FIC: Games [Jean]
- Author: Elise citrus@...
Home: Asteroid http://asteroid.pitas.com
Universe: X-Men Movieverse
Pairing: Jean/Logan, Jean/Scott
Style: Jean, first person POV
Notes: I've always felt that there's more to Jean Grey then that
sweet facade she keeps putting up. To my defense, I have to note that
I am suffering from a rather nasty case of insomnia, and I really
shouldn't be held responsible for what floats around in my head under
these circumstances. Feedback and pointless e-mails are always
|| Much, much later: OK, I found this little o' fic waiting in an old
forgotten folder on my computer, I never got around to publish it
when I wrote it. There are parts of it that I like, so I've decided
to put it out to the world now. Excuse the poor grammar and spelling.
It's never been edited. (I'm going to stop excusing myself now and
let you get on with the story)
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and realize he's not
sleeping next to me anymore. He's standing by the window. And I sit
up in his bed, and I watch him. Silently, without a word. Like I'm
doing now, tonight. The first time must have been just weeks after I
more or less moved into his room. Now, I wake up to this silent dream
almost every night. I don't want to admit it, even to myself, but I
know what it means. Logan's running again.
I never say anything, but he knows I'm watching. For an eternity we
stand, trapped in this deadlock, before one of us breaks the moment,
with a breath too loud, or a sudden movement. And he'll turn around,
and come back to me, embracing me, fucking me, and we'll pretend like
it never happened. We'll pretend tonight too, but it's different this
time. I can't explain how I know. His mind is shut to me when he
doesn't let me in himself, and even then he only shows me what he
wants me to see. But still, I know tonight is different. I think
tomorrow he'll be gone. And I wonder, will he say goodbye, or will he
leave us without a word this time, like before? It was just going to
be sex. Screwing the Wolverine, to screw over Scott once and for all.
I should have known I'd never be able to keep my body and mind apart.
When you find yourself thinking thoughts that belong to somebody
else, it's impossible to keep your distance. I don't know what it
this is anymore. Do I love him? Does he love me? Does it make a
difference? This game we're playing, where will it end?
I'm using him. Using him to erase the image of Scott in my mind. But
he's using me too. It's a game we play, trying to break each other
down. This is how I get even with Scott for never putting up a fight.
For backing down and letting me run over him. Oh, they all think I'm
sweet, unselfish, perfect Jean. I've been her for so long. But deep
down, I'm not what they see when they look at me. I hold grudges. I
cling to the people I love, and I never let them go once they've come
to close. It's a neverending struggle and I never lose. Logan doesn't
give in, he fights back with all he's got, and we fight together. He
never makes me feel guilty, because he never lets me win. This is the
way we play, with sharp claws and teeth. Like it's been since the
first time we met. He hunts me, and I let myself get caught, only to
trap him in my mind once he least expects it. It's a game we play,
and I know I've got my claws in him. He said so himself, like he
knows that's what I do. We break each other down because we like the
fight. Sometimes I wonder what will happen when one of us can't
handle any more. When one of us loses, what will happen then?
I remember the first morning we woke up together, before anyone knew,
before none of us knew what we had started. He twirled a strand of my
hair between his fingers.
Not more than a whisper. I closed my eyes. I knew he was going to ask
about Scott, about why I left him. But he silenced, and never asked
again. He and Scott, they kept on with their silly games. Insults,
sarcasm, name-calling. I think it was mostly because they didn't know
how else to behave around each other.
Scott, he still breaks my heart with a look. He's been miserable
since I left him, I know, because so have I. I left him because he
never played my game, because he's my best friend, and I'm never
going to let anything destroy that. Maybe we were never supposed to
be more than friends. A mistake from the beginning, that I let his
young boy's crush ever turn into something more. And what hurts the
more is that he still has hope in his mind. We've been living in each
other's minds too long to hide anything, and I know what he feels.
Oh, he hides the way he's feeling, even from himself, but I know.
Ororo. He's turned to her after I left him, because he can't turn to
me anymore. And that hurts on an even deeper level, because I've been
his friend for so long. But not anymore. Maybe I was too late, maybe
I let it all go on for too long. He confides in her now.
I don't know what Ororo thinks. I hesitate in using my telepathy.
Maybe I don't want to know. I know Scott won't move on, not as long
as I have him in my grip. And I can't let go, not yet. I know what
will happen if I do, and I'm not staying here to see it. I know I
have no right to, but I hate them both for it. Maybe because I know
it's for real, not just a game they're playing. Not like me and
Logan. Maybe I could leave and go some place where no one knows me.
Where I could just exist. But how could I leave the professor and the
school. I can't abandon my responsibilites. Yet again, she is in my
For six months now, tomorrow, we've been broken up. Six long months.
It feels like yesterday. Logan came back the month after that, and it
took us about oh, say two hours to get in bed. Frankly, I'm surprised
we held out that long. I left Scott between one breath and another,
and it had nothing to do with love. I gathered my clothes and books
and moved out, I hardly realized what I was doing until I was done.
My body moved at its own will. I think Scott yelled at me, but I
couldn't hear him. It was as if my ears were filled with cotton, and
I could only see his lips moving, watch his tense stature. He grabbed
my arm before I left the room, so hard it left a bruise, and said
something that my mind still couldn't register. I watched, from afar,
his angry face, and I realized that he was crying behind his glasses.
Something deep inside me told me that it was important that he did.
Still, I couldn't react. He was talking to his fiancée, the
Jean Grey he knew and loved. I wasn't her anymore. I'd never be her
"You're going through some kind of crisis, Jean! You're not acting
like yourself!" My ears chose that moment to start functioning again,
and Scott's words reached me when I was half-way down the hall. I
could virtually feel the hurt in his voice so strongly I almost
turned around right then, back to his arms and the comfort of his
"Let me help you..."
But I didn't turn around. He couldn't help me, not with this. I
probably was going through a crisis. But this was the only way I
could go. The woman he loved didn't exist anymore. I wonder if she
Logan is standing by the window, and the moon shines up his face and
his bare torso. Oh, how I love the way he looks at me, like he has
seen my secrets, like he knows me. Like Scott used to, before it all
became to old. Maybe I just stopped looking.
I don't even have to use my telepathy to know that Logan is leaving
again, running from ghosts only he can see. Is it part of the game,
is it my move, or his? The way his lips quirk in the moonlight makes
something stir inside, like it's my lips he's moving. And I'm certain
that if I just stretch a bit further I'll understand it. I'll be able
to touch him, for real. But I don't. Something's holding me back.
Fear, I suppose. Fear of falling if I lean to far out.
And I know he's leaving. Can I stop him? Do I want to? Maybe if I
stretch out just a little longer I'll know. If I let go of those I've
trapped, let go of my grip. Maybe I'll fall. But maybe that's the
point. Maybe it's time we stopped playing our game, that's keeping us
sparring at one place forever. I don't know how to stop, but maybe we
can do it, together. If we dare to fall. As I walk to him, where he's
standing by the window, I don't even know if I've made a decision, or
what is going to happen. If we give up the game, what do we have
As my hand touches his back, he shivers, but he doesn't draw back. I
feel it in his tense muscles that he knows I'm making my decision, he
knows this is were it begins for real. Without any pretences, without
any plans, and without the game.
- Let me go with you I whisper, and as the words leave my tongue
know it's too late to go back. I don't even want to.
And finally, I let Scott go.