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2942FIC: Two Out of Three Ain't Bad - 1/1 - L/J

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  • victoria p.
    May 31, 2001
      Title: Two Out of Three Ain't Bad
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: "They would learn to be content, a pieced-together whole made
      from two uncoupled halves."
      Rating: PG-13
      Warning: Character death [occurs off-screen]
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: List archives, http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool, anyone
      else who's got my stuff. If you want, just ask.
      Feedback: Is quite nice. All kinds accepted.
      Notes: Thanks to my fellow inmates at the Unfit asylum. And see, I did
      it. I didn't think I could. This just demanded to be written while I was
      brushing my teeth this afternoon.
      Blame: Meat Loaf <g> I'll send you the lyrics if you don't know the
      song, but it's not really necessary to the fic.


      Two Out of Three Ain't Bad

      She was waiting, sitting at the bar when he came out of the cage.

      "You look exactly the same," she whispered, embracing him.

      He couldn't say the same for her. She was still beautiful -- she would
      always be beautiful -- but the last few years had taken their toll, and
      there were fine lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn't been there

      "How'd you find me?" he asked, though he already knew. She didn't bother
      to answer.

      "You never came back."

      "Yeah, I did," he replied.

      She shook her head. "We waited... Rogue was heartbroken--"

      He cut her off harshly. "She looked happy enough to me." He closed his
      eyes. Even after seven years, he was still angry. Angry that she hadn't
      waited for him, though he knew that wasn't fair.

      Jean sucked in a breath, the pieces falling into place. "Remy."

      "Whatever." He looked around, lit a cigar and tried not to think. "I've
      got a room."

      She stood. "Let's go."

      They got to his motel room. He didn't bother with the lights. They
      wrapped themselves around each other feverishly, mouths and tongues and
      hands, all seeking contact, warmth, comfort.

      When they were finished, she clicked the light on with a flick of her
      mind. He could see the silver strands entwined with the fiery red. Her
      roots were showing, and she'd be dying it soon enough.

      "I saw it on television," he said finally. "I'm sorry."

      She turned on her side and leaned on her elbow, her eyes searching his
      face. "You missed that one."

      He laughed bitterly. "Of all the times for me to be late, right?"

      "So, it *was* you in Minneapolis."

      "In St. Louis and Portland, too," he replied, shifting uncomfortably.


      "I promised to protect her. Even though I wasn't in her life, I couldn't
      go back on that promise."

      "But not since --" she broke off. Even two years after, it was hard to
      talk about it.

      "Albuquerque. No. No need." He paused. "It was a beautiful service."

      "The flowers, every month -- the daisies?" He nodded. "How did you

      "That they were her favorites? I didn't, just guessed. But then Chuck,
      he called me. Told me--" Neither of them were comfortable discussing
      their dead loved ones; neither had the strength to say their names. "And
      the wolf? The carving?" It had been left at Scott's grave anonymously,
      at the same time the daisies first appeared at Rogue's.

      "He was a leader; he deserved a totem fit for a leader."

      "You found your past." It wasn't a question.

      "Enough. Enough to know I wouldn't fit in, even at geek central. I did
      come back for her, but she, she didn't love me." His throat was tight.

      "She did." It was a whisper, a feather light caress of breath against
      his ear, and in his mind.

      "Stay outta my head, Red."

      "She was young, Logan. You know that. She wanted to live while she
      could. But she never gave up hope." She traced his cheek with a long
      slim finger. "She wore them to the grave, Logan. We buried them with

      He silenced her with a kiss, ruthless and demanding. They made love
      again, fiercely, angrily, with nothing of comfort this time -- just the
      pain of loss and the need to be with someone who understood.

      They fell asleep afterward, exhausted.

      When she woke up, he was dressing. "You want me to stay?" she asked

      He shrugged. "Do you want to?"

      She gave a frustrated grunt. "We don't love each other."

      "No." He finished buttoning his shirt. "Want, yes. Need?" He thought
      about that one.

      "Yeah," she said. "Need. I think I--"

      "Me, too."

      She smiled. She knew he wouldn't say it outright, but this was good
      enough for the moment. It might help them. "And who knows, love is a
      funny thing."

      He shook his head. "Don't kid yourself, Jeannie. Be content. Two outta
      three ain't bad."

      She dressed and followed him out to the motorcycle. It had once been
      Scott's, as much as she had. And she realized Logan was right. They
      would learn to be content, a pieced-together whole made from two
      uncoupled halves.



      Whew! I wrote L/J and the world didn't end!



      Fake Swami: "You're deeply ambivalent."
      Angel: "Yeah, well, I am and I'm not."


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