2012-07-22 For Real

Jean Grey is still on work leave until Hank and Charles can finish sorting through their barrage of tests to make sure she's really all right, and really herself. So, with no summer school to teach or students to chaperone, she's been trying her best to just relax. She's curled up in an armchair with a Kindle, reading, dressed in shorts and a tank top. Her hair has been pulled back in a headband to keep it out of her eyes. Her feet are bare. She looks like Jean. She smells like Jean. She acts like Jean.

On the other hand, Logan is on work leave because...

...

...

Well, suffice it to say, Logan hasn't been here to teach anyone anything in weeks. Save for briefly riding in to help fend the mansion off from meteors, he hasn't really kept in touch in all that time, either--not even after Jean died. /Especially/ not after Jean died.

Days after her rebirth, he's back, and after spending most of the day in the garage, he's finally inside of the mansion proper. With a beer in one hand and an oily rag slung over his other shoulder, he's on his way to his quarters when something familiar catches his nose; against his better judgement, he follows it all the way to the lounge.

"Jean," he quietly greets, leaning in the doorway once he arrives. "Lookin' pretty alright." He glances at the can in his hand, then begrudgingly holds it out to her with an arched brow.

Jean looks up from her ebook with a faint smile. She sensed him coming down the hall, expected him to go on by, and seems pleasantly surprised he stopped. "Logan. You look...greasy," she notes with a humorous tone. She accepts the beer and takes a brief sip after looking both ways for fear of a student seeing boozing it up. "Kind of surprised to see you back at the mansion. I thought we'd lost you." Says the woman back from the dead. She hands the can back to him.

"Yeah."

Logan was in Madripoor when he heard the news; a /lot/ of people died afterwards. On the up side, some of them were ninja.

"I /feel/ pretty greasy, so that fits." He says it with a faint, humorless grin; it's meant to be a joke, but there's too much weariness in his voice. As he enters the lounge and finds himself a place to stand near - but not too near - Jean's chair, the grin falls away. "I think you got me beat in the surprise department though." He sniffs a couple of times, frowns at himself, then looks down and briskly rubs his nose. "What the hell /happened/?" he mutters.

The Kindle gets set aside and Jean leans forward, to rest her forearms on her knees and clasp her hands loosely between them. "I wish I had a good answer for that," she replies. "I was thrown into Space by the Hulk. I was going to die. Something saved me, offered me a chance to live, to see the people I love again, to be able to protect them. It's part of me now. It's the Phoenix." She shakes her head and chuckles. "That sounds insane, I know. But I feel better than I have in ages, stronger, more steady on my feet. I feel like myself, only amplified. Does that make any sense?"

Jean looks up at Logan with her eyes squinted, as if she's afraid of what his answer might be. She realizes she's different, and that some of her friends aren't sure she's safe now.

"You smell the same," Logan mutters with a shrug. He lifting his head. "You protected the mansion; good enough for me." He searches for the nearest chair, then drops into it; it creaks, but there's no danger of it giving. It takes him a second to actually let himself relax, but eventually, he's stretching his arms out along the rests and sinking back into it comfortably. "Guess life's funny like that, sometimes." He slowly lets out a sigh.

"Christ," he mutters after a few moments. "The goddamn Hulk; you shouldn'ta been going toe to toe with him, Jeanie."

"I didn't plan to," Jean points out with a little smirk. "I just went to check on Superman who took a pretty big beating from Mean Green. And then I thought maybe I could calm him mentally if I made physical contact. It was stupid of me." She leans back again and rolls her head on the chair's headrest to look at him. "I'm ok now though. Maybe better than before. I just really need for everyone to believe that. You do, Scott does. I'm not sure anyone else does. But I understand their hesitation." She frowns. "At least Hank confirmed I don't have any sort of, I think the technical term was, 'Space Cooties' from being out there."

"Reckon they'll come around soon enough, if Hank signed off." Logan - who already vetted her and has never in his life worried about 'cooties' of any kind - has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the good Doctor's paranoia. Caution. Whichever. "I get it, I guess; you must make 'em uncomfortable." He shifts in his seat a little before bringing his left leg up so that his heel is resting over his right knee. "Some of 'em were probably getting used to the idea of you being gone," he quietly continues. "Gotta be a little like seeing a ghost."

Jean grimaces at that. "I didn't even think about it that way. They already grieved. And suddenly there I am again, whole and healthy. That had to have been hard." Probably not as hard as being swatted into space by the Hulk, mind you. "But not you, and not Scott. You never believed I was dead, did you, Logan?" she asks pointedly, studying his face while he answers.

The man sometimes known as Wolverine leans back in his chair at that question, holding her gaze as intently as she's studying him--at first; gradually, however, he drops his eyes, and all the while he clenches and unclenches his teeth a few times.

"Yeah," he whispers after a few seconds of silence. His nose twitches as he tries to forget the tang of fresh blood mingling with sand. "Yeah, Jean, I did." After swallowing, he levels his gaze on her again. "People die; even good people. It ain't right. It ain't fair; they still die. So yeah: I said my goodbyes; paid my respects the best way I could."

That seems to surprise Jean. "Then," she looks for the right words, her mouth twisting as she ponders. "Then why are you ok with me being back? Why aren't you holding me at arms' length like everyone but Scott?"

"Took some doin', if I'm bein' honest," Logan murmurs. Once he'd gotten his confirmation that Jean was really Jean, he rode off to 'survey the area for damage', which was a fancy way of saying 'drink for twelve hours straight'; a little bit of 'doing'.

"I don't understand it. I don't even know how much I /trust/ it, that--/thing/ in you; other than that, though: you ain't the first person to come back from the dead. Might not even be the last; wringin' my hands about it's a waste of time."

Jean actually looks incredibly relieved at his words. She pushes out of her chair and crosses to hug the ornery grump. She whispers, "Thank you," in his ear gently, before straightening again, wiping at her eyes and feeling stupid for crying. "I wonder if Jesus had this tough of a time after he came back," she mutters idly with a small smirk.

"Hh--" Logan's eyes get wide and his muscles tense when he's hugged. His arms twitch, but they wind up remaining where they are; they only real movement comes when she pulls back, and it's just to lean forward and breathe in.

"Enh," he grunts once they've separated. He drops his gaze and dryly replies, "Maybe if he'da punked out a meteor on his way back; would've made for a much better read, I know that much." Beat; he raises an eye to her. "Welcome back, Jeanie; for real."

"Thank you, Logan. Also for real," Jean says quietly. She plucks up her book. "After 10 days in the vacuum of space, I think a girl is entitled to a bubble bath. Have a good night. Stay out of trouble." She smiles at him once more, then heads for her suite.