Anyone up to beta a portion of the next chapter? I'm not quite happy with it but can't get my finger down on what's wrong. It was really hard writing Jean's lines, and I feel like I didn't explain her relationship with Scott enough, and suddenly there's a huge Je/Lo presence at the end of it.
Plotwise, I'm stuck too. I know I'll be bringing Prof X back, and Scott (aagh! more angstwriting!), and Magneto's gotta do SOMETHING. I'm thinking of bringing Mystique in for a bigger role too. If you happen to be reading this and an idea springs to mind, let me know, will you?
So, excerpt from chapter 2:
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Logan pushed the wooden chair a few inches closer to the bed. He'd been sitting on that chair, keeping vigil, until he'd decided to run to the kitchen for a sip of water. Apparently he hadn't come back a moment too soon.
He glared at the cure syringe resting atop the small table. Damnit, Ororo. He would bet money that Ororo hadn't saved just one. Thankfully, apparently he wasn't on her hit list, but who knew who else was?
He leaned forward and the chair creaked slightly.
“Don't go,” Jean said suddenly, turning to face him. Her face was streaked with tears. “You said... we'd talk.”
He couldn't help smiling. “You remember?”
She wiped her eyes furiously on the sheet and sat up. “I remember everything, Logan,” she said bitterly. “Everything. Conscious and subconscious.”
The tone of her voice made Logan's breath catch in his throat. “Are you Jean now? Or are you the Phoenix, messing with my head?”
“I'm always Jean. And I'm always the Phoenix.” She sounded sad. “The professor sealed off a part of me for twenty years, but my actions are my own. And I remember all of it.”
What do you say to something like that? Logan made a vague gesture with his hands. “You were awake just now?”
Jean gave him a wry smile. “I probably heard more than you did.” She tapped the side of her head with a finger. “Ororo was thinking some things very loudly.”
Logan caught her stealing a glance at the cure out of the corner of her eye. A shadow passed across her face. Almost inaudibly, she added, “I think I listened in a little.”
Immediately she looked stricken. Logan knew – the strictest code of telepaths was the respect they held for privacy. He remembered how hesitant she'd been to read his mind, even with his permission – hell, he'd had to provoke her into it.
“That's exactly how it was, exactly like that,” Jean whispered. Her eyes were bright. “I'd look up from whatever I was doing... and then it was like waking up after a long sleep and remembering what I'd done the day before. I knew what I was doing. I always knew what I was doing, but... dimly. Just now, I could feel Ororo's presence outside, she was anxious and her mind was wide open. Why not?”
Logan wasn't sure who her last few words were addressed to.
“I think I could control it.” Jean eased herself into sitting cross-legged. “But the question is...”
“Do you want to?” Logan finished. In that instant, he could read her thoughts just as well as she could his.
Jean stared down at her lap. “In my old house, I could hear the professor... he said, 'Don't let it control you.' But I couldn't stop myself. No, that isn't true.” Jean bit her lip, horrified. “It was me doing it, my mind. I was furious. Glass was breaking, the color was coming out of that old painting I always hated, I was enjoying it, Logan... I thought I was showing him that he couldn't control me.”
Jean looked back up at him. “I can't handle it, Logan,” she said simply. “All this power at once, bent to my moods...” Jean pressed the heel of her head into her forehead. “If I feel like listening to your thoughts, who's to stop me? What if I killed more people, Logan?”
Logan had a crushing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was entirely the wrong person to be having this conversation with her. He was the one who'd just thrown out another set of clothes because he couldn't stand to wash the bloodstains out anymore. In a way, no one knew better than he how she felt – knew what it was like when the beast inside burst out of its cage, while the rational man in him simply looked on. Not trusting himself to speak, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. Logan had half-expected her to resist, but she didn't.
“I wish... I wish I could take it all back. I can't think straight. I don't know what to do. I've never felt so powerless. The professor, Scott... oh, God, Logan, Scott...”
Logan could hear her heart beating as loudly as a drum.
“Still there, Jeannie?” he whispered, after some time had elapsed. No answer. “Jeannie?”
“Yeah.” She pulled away and turned to face him, her gaze hard, but not without remorse. “Ororo's right. I am dangerous.”
“Jean...”
She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “There's a bottle of alcohol in the drawer.”
He knew there was no point in talking any more. He found the alcohol, moistened a cotton pad and swabbed her arm. Then, reluctantly, he picked up the syringe. The cure.
“Wait,” Jean said suddenly.
She held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
Logan's eyes searched her face, but found only resolution there. “Jean...?”
“I'll do it myself,” she said quietly.
Wordlessly, he gave her the syringe, and she didn't so much as blink as she slipped the needle under her skin.
Watching her push the plunger down seemed to last forever. Finally she withdrew the needle and eyed it critically.
“Every last drop,” she affirmed, setting the empty syringe down. For a while she just stared ahead of her, waiting. Her lips moved silently, maybe counting something, Logan figured.
Finally she sighed and relaxed. She looked worn out.
“Feels almost good,” Jean said softly. “It's quieter in my head now.”
Logan looked away.
Jean focused her gaze on the light switch near the door, frowning slightly with concentration. It was the old, familiar look she used to have when she was struggling to use her telekinesis. Nothing happened. She sighed again.
Logan tried to think of something to say to dispel the heavy silence. “Do you want to get some sleep?”
“Do I want to get some sleep? No,” she said wryly. “But I think I'm going to have to.”
She squeezed his hand, a tight, brave smile on her lips. Logan leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She was trembling. “I'll be back after you wake up,” he promised.
She nodded. “Thanks,” she began awkwardly.
Without thinking, Logan bent and gently brushed his lips against hers. The corners of her mouth turned up slowly, and she rested her head on the pillow.
Logan turned off the light and closed the door quietly behind him, feeling dazed. Had he done the right thing? Had she done the right thing?
He felt like hell.