Maybe by Glacis. Rated R. Heavy spoilers for X-Men United (X2).

It started out as a perfectly normal day. Then a mutant tried to kill the president. Then Wolverine came back.

Scott wasn't sure which was worse.

Jean looked altogether too happy to see the prodigal. Scott watched them flirt, his impulse to stake his claim on Jean tempered somewhat by the fact that they'd gotten married a few months before, so his mind told him he didn't have anything to prove.

His gut didn't know whether he was jealous that Logan was hitting on Jean again, or jealous that it was Jean Logan was hitting on instead of himself.

Wasn't the first time Logan had gotten Scott confused over his sexuality. Probably wouldn't be the last. But Jean was Scott's, and Scott was Jean's, and that was... good. Safe. Right. All the things it should be. He loved her with all his heart.

He'd do his best to ignore the fact that other parts of his anatomy were a heck of a lot more interested in Logan than they had any right to be.

Happily, he had a mission, of a sort, taking Charles off for his monthly chess game dash bonding session with Magneto. As far as Scott was concerned Magneto could rot, but Charles shared an emotional tie with Magneto that Scott didn't want to examine too closely.

It reminded him a little too much of himself and Wolverine. Not what he wanted to think about, when all he could see when he looked at his wife and the other man was how both of them would look naked.

Even more happily, Jean also had a mission, with Storm, so he wouldn't have to leave her alone with Logan. It wasn't that he didn't trust his wife. He did. Completely.

But if Scott found Logan close to irresistible while at the same time wanting to punch his lights out, he knew what kind of temptation it would be for Jean, who had all the attraction without the urge to smack him. And the best way to avoid temptation, Scott discovered a long time ago, was to run the other direction as fast as possible.

He was still distracted by thoughts of Logan, and Jean, together, individually, and his own conflicted feelings about Logan, or he might have noticed sooner that something was wrong with Charles. As it was, he was caught off-guard by the ambush. Managed to get a few blasts off, but not nearly enough to get through to Charles, trapped in the plastic prison with Magneto, nor to stop the mutant with what felt like metal fists who brought him down. The last thing he felt before the lights went out was an explosion of pain in his head.

When he woke up, he was strapped face down on a table, and a man he'd never seen before was dripping acid on the back of his neck.

The next thirty hours or so were a nightmare. He was trapped in his own mind, able to see and hear and touch but with no control at all over his actions. The man with the stubble and the glasses and the hatred flaring in his eyes eventually unstrapped him from the table, sent him out to look for his friends, and told him to kill them.

The only one he found was Jean.

He did his best to kill her.

Thank god her best was better than his.

The battle was fierce, and painful, and rocked the cement walls around them, sending cracks through the foundations of the dam and rupturing equipment everywhere the fire exploded. He sent every ounce of power he could from his eyes at his wife and she held it off, penned it in, threw it back at him.

By the time it was over, whatever his captor had done to him had worn off, and Scott was able to hold Jean, and comfort her, and tell her he was sorry. They had no time, there were too many demands on them... find the children, rescue Charles, stop the mental attacks with the copycat Cerebro, get the hell out of there before they all drowned as the dam tore itself apart, trying to get the jet up in the air...

The next few moments were crystal clear in his memory. He was fighting the controls of the jet, Storm working frantically beside him, when Jean disappeared.

Down to the flood plain. He tried to reach her. She threw the ramp up, blocking him, trapping him in the jet. He fought to get to her, screamed at them not to leave her, heard her voice coming from Charles and tried to reason with her.

He failed.

The jet rose, under her will. They survived, by her sacrifice. She died.

Her choice.

The last vivid impression he had wasn't of Jean. It was of Wolverine, holding him in place as he fought to get past, fought to get to her. As he realized he'd lost her, and felt an answering shudder run through Logan's body. As the denial, and the shock, and the grief set in.

Before he clamped down on it, ignored the tears in Storm's eyes and the pain in Charles', lurched into the pilot's seat and took them to Washington, DC. Emotional meltdown had to be put on hold. They had a mission to complete. They had to make sure Stryker's insanity wouldn't continue after his death. Had to get to the President and stop the war before it exploded completely out of control. Had to be strong for the children, and wait until he got home before he fell apart.

In their bedroom. Their empty bedroom, where everywhere he looked he saw Jean.

Less than fifteen minutes after he walked in he walked out again. He wandered the halls of the school, taking in the damage the military had wreaked when they'd invaded, distracted himself with details until his brain was overloaded. It didn't help. By all rights he should be exhausted. From the ambush at the prison to the hell at the dam, he'd had the crap beaten out of him. But instead, he was wired.

Of course he ended up in the Danger Room. It wouldn't take much of a workout to wear him out completely, and maybe then he could get some rest. Stop thinking for a little while.

Stop seeing Jean die. Stop thinking he could have, should have done more to stop her.

Of course, when he got there, Wolverine was already there. Blood dripped from wounds that closed almost as soon as they were inflicted. Sweat ran down his skin, his claws flashed, his face twisted in a snarl as he fought phantom enemies. Scott leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, and watched him for a long time before Logan turned to him.

They stared at one another. Scott recognized the anger, the helplessness, the loss in Logan's eyes. Too strong to be hidden by a snarl, no matter how fierce. Scott felt his own lips twist into a grimace, and launched himself into the fight without another thought.

Logan welcomed him with a swipe to the jaw and a kick to the ribs.

Scott gave him back a forearm to the throat and punch to the kidneys. To his surprise, Logan actually winced.

Then he counterattacked even harder.

The next half hour was the most intense hand-to-hand combat Scott had engaged in for months. It felt good, getting the shit kicked out of him, kicking the shit out of Logan, until Scott finally took an uppercut to the chest that knocked him flat on his back, and he realized he couldn't stand up. It took everything he had just to breathe.

Logan stood over him for a few moments, fists clenched, ready for more, until he took a closer look and saw Scott was done. He hovered there uncertainly for a second, then extended his hand.

Scott took it.

Yanked hard, and pulled Logan down beside him. Then started laughing at the shocked expression on Logan's face.

And couldn't stop.

Tears leaked out from beneath his visor. Logan had a hand on his shoulder and was shaking him, but it didn't do any good. Scott laughed harder. Logan growled, "Shit!" and back-handed him hard enough to rattle his visor.

Scott kept laughing, even as he gasped for breath, lying there, unable to do a damned thing to stop.

Logan's hands were warm against Scott's face as he cupped both cheeks between his palms. Then he leaned in, staring hard at Scott. He was a fuzzy blob of red-tinted hair and narrowed eyes and down-turned mouth through the tears swimming in Scott's eyes. Logan muttered "shit" again, leaned down, and kissed him.

It was an effective way to stop hysterics, Scott decided, although it was the first time he'd ever actually been hysterical, and hadn't ever thought about it before. Maybe that was why, when Logan tried to draw away, Scott pulled him back down and bit Logan's bottom lip.

Which Logan took as an invitation to put his tongue in Scott's mouth, and abruptly, shockingly, Scott could feel again. Not the ache and the beat of denial against his skull that had been driving him insane earlier, but something much more primitive, something that had nothing to do with reality, with life, with death, with Jean, with who Scott was with Jean, with who Scott would never be again.

Maybe it was crazy. At the moment, it felt like the only sane thing to do. So Scott went with it.

And maybe Logan was just as crazy, because after the first attempt to withdraw, he didn't try to stop it again. Instead, he licked Scott's mouth and bit Scott's neck and used his claws to shred Scott's clothes. Then he rubbed his face against Scott's skin, and Scott buried his hands in Logan's thick hair, and if he was still crying, neither one of them cared.

Logan's hands were strong on him, lifting and twisting and moving him, so different from Jean's gentle touch. His mouth was wide and hungry, pulling the response from Scott, body heavy against him, rough tenderness unlike anything Scott had ever felt, and exactly what he needed. The first time Scott came it was in Logan's mouth, those long arms stretched the length of his back, holding him down and close at the same time, his legs over Logan's shoulders. The second time he came he was on his belly, Logan crouched over him, a blanket of heat all along his back and down between his legs, centering on the strong movement inside him, the mouth biting his shoulder, the hands covering his own, holding them flat against the floor.

He fell asleep that way. Logan curled around him, still inside him, still moving, barely rocking but solid and real and completely unlike reality. So different than anything he'd ever had with Jean. When he woke up in the pre-dawn hours the next morning, Logan was still wrapped around him. Still holding him together, keeping him from falling apart.

Scott didn't know if he appreciated or hated Logan for that. He did know he needed it. Maybe always would. He wasn't sure there was anything else. Not anymore.

He turned in Logan's arms and kissed him, once, firmly. Logan kissed him back, then woke up completely, and gave him an appraising look. Scott shook his head, not wanting to say anything, pretty sure anything he said would be wrong, and not willing to give up the only comfort he had. Logan closed his eyes, gave either a grin or a grimace, Scott couldn't tell, and rested his forehead against Scott's.

"Sleep," he whispered.

The next time Scott opened his eyes it was daylight, and Logan was gone. A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt were folded in a pile next to him, and he was tucked up in a comforter. Moving stiffly, he dressed, made his way to his room and took a long hot shower.

Beneath the spray, he closed his eyes and cried. By the time he'd dried off and dressed, visor in place, there were no tears left.

He made his way to Charles' study. They had a lot of work to do, and right now, that was the only thing Scott would allow himself to think about. At least, that was his intent. Reality, as usual, turned out to be something different. He wouldn't let himself think about Logan. He couldn't help but think about Jean.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe he was just numb. Maybe it was denial.

She'd made her choice, that's what Charles told him. Hell, that was even what Logan told him.

Maybe she had.

Maybe she'd been wrong.

Maybe there was no maybe about it.

Scott stared blindly out at the ruby-tinted landscape, the voices of the children through the door as they tramped through the hall on their way to class. Charles said it was important to get back to normality as soon as possible, to minimize the trauma and restore a sense of stability to their lives.

Normal.

Nothing was normal any more.

He heard the distinctive rustle of Logan's jacket, smelled the mix of leather, cigar smoke and sweat, felt the ambient temperature rise in the room from the heat Logan gave off. Scott took a deep breath. Felt the tremble deep in his bones start up again, not that it had ever really stopped, except for the few hours last night when Logan had followed him down to the Danger Room. Fought him until he dropped. Held him together.

Again.

"You okay?"

Scott knew from the tone of his voice that Logan knew how stupid the question was even as he asked it, but he appreciated the sentiment behind the unanswerable question. Answered it the only way he could.

"Yeah." With a lie. "Thanks." And the truth. "You?"

"Yeah," Logan lied in return.

Scott stood there and listened to the hitch in Logan's breath as he walked over, felt the heat as Logan's hand brushed the back of his neck, rested on Logan's strength as he had ever since she'd made her choice.

Tasted tears on Logan's mouth.

Stole some of that heat to warm the emptiness inside him. It wouldn't last. But for now, it would do.

He broke the kiss, resting his head against Logan's shoulder for a moment before straightening up and stepping away. They stood, close but not touching, for a long moment, before the door opened and Charles rolled in. Logan tensed and prowled to the other side of the room, and Scott went back to staring out the window.

The wheelchair hummed as Charles moved close to Scott, staring up at him somberly. Scott felt his teeth clench, and forced out, "We should have tried harder to save her."

"There was nothing we could have done, Scott," Charles repeated gently, as he had often over the past day and night. "She made her choice."

Scott turned and walked out the door. He wasn't surprised when Logan followed.

"Hey."

Scott paused, glancing back at him. There was a vulnerability in Logan's expression Scott wasn't used to seeing. He swallowed hard. Logan's eyes softened. "She did make a choice, ya know," he said. "She chose you."

No, Scott silently disagreed, she didn't. She didn't choose either of us. She left us both.

To each other.

END