Fire
by Eiluned

Summary: Summer, whiskey, nightmares, and fire.  Logan/Jean.  Work-safe.  658 words.

Notes: Speculative movieverse.  Let's say this takes place post X3, and I've had my wicked way with the movie's plot.  Written for the Redshipper Ficathon.  For minor_ramblings, who asked for "whiskey shots, summertime, and a nightmare."  Hope you like it. :)

Feedback will be loved on at eil (at) phoenixfyre.net

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It was the second time in a week that Jean had woken up covered in sweat, and it wasn't because of the summer heat, or at least not entirely.  The air was sultry, even with the air conditioning, but she woke with her hair and nightclothes and sheets plastered to her body because of the nightmares.

Fire.  Had she been a Christian, she would have thought of fire and brimstone, but that wasn't what she dreamed.  She dreamed of glorious, cleansing fire.  It burned through her, and through her it burned everything else, reducing everything to ashes to be born again.  It burned everything.  She woke with visions of bones in her mind, children's bones blackened by her fire, the bones of the school smoldering, all twisted metal beams and ruined architecture, and miles of scorched earth all around.

She sat up in bed and pulled her knees to her chest, willing her body to stop trembling, willing the bile to recede from her throat.  It had taken her a while to get used to the fact that Scott would not be there beside her anymore when she woke with nightmares.  He was gone, gone to California to start the West Coast branch of Xavier's school, gone with her.  Jean really couldn't blame him for moving on; after all, she was dead for a year and half.  It was perfectly understandable that Scott would have grieved and moved on with his life, even taking up with a new woman.

It still hurt a little, but the fire cleansed that pain away.

There would be no sleep for her that night.  Swinging her legs off of the bed, she pulled on her robe and slipped out into the dark, silent hall.  Many of the students, at least the ones who could pass as normal or had understanding families, had gone home for the summer.  She thought that perhaps ten had stayed at the school, but she couldn't remember.  The fire made it difficult to focus these days.  It was so quiet that she could have heard a pin drop, and while the silence was disconcerting, it was also a relief to not have dozens of minds working away, tapping at her mental defenses like little sledgehammers.

The kitchen was empty, as was the rec room.  She knew where to find him, though, and when she pushed open to library's door, there he sat in the light of a single desk lamp, a bottle of whiskey between his knees and a copy of London Fields in his hand.

"Bad dreams again?" he said, putting aside his book and his whiskey and patting the sofa beside him.

She sat and took the proffered shot glass full of amber liquor, gratefully tipping it back and feeling the burn down her throat.  They didn't speak, just sat in the silence, occasionally tossing back another shot of whiskey.

She had never understood why, but with him the fires banked.  She was calm, almost happy, and best of all, she felt like herself.  She felt the way she did before she died and came back with her hellfire.  He wasn't afraid of her, the way Scott and Ororo and most of the students were.  He sat with her and talked about mundane things like the weather and books, and he flirted with her mercilessly.  Being with him was like having a pleasant little chunk of her old life back.

She was no fool and certainly no dreamer; she knew that she would never be the same Jean Grey she was two years ago.  But he didn't care, and that made her happy.

She leaned against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into the warmth of his body.

She knew that she shouldn't get used to this feeling of normalcy, but she couldn't help basking in it, reveling in the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

The cleansing fires were banked, but he sparked other, more dangerous fires within her.

end