By Empress 

Series:  Second of the Falling Apart Together series, following Pianissimo: Loss.

Summary: Grief usually gets much worse before it gets any better.

Rating: R+ (if there is such a thing) – for language and mild smuttage.

Categories: X3, AU

Characters:  Pairing named at the end of this one because I can't keep it secret any longer and still have it make sense.  Damn it. But I'm pretty sure you savvy types have already figured it out, right?

Genres: Angst, Adult, Shipper

Warnings:  Overall story warning, not necessarily specific to this chapter - grief and loss issues.  Character death. 
Author's Notes: Yes, I hate Jean.  And I enjoy hating her, too.

Distribution: The Wayside Inn, Empress' Private Library, and Lady Scriven's only.  All others ask first.

Disclaimer: I own no one.  Alas, that means Logan belongs to Marvel too, so I can't keep him.  But I'd be happy as all hell to Wolvie-sit should it ever be necessary.  *eg*

I would be, for you, a fire in a rainbow,
I would be, for you, an opening door.
Time and hard lessons are one kind of wisdom.
Try to forget them or love me no more.
I'm not asking your heart to believe me.
I'm not asking for promise or pledge.
Whatever the answer, it's yes that's the question.
I am the fool dancin' over the edge.
Don't choose me because I am faithful.
Don't choose me because I am kind.
If your heart settles on me, I'm for the taking.
Take me for longing or leave me behind.
Take Me For Longing - Alison Krauss 

One month later…

There's nothing quite as painful as watching someone you love self-destruct.  It causes an ache so deep and bitingly sharp that you feel like you're going through it with them.  Like you're being destroyed slowly right a long beside them.  Piece by gory piece.

And in a way, I suppose you are.  Because if you love them, really love them, then their pain is your pain too.  Whether or not they love you in return.  Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.  I don't know how much truth is in that for everyone, but it's my complete truth.  My life.  My world.  He is.  My everything.  Only, he doesn't love me.  He loves her. 

Even though she's gone.

He fell apart after Jean's death.  Just…fell apart.  All over everything.  And everyone.  You can walk down the halls and just feel little pieces of him everywhere, so tangible is his grief.  And all I can do was watch him come apart at the seams.  Slowly.  Painfully.  And every day I see him, he gets a little bit older.  And another piece of me dies with him.

He still loves her.  His heart has always belonged to Jean and always will, on some level probably.  It's no big secret.  Never was.  Everybody at the mansion knows how he still feels about her.  You've got to respect that.  He loves her so deeply and utterly that while not blind to her faults, he forgave them.  Me, I'm not so impartial as far as she is concerned.  But then, I'm not in love with the woman.  He is. 

No, I love him.  He knows it too.  I think.  How can he not?  It's not like I ever hid it from him.  But I didn't exactly go around every day at breakfast and remind him either.  That's Jubilee's style.  Not mine.  But even without the daily reminder, I think he knew.  Knows.  Whatever.  Because I always got that good morning smile and soft 'hey' that just melts my insides.  I'd wave, collect my breakfast and then go sit somewhere that had a good view of him.  And he'd always chuckle at my first stolen glance and blush before he'd go back to his breakfast, turning that same smile on Jean.

I miss that smile.

He doesn't smile anymore. 

Doesn't speak to me at breakfast anymore either.  Or anyone really, if he even bothers to come down at all.    The Professor tried to talk to him.  More than once.  To get him to open up.  But he just snarled at him and closed himself off even further.  Now he barely comes out of his room anymore.  Sometimes I'll go days and not see him.  And when he finally does stagger down the stairs, he looks horrible.  Gaunt.  Lines of grief leaving marks on his face.  His clothes hang off him now; he's lost so much weight. 

Something has to change soon.  If it doesn't, I'm going to lose him. 

We all are.

- x - 

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows
And So It Goes - Billy Joel 

Later that same night… 

I can't sleep.  My chest hurts too much to get any rest.  Stress and worry are a bitch, believe me.

Rolling over, I look at the clock and stare at the benign red glow of the numbers.  Two forty-one a.m.  Muffling a groan I throw back the covers and sit up.  No point in laying here and being miserable.  Maybe a mug of hot cocoa will make me feel better.  Help me sleep.

Quietly, so I don’t wake anyone, I ease out of the room.  Not bothering with a robe, slippers or gloves, I pad barefoot down the hallway.  It's not like I'm going to be running into anyone, and besides, my nightgown is high-necked, floor length, and long-sleeved.  Old, maybe too tight across the top, and worn nearly to the point of almost being see-through, but it's a favorite and it keeps me warm.   Besides, anyone who's up this late deserves whatever eyeful they get.

Slowing, I pass by his room.  There's a light on under the closed door, so I stop and listen, not worried about being seen doing it.  One, because it's stupid late, and two because just about everyone has seen me do this a lot recently.  Stand outside his door trying to work up the courage to go inside.  I never do.  And they never say anything about it, thank God. 

But tonight…I know I can't ignore it anymore.  I have to check on him.  I've not seen him except in all too brief passing in the halls.  And we've not even tried to talk since that night in the rec-room a month ago when we watched the Rangers play.  And now he's blowing off classes again.  I've got to know…but he probably won't talk to me.  But maybe…there's a way…

Ten minutes later and I'm back, with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa in hand, doing my best to calm the nervous fluttering in my stomach.  Shifting my weight, I kick against his door gently since I'm not wearing shoes and both hands are full.  That, and I'm not sure how I'll be received.

The silence behind the closed portal lingers for a moment, then I hear a rustling, followed by a low, "What?"

"Hey.  It's me."  Damn that sounded lame.  "Let me in?"  Boy, there was a lot of weight in that statement, although I hope he didn't know that.  At least not yet.

"It's late.  Go to bed."

I stare at the door, and clear my throat of the rusty sound my nerves were causing.  I've come this far, and I'm not giving up now, at least not easily.  I don't like what I'm about to do, but I don't think I'll get in otherwise.  I put a little bit of scared into my voice.  "Please?  I really need to see you." 

Well, at least it isn't a lie.  I do need it.  I need it like I need air to breathe; so much of me is being taken over by how I feel about him.  How much I love him.  And now especially how much I'm scared for him.

For a long time, there's no response at all.  No noise either.  About the time I'm ready to give up, the doorknob turns, and the door opens with a soft pop.  Not all the way, but just a crack.  I look up, expecting to see him blocking the entry, but he's not.  Cautiously I push it open and step inside. 

He's retreated to sitting on the edge of the bed, the covers rumpled and twisted like he's been fighting with them rather than trying to sleep.  My breath hitches in my chest as I look at him.  A long-sleeved shirt hanging open, baring that superbly muscled chest, bare-footed, wearing only a pair of tight blue jeans.  His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, dark hair sticking up all over his head at odd angles, and his hands clenched in between denim covered knees.  A movement catches my eye…he's curling his toes against the chill of the floor.  He's even got cute toes.  That should be illegal.

A shudder passes through me as I realize why it feels like it's freezing in here.  He's got the window open.  I can see my breath it's so cold. 

"You said you needed to see me."

I do.  And I need to hold you and tell you how much I love you and want to make it better for you.  To remind you how much people around here love and respect you.  How it's killing all of us to watch you die a little more every day knowing there's not a damn thing we can do to stop it.  Or help.  Because you won't let us in.  Won't let us close enough to even try.

But I don't say any of that. 

"I couldn't sleep and went down to get some hot cocoa.  I saw your light on.  Thought maybe you couldn't sleep either and brought you one too."  I hold out a mug towards him and wait, fully expecting he's gonna throw me out any second now.

He doesn't lift his head.  Instead, he reaches out, and unfailingly wraps his fingers around the hot mug, the pads of them barely grazing mine, yet I feel a shock of giddiness unfurl in my belly as he takes the hot drink from me.

He doesn't drink it or even say anything.  Just sits there on the edge of his bed, clutching the mug between his hands.  It's got to be burning his palms, but he doesn't as much as flinch.  It's like he's forgotten he's holding it.  And in the process, has forgotten me too.  Now suddenly nervous, I don't know what to say or do. 

But he's not asked me to leave either.  Maybe that's a good sign.   Another shiver passes through me.  I laugh a little, set my mug down on the dresser and move to the open window, intending to close it. "No wonder it's so cold in here."

"Leave it."

"You're going to catch pneumonia," I reply, reaching for the window again.

"I said leave it." 

Doing as he instructed, I wrap my arms around me, trying to stave off the shivers wracking me and walk back to where he sat.  "O-okay."

"Pneumonia's a virus.  You can't catch it from just cold air."  A smile splits my face as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a long drink, then lowers it again.  "This is pretty good.  Thanks."

Feeling absurdly warmed by his words, I smile.  "You're welcome."  He doesn't say anything else, instead, sits there and mechanically drinks the hot cocoa. 

I hate this.  I hate that I feel like I can't talk to him anymore.  But I don't know what to say that wouldn't be just a horrible idea for either of us right now.  I find myself repeating my offer from the memorial service.  "Ah, can I do anything for you?"

"Like what?"

I shrug, and reaffirm my promise.  "Whatever you need."

He lifts his head and stares at me for a minute and I can't read the expression on his face.  But whatever it is, it's making me a little uneasy.  Maybe I should go.

"Nah.  I'm good.  Thanks for the hot chocolate."  He sets the mug on the nightstand and looks at me, clearly waiting.

"Well, okay then," I nod and turn to leave.  "I'll just head back to bed.  Goodnight."

"Did you mean it?"

I stop and turn back.  "Of course.  I wouldn’t have said it if I didn't.  Whatever I can do; whatever you need.  Any time."

He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then obviously changes his mind.  He gives me a little half smile and says instead, "I'll remember that.  Thanks.  Goodnight."

I'm being dismissed.  Just like he used to dismiss the training classes, before he just stopped showing up.  Taking a deep breath, mentally beating myself up for being so damn pushy, I manage to make it all the way across the room this time.  I even manage to open his door.

"I let her die," he whispers softly, stopping me from leaving.  I can't believe what I'm hearing. 

"What?  You can't mean that." I ask turning back yet again, the door handle still held in my hand, holding it open for anyone to see in, should they pass by.  And uncaring if they do.

"I did.  I let her die."

He can't possibly believe that.  Can he?  I was there.  I saw them. 

Jean ducked out of the plane and kept any of us - all of us - from helping her.  From stopping her.  I watched as Logan and Scott wrestled with each other, first to get to her, and then to keep each other upright, both of them melting down as the first wave of grief washed over the two of them.  It was horrible, watching them go through that.  I swear, as long as I live I'll never forget the looks on their faces and I hope to God I never see them in that much pain again.  Either of them. 

I shed a tear or two over Jean as well.  But while it was still painful, it was easier on me than on them.  I wasn't in love with the woman.  And both of them were.  Still…

"No you didn't.  You tried to save her.  I saw you."

He's shaking his head. 

"I knew something was wrong with her.  Before then.  I saw hints of it more than once.  Times when her power slipped her control.  How it scared her at times, enthralled her at others.  But…we weren't exactly getting along then.  So I didn't say anything.  Didn't do anything about it.  I just stood by," he breathes in deeply through his nose and then growls between clenched teeth, his gaze still trained on the floor between his feet.  "I just stood by and let it happen.  I could have saved her if I'd tried harder.  It's my fault."

I can't take it.  The pain in his voice, the guilt and torment, feel like a punch to my stomach.  I just…I just can't stand idly by and see him hurting so much and not do anything.  Pushing the door closed until I hear the latch catch, I walk further into the room, and stand in front of him, looking at the top of his bowed head.

Sinking to my knees between his feet, I raised a slightly trembling hand to his hair, running over it lightly, wanting to comfort, but knowing I had no right to.  I don't mean to say it.  But I can't stop the words that rise to my lips.  "I hate seeing you like this.  Hurting so much…"

His head pops up, knocking my hand away.  His furrowed brow and knitted eyebrows skewer me to the floor, the intense look making my stomach flutter in warning.  "Then why the fuck are you in here, anyway?"

'I...I just wanted to help…"

"Help." His voice is a low rumbling growl.  "You can't help me!"

In a move I don't see coming, and faster than I can actually process, he's got his hands under my arms and is pulling me back to my feet.  He propels me backwards and slams me into the wall hard enough for me to crack my head on it.  Not hard enough to do damage, but enough to sting, that's for sure.  A repeat of the Danger Room incident over a month ago.  Except this time, he's not nearly as calm as he was then.

"And just how do you think you can help me, huh?  How!  Because I'd really like to know!  Can you bring her back?!  Did your gift just suddenly mutate, and now you can raise the dead?!  Can you?!  No!  You can't!  Because she's dead and I just fuckin' let it goddamn happen!"

Planting a fist on either side of my head, he pins me to the wall with his body, not quite touching me, but close enough that I'll have to go through him to get away.  And neither of us is too stupid to think that'll actually happen.  Even if I could get away from him, we both know, on some level, that I won't.  That I meant what I said.  Whatever he needs, I'll give it. 

But I honestly didn't think he'd scare me or try to hurt me.  Now, looking into that twisted mask of rage and pain, I'm not so sure.  A cold feeling settles into the pit of my stomach.  I couldn't have been that wrong about him, could I?

"Please, no…" My voice is a frightened whimper.  Some X-Man I am.  Scared of the man I love.  My teammate.   The one I know deep in my soul would never, ever hurt me.  Until now.  "Don't…"

Just like someone threw a switch in his brain, the snarl fades away and he takes on a look of horror at what he's doing.  My own fear now reflects in his gaze.  "Oh God…Rogue..."

But he doesn't let me go.  He pulls me up close, holding me against him in a tight embrace.  I can feel the shudders as they race up and down his tall frame.  I stand stiff for a minute and then just melt.  I've wanted this for so long after those two little tastes I got before, that I don't really care how I ended up here again.  Only that I have. 

"I'm sorry…so fuckin' sorry…"

"It's okay," I whisper against his shoulder.  "I'm okay.  Honest."

He turns his head so his nose is buried in my hair trapped between us across my neck and shoulder.  "I would never -"

"I know," I answer, cutting him off.  "I know you wouldn't."  But I'd love it if you would.

He gives a pained groan, almost like he heard what I said only in my mind and tightens his hold.  I can't help it.  My hand slips upwards into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.  "Let me help you.  Please, don't push me away."

Something I said must have connected for him in some way because I felt his whole body change.  One minute he's holding me like he's hanging on to a life line and the next minute, his embrace shifts to feeling like he wants me there.  Like he wants me.  I've gotta be reading this wrong.  He doesn't want me.  He wants Jean.

He presses his hips flush against me, pushing me against the wall, nearly lifting me up off the floor, his hands already skimming over my stomach, one burying itself into my hair.  Whoa.  Not reading it wrong.

I can feel him dragging his face across my hair, over the side of my neck and shoulder.  He's making me crazy, and I can't stop the automatic reaction of wrapping my arms around him, my fingers curling into the soft material of his shirt as I stroke the rock-solid muscles beneath it.  He pushes his hips forward again, and this time I can feel his erection, hard and hot against me as he wraps an arm around my hips, and lifts me up so his arousal hits me exactly where I'm aching for it to be.  If only…

Then he releases my hair, and slides that hand over my breast, thumbing the nipple through my nightgown.  It hardens immediately.  I gasp and he lifts his head from my shoulder and locks his gaze on mine.  His handsome face is filled with both a look of tortured agony and a bittersweet smile.  "Don't say no."

"But what about -"

He's shaking his head.  "I…just trust me…don't…please, Rogue…let me…don't say no."

I look at him for a minute, trying to read the look on his face, understand the near pleading tone.  He needs this.  The physical connection.  It doesn't mean anything to him outside of that.  He just needs to connect physically with another human being.  To lose himself for a few moments in physical pleasure.  To take his mind off his pain for just a little while. 

I know that he doesn't love me.  He doesn't claim to.  Won't lie and say he does.  I have to respect him for that.  Most men wouldn't be so honest about it.  And he doesn't ask me not to love him.  Pure honesty between us.  I can do that.  I can walk away if I want, too.

And while it might rip my heart out later, I know I can't - I won't - deny him this.

Wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips, I pull him back against me, feeling his hands slide over the backs of my thighs over my gown as he lifts me up into position, bracing my back against the wall.  His teeth skate across the side of my neck as he pushes his hips into the cradle of mine, still the barrier of cloth between us, protecting him, but we both know it won't be long before it's gone.  I trust him enough to figure out a way for me to give this to him and keep me from hurting him at the same time.  Giving myself over to him completely, I shudder in his arms as he breathes me in deep.

He rocks his hips again, sinks his teeth into my neck through my gown, just hard enough so I can feel them, and groans lowly.  I turn my head giving him better access to my throat and sigh his name, "Scott…"

~fin~

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