a few minutes,” Scott said, tense with anger, both at Logan and himself.  Fighting it down with some difficulty.  Was he a fool to try to convince him to stay?  Would it be in the student’s best interests after all?  “What if you’d really hurt him?”

 

“I knew what I was doing.  And so did he,” Logan replied quietly, dangerously.  “He tried to break my arm, or did you miss that, Boy Scout?”

 

“Before or after you gave him a hard shot?” Scott said with icy calm, aware of Logan’s ploy to anger him.  “I told you he was good.  I’m sure he was just responding in kind.”

 

Logan just shrugged, his arms still folded over his chest, his jaw clenched tightly enough that Scott could see a muscle jump there.  They glared at each other in tense silence for a long moment before Scott spoke again, voice harsh.

 

“The point is, Logan, that he’s the kid, and you’re not.  He’s looking to you to guide him.  That means you have to keep his best interests at heart every minute, regardless of what it does to your ego.”

 

“My ego?” Logan snarled, stepping close.  Scott held his ground.  Logan’s gaze fixed on his mouth again.  “Fuck that.  I don’t have any ego left.” 

 

His hand shot out and closed around the back of Scott’s neck.  Who made no move to shrug away from the tight grasp.  Logan swallowed hard, gaze moving slowly up to red glasses, catching and holding the narrow-eyed stare Scott was giving him through them for an instant.  Then his gaze moved back to his mouth, locking there.

 

“Let me,” he said softly, a plea rather than a demand.  Asking rather than taking.

 

Scott stayed silent and still, allowing nothing to show on his face.  But his pulse was thundering, and he knew – he knew – that Logan could feel it through his skin.  Through the hard hand on his neck.  Long moments passed, thick and slow.

 

Logan finally closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly, baring his teeth in a grimace and tilting his head back slightly.  As if he were preparing for a blow.

 

“God, you’re harsh,” he muttered.  “I’m a fuckin’ amateur compared to you, Scotty-boy.”

 

“What is it you want, Logan?” Scott said, voice steady, calm.  Logan’s eyes snapped open, filled with anguish.  All arrogance stripped away.

 

“You,” he said harshly. “I want you.”

 

A deep trembling swept through Scott.  He closed his own eyes briefly, then opened them to survey Logan’s expression.  The need.  The desire.  The longing.  Weighed it against his own need, his own desires. 

 

“You can’t have me.”

 

Logan flinched, then his face darkened with anger.  His hand jerked on Scott’s neck.  The other rose to clutch at Scott’s arm.  Tightened there painfully.  Logan glared, breathing harsh, fast, his body tense.

 

“I could take you.”

 

Scott didn’t even shudder.  He was past that.  “No, you could try.”

 

Logan stared at him for an endless moment, hands flexing, teeth grinding.  Scott could see the hard calculation, the raw need, the savagery pass through his eyes.  Wondered briefly if either of them would make it out of this room alive.  Then the animal faded before something else, something desperate.

 

“What do you want from me?” Logan finally asked, torment in his tone.  Scott reached up, his hands closing firmly around Logan’s wrists.  Lifting his hands away, letting them fall.

 

“Everything.”

 

Logan flinched, took a half step back, tension, anguish, anger sending tremors running through his frame.  Shaking his head.

 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Scotty.”

 

“I think I do.  And it scares the hell out of you, Logan, because you want it,” he said quietly.  Voice carefully neutral.  “My terms.  My rules.”  

 

“You bastard.”  Logan glared at him, frozen.

 

“Alpha dog, Logan,” he said, then he took a risk.  He pushed.  “Do you trust me to take care of you?”

 

Logan shook his head, not exactly a negative, but more of a refusal to face his question.  Too much, too fast.  Eyes wide with something Scott could only read as panic before he turned and walked away.

 

Part 5:

Scott found Jean in their room, in the bathroom preparing for bed.  It was late.  He didn’t remember exactly how long he’d stood in the gym alone – thinking, wondering, worrying – after Logan had left.  But when he’d shaken himself back to awareness and come upstairs, the mansion was dark and mostly quiet.  As quiet as a building full of teenagers could get.

 

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her wash her face.  Her hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail.  She was dressed in a flowing dark robe over one of his old tee shirts, her favorite sleeping attire.  He held his left arm across his body, hand cupping his upper arm.  Feeling the sting of fresh bruises underneath.

 

Her gaze rose to his in the mirror, concerned.  “What happened?” she asked, softly, frowning.  Knowing him well, able to read him often without having to resort to telepathy.  For which he was guiltily grateful right then.

 

“I might have messed up.”

 

“How?”

 

“Asked too much, too soon.  He could leave again.”

 

She looked down.  Carefully folded the washcloth after wringing it out.  Tugged the elastic band out of her hair, letting it fall free.  Then she turned to face him.

 

“How’s your arm?” she asked, glancing at him sidelong.

 

“Fine,” he said, letting her divert the subject.  She walked up to him, her expression somber, faintly worried.   She was nearly his height, something that had always pleased him, and able to look him in the eye.  She put one hand over his heart, the other cupped his face.  

 

Scott closed his eyes behind his glasses and turned into her touch.  Letting her presence, her gentle compassion wash over him.  Feeling faintly unworthy.

 

He shuddered.  Then straightened and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her close, burying his face in her neck.  Her arms slid around him in return, her pulse thundering against his cheek.  She was uncertain too.

 

“There’s something there, Scott,” she said, quietly, her voice shaking slightly. “I know it. The two of you will have to sort it out somehow.  He’s so focused on you…”

 

“I know,” he breathed, still shuddering.  “God, Jean, I love you.”

 

“I love you too, honey,” she said, voice thin.

 

“I don’t know how…” he began.  Her lips against his cut him off.  The kiss was soft, tender.  Strangely unfamiliar.  He accepted it, sank into it.  Drawing her into him, as memory unfolded. Light and love.  Affinity and promise.  Challenge and grace.  Jean.

 

She slipped back slowly, her eyes closed.  “Let it go for now,” she said, breath warm against his mouth.

 

He pulled her back, his grasp tight.  Hands sliding up to hold her head in place as he kissed her; firm, hard, mouth parting over hers.  Tongue sweeping relentlessly inside.  She moaned deep in her throat, pressing herself close, her suddenly peaked nipples rubbing his chest.

 

He drew back just enough to let his mouth slide across her face, lips seeking.  Her head tilted back, her hands stroked up his back in return, into his hair, careful, as always, of his glasses.  He nibbled and bit his way down her neck, to the scooped collar of the old shirt.  She made a soft breathy sound of pleasure.

 

Suddenly anxious for the feel of her under his hands, the scent of her skin, the taste of her.  He caught her tightly to him, and spun her, half moaning, half laughing toward the bed.

 

“Scott!” she cried softly as he lowered her down, hands firm on her, not letting her wriggle away.  Crouching between her spread thighs.  His face still, intent.  Absorbing the beauty of her.  She was watching him, her eyes wide, dark.  Lips parted on a gasp.  He bent his head, mouth and tongue finding the hollow of her throat, hands cupping her shoulders.  Her pulse was throbbing under his touch, her hands urgent on him in return. 

 

He stripped her robe away, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his hands.  The silk of her hair as he pulled the shirt over her head.  Naked, sleek, she arched against him and he worshiped her with his gaze.  Bent and took a hard nipple into his mouth, heard her moan of pleasure, felt her hands fierce on him.  Lost himself in Jean.

 

This was love.  This was right.

 

* * * * *

 

Julio waited until Gavin was asleep.  When the entire mansion was still and long quiet, with only the occasional odd creak of old, old walls settling to make him start.  Wary.  No need for a light.  The moon glowed brightly against the curtains.

 

More than enough light to see.  More than enough light to dig out his small box of treasures from deep under his bed.  To open it and sort through the carefully arranged items.  Carefully arranged so that he would know if someone had disturbed them.  But no one ever had, since Gavin.  Gavin had protected him, comforted him, become his friend.  All without asking anything in return.

 

They were his own personal things.  Someday, he’d share them with Gavin.  He’d hoped to do it soon.  But now, Mr. Summers had distracted his friend.  Given him something outside Julio’s friendship.  Made him happy in a way that Julio never could have.  Already he was preoccupied.  Already other kids were taking notice of the boy that Mr. Summers and even the Wolverine were paying so much attention to.  Soon Gavin would be accepted by the others.  Welcomed.  So where would that leave Julio?  Alone again?  He shivered at the thought; the bed shook as well, rattling briefly against the wall.  He forced himself to calm down, to still the outpouring of his hated mutant power.  The rattling stopped.

 

Not wanting to awaken his friend, he carefully lifted out from the shoebox the few things he’d managed to keep on the streets.  Until he finally found the one thing that had set him free.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott woke with a start, not knowing exactly why.  Disoriented.  Jean was still sleeping in his arms; the weight of her head on his upper arm had numbed his whole arm.  He gently shifted her to her own pillow, carefully sliding his arm out from under her and rolling onto his back to let the blood flow back.  Gritting his teeth against the pins-and-needles sensation.

 

He looked around the room as he waited for the feeling to fade.  His soft sleeping goggles sent everything into stark shadow. Moonlight made the curtains glow.

 

There was a shape in the window seat.

 

He sat up slowly, warily.  Hand rising to his sleep goggles.

 

“Your rules, my game,” Logan said softly, barely a whisper in the night.

 

“No,” Scott said, voice low, intensity vibrating in the air. “My game too. Now get out.”  The shape slipped from the window seat, into darkness.  Silently.

 

“What’s the matter, honey?” Jean murmured, stirring beside him. 

 

“Bathroom.  Go back to sleep,” he whispered, grateful that she reinforced her psychic shields heavily at night.  To avoid the dreaming minds of others, even him.  He slid out of the bed.  She mumbled an incoherent assent and rolled back over.  Already asleep again.  He’d long envied her that skill.

 

He listened carefully. Logan was still in the room, somewhere.  He walked to the door by memory, half-expecting to run into the other man on the way.

 

He made it to the hall unimpeded, waiting a moment before a dark shape appeared and Logan’s hand slid around his arm.  He closed the door quietly behind them.  Yanked his arm away impatiently, and took a few steps down the hall toward the stairs, away from the door.  The shadow followed on his heels, the gleam of eyes and teeth showing briefly in the faint light.

 

“Went to her for it, did you?” Logan said mockingly, voice little more than a murmur.

 

“Back off,” Scott said, angry and alarmed but forcing it down.  "How much more, Logan?  How many times do I have to prove it to you?"

 

"Until you convince me, Scotty-boy," the other man said.

 

Scott stood, silent, tense in the dark hall.  Staring at the dark shape beside him.  Wondering how far he would have to go, could go.  Dared go.  Remembered something in Jean’s touch, her kisses.  A desperation, a fear.  From a telepath.

 

"You can't have me, Logan, but that doesn't mean I can't have you," he finally said.  Logan's breath hissed in sharply. "Remember that." 

 

"That's not the way it works…"

 

"Yes, it is," Scott interrupted, low, fierce.  "My rules.  My game. Or you're gone.  Now.  Tonight.  Can you live with that?"

 

Silence.  Thick.  Dragging.  His wound was throbbing with pain, he realized, because his hands were fisted at his sides.  Tense as he waited for the Wolverine’s reply, or the Wolverine’s attack, at a disadvantage in the near-darkness and fully aware of it.

 

Then Logan dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands clutching Scott’s hips, the loose flannel of pajama pants, forehead resting against his taut stomach.  Breathing hard, almost panting.  And shuddering as if freezing.

 

“Yes.” Logan’s voice hoarse, the word raw.  Then, “Bastard.  Why did it have to be you?”

 

“I didn’t start this,” Scott said, as gently as he could manage. Fighting himself. “But I’ll finish it however I have to.  Do you trust me, Logan?”

 

Logan’s hands tightened on his hips painfully, fingers digging in deeply, possibly bruising.  His head scrubbed back and forth against Scott’s bare stomach as he shook his head, wiry hair harsh.  Scott kept his hands at his sides, but couldn’t force his hands to open, to relax.

 

“Do you?” Scott demanded.

 

“As much as I can.”  The words low, pained.  “My head’s so fucked, Scotty.  You.  You’re crystal.  I need…” 

 

“What do you need, Logan?”

 

“Everything, Scotty.  I need everything.”

 

* * * * *

 

Scott slipped back into his room, pausing at the door after he closed and locked it to lean back against the cool wood, heart racing.  Afraid he’d made a mistake, taken a wrong turn, read the situation wrong.  Second guessing himself as he did after every major decision.  Tearing it apart to make certain he’d done the best he could, and if not, to find a way to make sure he would the next time. 

 

He’d let Logan hold him for a long time.  The shudders gradually slowing, stopping.  Until the other man finally just climbed to his feet and walked away.  In silence.  And Scott wasn’t entirely certain if he was leaving the school itself or just him for now, but he hadn’t called after him.  Had just let him go.

 

“Scott?” Jean called softly.  Wide awake.  He closed his eyes and let his head thump back against the door.

 

“Yes,” he said, fighting down dismay.

 

“Logan was here, wasn’t he?”

 

“Yes.  I’m sorry,” he said, mind whirling.  He heard her leave the bed, walk toward him, saw just a slender shape in the moon-shadowed room.  Everyone had better night vision than he did, but he could still track motion.  Her hand caught his, drew him away from the door, back to the bed.  Wrapping her arms around his chest from behind, cradling him between her thighs as she leaned against the headboard.  Enfolding him in her warmth, her love.

 

“I knew, before,” she said quietly, her cheek resting on his hair.

 

“Knew what?” he asked, feeling slow, bemused, trying to find a way to tell her what was going on.  But soaking up her presence for now.  Relaxing as he couldn’t anywhere else.  Only with Jean did the walls come down.  He’d kept too much from her for too long now.  He needed her as check.  To keep him grounded and real.

 

“That he really wanted you, and not me,” she said huskily. “That flirting with me was a way to get your attention.”

 

Scott shivered hard, arms rising up to enfold hers, fingers lacing with hers.  Her words falling like rocks into water, leaving only a ripple on the surface but coming to rest deep inside.

 

“God, Jean, what do I do?” he whispered.  “I love you.  I won’t lose you.  But we need him.  And he needs us, or he’ll self-destruct.”

 

She made a soft sobbing sound, her breath ruffling his hair.  Her fingers flexed in his, tightening.  Holding him close.  Her heart beat steady against his back.

 

“Always trying to save them all, aren’t you?  That’s why I love you so much, Scott Summers,” she said.  “Maybe you should be reminding yourself what you need.  And asking if what Logan wants is really what he needs.”

 

Scott sighed deeply, feeling Jean around him, the gentle brush of her mind against his.  And this time he didn’t block her out.  He let her in.

 

 Part 6

Scott stood in the bathroom the next morning after his shower, a towel slung low around his hips as he shaved.  He’d already stripped the plastic away that protected his stitches.  The wound was still rawer than it should be from pulling twice.  He’d have a scar for certain.  Another one.  He was looking rather battered, lately.  There were dark bruises on his upper arm, his shoulders and his hips as well.  All from Logan.

 

Jean leaned against the doorframe, much as he had done last night, watching him.  Her gaze lingered on the marks on his hips.  Her lips pursed thoughtfully.

 

“You know, there are just some things woman wasn’t meant to know,” she said, trying to smile.  Failing.  He gave her a half-smile in the mirror, pausing with the razor under his chin.

 

“You mean about the male cesspit I call my mind?” he said.  She gave a short laugh, straightening away and moving up close behind him.  Her hands brushed against the red bruises on his hips.  Measured her fingers against them, found them lacking. He watched her, feeling the warmth of her against his skin.  Trembling slightly.  He lowered the razor.

 

“I’m sorry.  About last night,” she said, glancing up at him.  Guilty.  Worried.  “For a telepath, that’s the most offensive thing I could have done, just rummaged through your mind like that.  I shouldn’t have done it, even if you did let me.  The Professor will scold me.”

 

“You just didn’t like finding out how often a guy actually thinks about sex,” he said, trying to relieve the tension.  His words fell flat.  He tried again.  “It’s okay, Jean.  Really.  I let you.  I wanted you to.  Call me chicken.”

 

She smiled at him weakly, looked away, then back at him.  Her face still, almost grim.

 

“Anything but that, Scott,” she said, watching him in the mirror with steady intensity. “I want to talk to him

 

“Why?”

 

“I just need to… understand him.”

 

That turned him around, razor clattering into the sink as his hands gripped her shoulders.  “You won’t try that on him, will you?  Jean?  Promise me? Last time…”

 

But she was already shaking her head, her hands resting on his ribs.  Looking at his half-shaved, half-foamy face and smiling tenderly at him.

 

“No, just talk.  Really.”

 

His hands slid up, cupped her face as he pressed his forehead to hers.  “Good.”

 

* * * * *

 

Scott and Jean descended the stairs hand in hand.  He was more casual than usual in chinos and a black tee shirt, the bandage stark on his arm.  She was wearing a sleek pantsuit, low, practical heels on her feet.  They paused together on the landing, looking down at the man lounging with apparent casualness on the bottom few steps.  But staring hollowly up at them.  Gaze flickering from their joined hands to their faces.

 

“Logan,” Scott acknowledged quietly.  The other man grunted in reply.

 

He looked faintly haggard and was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before.  Apparently he hadn’t slept.  Jean folded her arms over her chest, rolled her eyes and shook her head at him.  The picture of long-suffering woman.  Scott suppressed a snort of amusement.  Logan glanced between the two of them again, his expression faintly puzzled.

 

“You and me.  Talk.  Now,” Jean said, the trace of humor in her tone belied by the stern look in her eyes.  Logan’s brows rose and he shot Scott a startled glance.

 

“Okay by you, Fearless Leader?”

 

“Like I have any say in it?” Scott said with a shrug, continuing down the stairs.  Watching as Logan waited until the last possible second to move out of his way.  It wasn’t over then.  But at least he could take heart that he was still here.  He hadn’t run.

 

Jean followed him, stepping down far enough to straddle Logan’s legs, then leaned over, hand braced on the railing above him as she grinned tightly down into his face.  Irritated by his comment to Scott.  For an instant the Canadian looked haunted, hunted, then he plastered a wicked grin across his face.

 

A few kids on their way down to breakfast had paused on the landing above, watching this display with wide-eyed intensity.  Shooting curious looks at Scott who just smiled with wry amusement and shook his head.  The kids snickered nervously.

 

“My. Don’t you look terrible this morning,” Jean said sharply. “Bad night?”

 

“Why, Jeannie?” Logan said with a leer. “Want details?”

 

“Can it, Wolverine,” she interrupted pointedly, rolling her eyes and straightening up to fold her arms impatiently over her chest.  “Outside or in?”

 

“Gonna yell at me?”

 

She scorched him with a look.  “Probably.”  Scott snorted with amusement.  The kids above laughed.   Logan shot them all warning glares.  Secure in Scott’s reaction, they stifled it behind their hands, but didn’t stop.  Unable to determine Jean’s actual mood, Logan fought his own bewilderment, shaking his head.

 

“Better take it outside then,” Logan said in disgust.

 

Jean turned and led the way to the front door, a decided sway in her hips, her stride long.  Logan followed silently.  Scott herded the delighted kids along to the dining hall, a pensive look on his face.  Wondering about the strange light he’d caught a glimpse of in Jean’s eye.

 

* * * * *

 

Jean stopped at the gazebo in the center of the rose garden.  Ororo’s domain.  The younger kids had painted the rugged structure for her and it was cream colored with green trim.  Or it was supposed to be.  It was actually half green and half cream, inside and out.  A decorator’s mess.  Ororo loved it.

 

Logan stood on the far side of the gazebo, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stared out over the grounds.  The scent of roses was clear in the cool morning air.  Jean watched him for a moment.  He was aware of her, she knew.  But there was something fragile about him.  In the way he stood; wary, defiant, waiting for ruin.  It was a sobering realization to have about the Wolverine.

 

“You forgot something in your pack analogy,” Jean said, fixing him with a cool, steady stare.  He shot her a quick look then turned back resolutely to the grounds, mouth grim. “There’s an alpha bitch too, Logan.”

 

His head whipped around.  Narrowed gazes clashed.

 

“He’s mine,” she said sharply.  Paused while the words sank in.  Saw something bitter, feral rise in Logan’s eyes. “As long as you remember that then, well… then other things are negotiable.  With him.”

 

He held her gaze, searching it; uneasiness, disbelief clear on his side.  Taking pity on him, she broadcast her understanding, her compassion, her own tentative regard.  He nodded once, and she cut it off.  A subtle tension faded from him. 

 

She let him relax, so her warning would have greater impact.  Then stepped close, nearly his height even in flats.  Stared him directly in the eye.

 

“But if you ever hurt him,” she said, frowning darkly. “Then you’ll have to deal with me.”

 

“I hear you, Jeannie,” he replied after a long moment.  Grave.  Respectful.  She smiled.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott saw them come back in.  Not together, but still, not too far apart.  Jean breezed in first, coming straight to the teacher’s table, cupped his face in her hands and gave him a long, lingering kiss.  The kids cheered and clapped.  Whistling and catcalling until Scott pulled away, faintly flushed, to glare repressively at them all.  Neither he nor Jean were normally ones for blatant public displays of affection.  The kids only got louder at his expense, enjoying the moment.  It wasn’t often they got to tease Mr. Summers.  Jean made to whirl away, but he caught her hand.

 

“What was that all about?” he asked quietly, half pleased, half stern.

 

She gave him a gentle smile. “No reason, just because.” 

 

And then she was gone, smiling brightly at kids as she went, to collect her own breakfast.  Scott watched her go, only to catch sight of Logan standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, also watching Jean with a quirked, rueful grin on his face.  Looking a great deal like a man who’d just been hit by a brick.  A tall, smiling, red-haired brick.  One or two of the brave earlier witnesses to the stair encounter called out to him.  Logan glowered around until Rogue came up to him, laughing, and caught his arm to drag him off for food.  He let her.

 

Scott sat back, puzzled, sipping coffee.

 

“Scott?” the Professor said, drawing his attention.  His mentor frowned, but his eyes were dancing.

 

“Sir?” he replied, turning to face him, blushing slightly.  Charles Xavier cleared his throat pointedly.  Looked at Jean, then back at Scott.

 

“I gather your morning is going well?”

 

“Well, it was,” Scott muttered dryly, rolling his eyes slightly behind his glasses.  Glancing back to where Jean and Logan were discussing something, with great animation, over at the food table.

 

“If you are not too distracted, I did want to remind you that Ororo and I will be leaving after afternoon classes to attend this evening’s local council meeting in Salem Center.  Grass-roots efforts should begin at home.”

 

“Yes, sir,” he said absently.  Watching in surprise as Logan intercepted Gavin as he came out of the kitchen to have his own meal, duties complete.  Saw the boy flush, and duck his head.  Glance across the room at Scott.  Who smiled encouragingly back at him.  Gavin’s attention snapped back to Logan with lightning speed when the Wolverine growled.

 

“Your latest project is going well, I see,” the Professor said, giving up on external matters for the moment.  Scott all but beamed at him, his pride evident.

 

“It’s amazing what a little one-on-one attention can do.  He’s really starting to warm up and fit in more,” Scott said, taking another sip of coffee.  Pleased.  “His school work is improving too.”   The Professor nodded knowingly.

 

“Yes, and young Gavin is doing better as well,” he said calmly.  Scott’s head whipped around and he stared at Charles Xavier in surprise.  His mentor – the telepath – just smiled.

 

* * * * *

 

Where moments before he had been watching and waiting eagerly for his friend, Julio instead slumped lower in his seat, filled with sharp disappointment.  Feeling silly for almost standing and waving to Gavin as he came out of the kitchen.  Because the Wolverine had stopped Gavin.  Was talking to him.  And Gavin was listening eagerly, nodding, his face lit up.

 

Then he was following the Wolverine over to the teacher’s table to talk to Mr. Summers as well.  Gavin blushed and glanced around before taking the seat indicated across from him.  Right there at the teacher's table.  But not to look at Julio, no. To see all the other kids watching him enviously.  Not Julio.

 

Who waited patiently.  Heart pounding.  Afraid.  And so very alone, without Gavin.  He slipped his hand into his backpack.  Felt for the reassuring presence of his most valued possession as he watched.

 

And then, slowly, inevitably, fear turned to anger.

 

* * * * *

 

Scott was leaving the atrium after the last class of the afternoon when Bobby and St. John approached him.  Kids streamed by, chattering and shoving as they always did.

 

“Mr. Summers?” Bobby said.  Scott glanced at him, raised a brow beyond his red glasses.  “We were wondering if maybe we could take classes with Gavin and the Wolver…um, Mr. Logan  too.”

 

“I’ll have to find out if Logan's ready to take on more students,” Scott said, face thoughtful.  Inside he rejoiced.  More ties for the Wolverine.  If he’d accept them.  “I’ll check with him later on.”

 

“Thanks, sir,” Bobby said, St. John nodding behind him like a puppet.  Scott turned toward the elevator, just catching sight of a slender, dark-haired boy as he slipped away, up the stairs.  But St. John asked him another eager question and he looked to the boys beside him, the pinched, hard face of Julio momentarily forgotten.

 

* * * * *

 

Logan and Gavin were holding an intense discussion about the merit of different bo staff lengths when Scott entered the gym at the end of their training hour.

 

Logan’s head lifted, gaze locking on Scott as he approached.  Scowling at him.  Gavin turned at the interruption, breaking into a broad grin when he saw Scott.

 

“Mr. Summers!  Logan’s going to take me to a shop he knows in town.  To pick out gear myself,” Gavin said eagerly.  Scott nodded.

 

“Good.  Frankly, I didn’t know what half that stuff on your list was,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile as he stopped beside them. Logan folded his arms over his chest and continued to glare at him.  Silent. “I’m glad you’ve got an expert you can take along instead.”

 

“Shower time, kid,” Logan said gruffly, gaze flicking briefly to the boy.

 

“Yes, sensei,” Gavin said promptly, then gave Logan a short bow – which Logan returned – before fleeing to the locker room, red braid flying.

 

“Gavin!” Scott called after him.  The boy whirled around at the locker room door, hand on the latch.  “Come see me after dinner, okay?  We’ll talk about adjusting your class schedule some.”  Gavin nodded eager assent, then disappeared into the locker room.

 

Logan dropped his arms and turned away, lifting his head for a moment as if he were listening.  His hearing far sharper than most.  Making certain they were alone.  Scott subtly tensed in anticipation of a move.

 

“Thought this kid was your pet project,” Logan growled instead.

 

“They all are, Logan,” Scott said somberly.

 

“Why am I the one down here then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Scott said, burying his satisfaction deep. “Why are you?”

 

Logan snorted. “Fuck if I know.”  His gaze sharpened. “You’ve got me so bent around, twisted inside out I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore.”

 

“I do?” Scott gave a sharp, mirthless laugh.  Then he stared at the other man, watching him closely.  “Last night was it, Logan, your only chance to go.  Why are you here?”

 

Logan stared back at him, face blank and hard.  And Scott was almost convinced he wasn't going to answer.  Then he gave a sharp sigh, a flash of anger in his eyes.  Anger and something else.  Respect?  Defiance?  Need? 

 

“You need someone to watch your back, Scotty.  And I don't trust anyone else to do it.”

 

Part 7

After dinner that evening, Gavin pushed open the door to the room he shared with Julio and entered slowly.  There were no lights on in the room, only the fading light of day.  It was gloomy and still.  A slender shape was curled up on the bed in the corner, back to the room.