POV: Jean

When I finally slipped into bed, well past midnight, after a week of arguing with bigoted senators and prejudiced representatives, all I wanted to do was curl up in the warmth of my lover's arms and dream. Needless to say, I didn't get what I wanted.

Scott rolled over and I could tell from the ruby glow of his night goggles that he was looking at me. He didn't pull me close. He didn't say, "Missed you," "Love you," or any of the other sweet expressions I'd come to expect when returning from a business trip. Instead, he said, "Logan's back."

Of all the ways he'd ever greeted me, this was the most unexpected. Why did he think this was so important that he'd have to tell me first thing?

"Ok..." I answered, my voice revealing my confusion. "That's nice."

He didn't comment further, so I went back to settling into bed. I burrowed down into my pillow and let out a deep sigh, releasing all the tension I'd been carrying around with me this past week.

"I hate hotel beds. They're stiff and uncomfortable, and they don't come with a complimentary Scott," I teased.

"He's been asking for you," Scott answered in an almost gruff voice.

"Mmm, who?" I asked, feeling myself giving in to my drowsiness.

"Logan!" Scott practically yelled.

Well, that caught my attention. I could feel his projected anger even through my Congress-strengthened shields.

"Scott? What's wrong? What did Logan do?"

"He wants you."

"What for?" I asked, genuinely confused. Sleep-deprivation and jet-lag were combining forces to make this conversation very difficult to follow. He'd already said Logan wanted to see me. What was making him so angry, and why couldn't Logan wait until tomorrow?

"It's obvious. Ever since he came here the first time, he's wanted to steal you from me."

"Steal me?" I asked, incredulously.

Ok, obviously the man next to me is not my fiancee. He must be a testosterone-pumped, neanderthallic pod-person that replaced my Scott sometime during my week-long absence. I half-expected him to thump his chest and say, "Me Cyclops, you Jean."

"I didn't know I was your property," I added.

"Jean... No... I mean..." Scott stuttered, catching on to my change in mood. "He flirted with you the whole time he was here last month."

"No," I corrected with my best school teacher voice, "he worried about Rogue the whole time he was here. He teased me sometimes, mainly to help me become more comfortable around him."

"More comfortable?" Scott intoned, disbelief dripping from his voice. "I know flirting, Jean. He was coming on to you, and now he's back."

"Yes, he's back, and I seriously doubt he traveled all this way just to seduce an engaged woman," I said, skepticism oozing from my voice.

"Jean, you just don't realize how irresistible you are. Of course, he came to take you away from me."

"Scott, my love, this is one of the most flattering and insulting conversations I've ever had." I said, flinging the bed covers off of my body.

I had my pillow under my arm and was heading for the main room of our suite when he said, "Jean... What?"

"Scott, from what you just said, I can either surmise that you believe I love you, but I'm a slut who will jump into bed with any man that offers, or you don't believe I love you, and I'm just a heartless bitch who's using you until a better opportunity comes along. Which is it?"

Scott's mouth opened and closed like a freshly-caught fish, but he didn't answer my question.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, tucking my pillow tighter to my body and turning to leave again.

He found his voice and asked, "Where are you going?" worry tinging the anger in his voice.

"I'm sleeping on the couch," I said sharply and left our bedroom.

He sighed and laid back down in our bed. Our king-sized, Serta Perfect Sleeper bed. I entered the main room and laid down on our love seat. Our two-cushion, too short for anyone with legs, love seat.

This isn't right. Aren't men supposed to sleep on the couch when couples argue? Isn't that a rule? My statement that I was going to sleep on the couch was his cue to say, "No, darling. It's all my fault. I'll sleep on the couch. You haven't had a decent night's sleep since Sunday and you deserve the rest more than I."

Instead, he didn't say anything. He just settled down for a good night's sleep in our scientifically-designed, individually-wrapped-coil constructed, paradise of a bed while I did my best to fold my body in two on the couch.

The next day, I woke up way too early and in a completely miserable mood. I had to roll onto the floor to get myself out of the yoga-like position I'd slept in. Once there, I discovered that my body had grown several new muscles during the night and every one of them was stiff and sore. I couldn't move without a wrenching protest from one body part or another.

I trudged back into the bedroom only to find my lover sleeping blissfully in the middle of our bed, arms and legs spread wide. Whenever I'm gone on business, I still keep to my side of the bed, but apparently, given the opportunity, he'll hog the entire space.

That was the last straw. If he's so concerned about our relationship, how can he sleep so peacefully?

I stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door, then I spent a few minutes just banging things around and making noise. If I had to be up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, then Scott should suffer along with me. It's his fault I was up anyway, him and his stupid male possessiveness.

Only after I was satisfied that I'd been sufficiently obnoxious did I stop making useless noises and began my shower. Once I stepped under the water, my tight muscles succumbed to the soothing heat and I began to relax.

After thirty luxurious minutes, I emerged feeling almost human. My lighter mood didn't last long. Upon exiting the bathroom, I discovered that despite all the noise I'd made, Scott had slept peacefully through the entire performance.

I left for the kitchen, disgusted with my fiancee's impenetrable slumber. What good is it stomping around and being mad at someone if they aren't awake to witness it?

"Morning, Red," a gruff voice greeted me as I stepped into the kitchen.

Logan stood before me, fully dressed and wide awake, drinking a cup of coffee at the counter.

"Coffee?" he offered, holding up his cup.

"What are you doing up so early?" I asked, totally baffled as to why anyone would willingly be up at the crack of dawn.

"I like mornings," he grunted.

I have never been able to understand morning people. It's the weekend, for heaven's sake. Sleep in. Relax. The sun'll still be there when you get up at a decent hour, like noon. There's no need for all this "Seize the Day" crap.

"Oh," was what I replied instead. "Sure, coffee will be nice."

He busied himself for a minute, finding a mug and preparing a cup for me. I just sat down on one of the counter stools, trying not to fall back asleep.

"Here," he said.

"Thanks," I replied.

Yes, we were both utilizing the full depth and breadth of our conversational skills. What can I say? We don't know each other all that well. I've only actually talked to him a handful of times, and the topic was usually either flirtatious or medical in nature. I really don't know the first thing about him. After tasting my cup of coffee, I did find out a little more about him, though.

Between gasps and coughs, I said, "Your healing factor must be better than I thought if you can survive this."

"Coffee's not that strong," he said defensively.

I looked in my cup and replied, "I think mine just moved."

He harrumphed and said, "If you don't like it, make yourself a new pot."

"I don't think I need to. There was enough caffeine in that sip to keep a narcoleptic awake for days." His eyebrows drew up in confusion, and I just waved my hand at him, dismissively. "Never mind. Doctor joke. Not that funny anyway."

"So, why're you up so early," he asked, changing the subject with a sly grin. "Trouble in paradise?"

"What?"

"You and Scooter," he answered, not elaborating.

"Things are fine between Scott and me," I said defensively.

"O' course," he mockingly agreed.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, Logan. Welcome back," I said, setting down my coffee cup and getting up to leave.

"I was hopin' we'd talk longer," he said, adding, "some place more private."

"Look, Logan," I said, my voice firm and clipped, "that's not a good idea."

"But, I need to talk to ya, darlin'."

"Logan, I had a long night, and I'm not in the mood for this. Unless it's a medical issue, I'm not..."

"It is," his whisper cut me off. There was none of the flirtatious bravado in that statement, just the truth.

"Well, why didn't you say in the first place?" I asked, confused and frustrated at how we'd had to dance around the issue.

"I heal, Jeanie. It's what I've always done. Now, it's not working right and..." his voice lowered until I could barely hear it. "I just dunno."

"We'll figure it out," I said trying to be comforting.

In truth, I lived for these moments. I didn't go to college for eight years and intern for one year because I liked dating college guys. I love a medical mystery, and mutations are the most interesting mysteries of all. What could possibly be wrong with a mutation as medically ingrained as Logan's?

"Rogue, maybe you should sit down," I said, trying to calm the pacing young woman.

She just continued to ask questions as she walked. "Why'd you call me down here, Dr. Grey?" Turn, pace. "Why'd you take all those samples of my blood?" Turn, pace. "What does this have to do with Logan?"

"Marie. Sit down with me, darlin'." Logan encouraged. "Give 'er a chance to tell us."

He was successful where I'd failed. The teenager sat, holding his hand in her gloved one but jiggling her legs impatiently.

"I needed your blood to confirm my findings from Logan's tests," I began. "His healing factor has slowed. He is actually producing less white blood cells and platelets and his metabolism has slowed. He's still above human standards," I reassured them, "but there's a noticeable decline from his previous tests. Rogue, have you ever wondered why you retained some of Magneto's power?"

"I thought it was a use it or lose it thing. I lost Logan's healing power 'cause I didn't use it."

"You're wrong, Rogue. You haven't used Logan's power because you haven't been injured. From your blood tests, I have determined that you've incorporated some of Logan's healing abilities into your body." I took a deep breath and continued. "It would seem that you just don't borrow powers. You also steal a portion of them."