CHAPTER 72- PHOENIX RESTS
The second floor of the hospital was hushed. Machines beeped in measured rhythm, curtains swayed gently in the air conditioning. Jean lay still, pale against the sheets, her hair a spill of flame over the pillow.
Scott sat at her bedside, hand gripping hers like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He hadn't left, not even for food. His eyes burned behind the visor, but this time it wasn't optic energy - it was fear.
Then her fingers twitched.
Scott bolted upright. "Jean-?"
Her eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, her green eyes opened. She blinked against the harsh light. When she saw him, her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Scott..."
Relief broke him. His breath came ragged, his shoulders sagged, and he pressed his forehead against her hand. "Thank God. Jean, I thought-i thought I'd lost you."
The door burst open. The rest of the team crowded in, faces alight with joy. Storm rushed to the bed, tears glimmering. "Sister, you are awake. The Goddess be praised."
Jean tried to sit, but the doctor appeared, shooing everyone back. "Easy. Easy. She's not ready for strain. Her body's been through hell. She needs prolonged recovery. Keep her calm."
Jean gave him a wry look. "Calm isn't really in the X-Men handbook."
The room laughed, the tension breaking at last. Even Colossus grinned through his tears.
But Logan didn't laugh. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her. Watching. Measuring. He didn't move when the others swarmed, didn't smile when Jean teased. His gaze stayed sharp, a steel wire pulled taut.
Then Scott bent down. His voice was hoarse, but firm. "I don't care what the doctor says. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
And before anyone could stop him, he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was desperate, hungry, a claim staked in front of the whole team. Jean stiffened at first - then softened, returning the kiss, her hand rising to his cheek.
The others looked away, awkward, some smiling faintly. But Logan didn't. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He turned his head just enough to snatch a cigar from Banshee's pocket, bit off the end, and lit it right there in the hospital room.
Smoke curled into the sterile air.
"Logan!" Storm's voice cracked sharp. "This is a hospital!"
He exhaled a cloud, smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah. And I just got back from the sun. Think the walls'll forgive me."
The doctor nearly choked on fury. Logan shrugged, puffed again, eyes fixed not on them but on Jean.
She broke the kiss, her cheeks flushed, her breath ragged. She looked across the room, met Logan's stare for a heartbeat, then looked away quickly.
No one spoke.
The smoke hung heavy.
The hospital had gone still. Hours since the team finally collapsed into uneasy sleep, bodies sprawled across waiting room chairs and benches, exhaustion beating out stubbornness.
But not Logan.
He stood in the garden outside, moonlight painting silver across the grass. The cigar's glow burned in the dark, a small defiance against silence. He leaned against the cold stone wall, smoke curling up toward the stars.
The door creaked behind him. Bare feet whispered on tile, then concrete.
Jean stepped into the garden, hospital robe drawn close around her shoulders. Her face was pale, her hair a flame against the night. She stopped when she saw him, the lines of weariness softening into something gentler.
"You should be in bed," Logan muttered, flicking ash.
"So should you," she countered, walking closer. "But I couldn't sleep."
They stood a few feet apart. The night hummed with crickets.
Jean's eyes lingered on him. "I wanted to thank you."
He blew out smoke, voice rough. "For what?"
"For what you did. For me. Out there in the flare."
He shrugged, but there was an edge in it. "Don't flatter yourself. Somebody had to hold the line. You cracked - I just covered the gap."
Her chin lifted, a flash of fire in her voice. "I didn't crack. I held until I couldn't anymore. And you... nearly killed yourself for it."
Logan turned, jaw tight. "Yeah? Then why'd you do what you did, huh? Flyin' that tin can through a damn solar storm. Could've roasted yourself alive."
The words hung sharp between them.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Just their breathing, the faint chirp of the night.
Then, almost at the same time, they laughed. Soft, strained, but real. The kind of laugh that came when the only other choice was to scream.
Jean shook her head. "We're both idiots."
"Yeah," Logan agreed, smirking around the cigar. "World's luckiest idiots."
She stepped closer, her eyes glinting. And before she left, she plucked the cigar from his mouth, snuffed it between her fingers, and held it up.
"Bad for you."
He blinked at her. She smiled faintly, then turned, walking back toward the door. Her robe trailed, her hair catching the moonlight like fire.
Logan stared at her back. Then down at the dead cigar in his hand.
His voice came low, gravel dragged across the night.
"I... am in love."
The garden went still. The moon bore silent witness.