AUTHOR'S NOTE: Because I totally forgot it when I originally uploaded… It should be painfully obvious, but I own nothing where these characters are concerned, except my own private fantasies (some of which may show up in the fic…).

I should also note that the story is complete, at about 96,000 words (yeah, it's a novel), but I'll be posting about one chapter a week to give me time to write the next story…

Thanks to all who've reviewed the first chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

XXXX

Jean watched Scott and Ororo as they tried to get the Blackbird to start. Everyone knew what was coming, what the results of her fight with Scott had caused in the Alkali Dam. If the Blackbird didn't get off the ground soon, they'd be inundated.

Scott -- even though she sensed panic beneath his thoughts, he looked mostly calm. That was Scott, though, she thought with a bit of a smile.

Logan hovered between Scott and Ororo, unable to help. She'd been in his position many times before.

This time, though, she could help, and she would.

No one noticed when she turned and limped toward the rear hatch. Each painful step brought back memories of that fight with Scott deep within the dam. She'd felt the power break during that fight, felt it rush through her. It was the only reason she was still alive, the only reason she'd been able to break him free of whatever chemical Stryker had used to control him.

Even when the rear hatch lowered, no one paid her the slightest bit of attention. And she hadn't even had to suggest it. She wasn't sure whether to be amused or angry by that.

She limped around to stand in front of the Blackbird. It took longer than she would have liked, but while the power surged, she needed the reassurance of seeing what she was doing. At least mostly, she corrected herself as she reached out to the Blackbird's systems.

For the second time in less than a day, she was grateful for Scott's insistence that everyone on the team learn not just to fly the Blackbird but to repair it, in case of emergency. She'd have to remind him that Logan hadn't been trained on either of those yet, when she was done.

There -- she felt the power connections deep within the Blackbird's innards touch, ignite. Oh, and the rear hatch needed to be closed, too. With a thought, it was done.

The crack of the dam breaking echoed over the valley, followed by the thunderous rush of water heading toward her. Why wasn't the Blackbird lifting?

Jean! It was Scott's voice in her head, an echo, no doubt, of a shout. What are you doing?

She ignored him, had to concentrate on getting the Blackbird out of the path of the flood rushing toward them.

A hand up to ward off the water, or at least to divert it around her and the jet. Then back to the Blackbird. What was wrong?

She didn't have time to run through a complete diagnostic, not when holding the entire lake at bay tired her this quickly. The only thing to do --

Jean let the power surging through her surround the Blackbird. If she could lift it high enough before she collapsed under the weight of the lake, Scott was a good enough pilot to make an emergency water landing. It would buy the rest of the team the time they needed, even if it meant her death.

Fair trade, her life for theirs.

She reached out to touch Charles's mind -- the effort to touch anyone else's right now was a distraction she couldn't afford, and she knew he'd maintain the link once she started it.

Even as the Blackbird rose into the air, she spoke to Charles, trusting him to relay her words to Scott, the team. It was a farewell, and though she wanted to touch Scott's mind one last time, she couldn't spare the effort, nor did she want him to feel when she collapsed. When she died.

She heard Scott's answer through the link with Charles, and she could only say, "I love you."

Finally, finally, the Blackbird was far enough above the lake that it would survive. She could let the strain on her body ease.

After all those times she and Charles had explored what might lie on the other side of death, she'd never expected to find out so soon. Maybe she'd be able to tell him.

The roar of the Blackbird's engines finally catching barely reached her. She stared at the wall of water facing her, and let the shield drop.

What was that smell? Sulfur? Was she in hell already?

Then she felt strong arms wrapping around her, and a moment's disorientation. Then she recognized the interior of the Blackbird -- and even more of a sulfuric smell. She gagged.

"Sorry."

he recognized that German accent and blinked at Kurt Wagner. "You --?" He nodded, ducking his head in that shy way he had, and she smiled. "Thank you."

Now that she could focus again, she saw the relief etched in the faces of those around her -- Charles, Logan, Kurt, Bobby, Marie. Ororo and Scott still fought the Blackbird for control.

"How's that leg?" Logan asked. "Need it wrapped?" Her surprise must have shown in her expression, because he chuckled. "I can do field medicine. Anything beyond that's your job."

She smiled at him. "That would be good, thanks."

- - - - -

Scott hadn't lowered his mental shields the entire trip back to Westchester, and Jean was starting to worry. It had been a long time since he'd shielded that much, especially against her.

The block lasted while she visited the infirmary and confirmed that her ankle was in fact only sprained, not fractured. It lasted while she showered away the stink of battle and changed the bandage on her ankle. It lasted while they grabbed a bite to eat in the kitchen with the rest of the team. It lasted through the informal debriefing Scott conducted -- the full debriefing and evaluation would come tomorrow, after they'd rested.

It lasted, in fact, until Scott closed the door of their apartment behind them and yanked her against his chest, holding her more tightly than he ever had before.

Jean. Just her name, but the flood of emotion behind it was stronger than the wall of water she'd faced hours before.

Reflexively, she almost put up her own shields in the way Charles had taught her in those days when any stray thought might overwhelm her. But this was Scott Summers, Cyclops, the only person ever to have full and unfettered access to her mind. She couldn't close him out.

I almost lost you. Twice. He didn't verbalize the thought, but the knowledge that he was almost the cause of losing her ate at him, filling his mind with anguish.

Scott. She pulled back, as far as he'd let her, looked up at him. Not for the first time, she wished she could look into his eyes, not just the glasses he had to wear to keep his power in check.

Wait -- her powers -- she could.

Trust me? She asked. The question surprised him away from his exploration of her mind, his way of reassuring himself that she was still here, still alive.

He didn't bother to verbalize his response, just let her feel his disappointment that she felt the need to ask the question. Then she reached for his glasses, and he stiffened.

Trust me. This time it was an order, though much gentler than the ones he gave in battle.

She pulled the glasses down his nose, let them float onto the nearest table. Of course he clamped his eyes shut, she thought, and her amusement leaked through their link. He made a mental noise of frustration, and she soothed him without words.

Jean stretched out her telekinetic sense, looking for the power behind his eyelids. Strange -- she'd seen the destruction his optic blasts could cause; they should feel stronger to her than they did.

She found the blasts, pushed the energy back, back against Scott's eyes, then inside, holding it at bay like a dam.

Not the best analogy, under the circumstances.

She had to laugh at Scott's dry observation. But it's working. I can feel it. Open your eyes.

She expected the hesitation, the fear. But he did trust her. Slowly, cautiously, ready to slam them shut if the need arose, he opened his eyes.

The energy he contained pushed at her block, but she held it, watching as his eyes faded from glowing red orbs to the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen.

Men aren't supposed to be beautiful. It wasn't really a rebuke, or even a joke. Scott was distracted, enjoying seeing her as she was, without the filter of ruby glasses. You are.

She felt his love through their link and raised her mouth to his.

The kiss was tentative, exploratory, and it reminded Jean of their first kiss so many years ago. She let that memory surface so Scott could share it, was only a little surprised when he offered his own memory of it.

Then his memory shifted, to the first time they'd made love, and he deepened the kiss, barely allowing them to break apart for a breath before diving back in. Then he jerked back, frowned down at her. You're hurting.

Huh? And then she realized that her ankle was, in fact, throbbing. She'd been standing on her tiptoes without realizing it, and the added pressure had built until Scott had picked it up through their link even before she'd realized it.

She didn't pick up Scott's intention before he'd scooped her into his arms. She laughed aloud as he carried her to their bed and lay her gently down. He took off her sandals, the only shoes she owned that she could wear with the bandage wrapped on her ankle.

And then he unfastened the slacks she wore and, catching her underwear with his thumbs, slid them both down her legs and made sure not to jostle her injured ankle as he pulled them completely off her.

His mind within the link had stilled to that intensity she normally only felt when they were in combat. Having it directed toward her -- that was new.

Once her pants and underwear were neatly folded over the chair near the bed, Scott held out his hand to her. She took his hand and he pulled her up to a sitting position. With that same wordless focus, he pulled her shirt over her head and folded it with her slacks and then unfastened her bra. When it, too, rested on the chair, he stepped back, simply looking at her.

Heat flooded her cheeks while he studied her, inch by inch. He wasn't thinking about sex, wasn't really thinking at all, but his gaze held all of his love and the memories of their times together. And then the focus of his mind relaxed, and all she felt was his love for her, embodied in those memories.

She should be embarrassed -- the way he looked at her, his thoughts, his frank appreciative gaze.

Never embarrassed, Jean. Not with me.

And then he stepped forward, resting one knee on the edge of the bed to kiss her again.

Before it could deepen too far, he pulled back. You're not interested in more right now.

She flushed. Sorry.

You're hurting. Of course you're not interested. Amusement, affection, and frustration colored his thoughts. There'll be other nights.

And he started to undress as deliberately as he had undressed her. She took the opportunity to appreciate him as he'd appreciated her moments before. Not for the first time, she admired him. Besides being the finest tactician she knew of, besides loving her, besides all of those things, he was, bluntly, built. She'd explored that body often enough with teeth, tongue, and hands, but she'd rarely just looked at him.

Then he was in bed next to her, pulling her against him as he did every night. The link wouldn't let him hide that he was disappointed she wasn't interested, but it also couldn't hide how much he loved her and considered her wishes more important than his own.

One thing.

Hm?

Mind putting my glasses on the nightstand?

- - - - -

Jean woke to the feel of Scott's hand stroking her shoulder and arm. She'd turned away from him as she slept, and he'd spooned close behind her.

"Morning." His voice rumbled low in her ear, and he kissed her neck. "Feeling better?"

"Sprained ankles always hurt for a few days. But it is better now, at least a little."

"Good." She felt the main reason for his approval pressing against her buttocks as his hand slipped lower along her arm, then over her stomach.

She started to roll in his arms to face him, but he held her still.

"Let me," he whispered. "Just enjoy."

There was no arguing with that tone, even whispered, and Jean rested her head back against his shoulder, arching her neck just a little so he would have better access.

His hands and mouth blazed exploring trails over her body, and finally he moved away so he could encourage her to lie on her back as he propped on one elbow to lean over her. He brushed her hair, tangled from sleep, away from her eyes. "I love you."

He kissed her before she could respond, and she lost herself in his touch and his mind, reveling in that closeness she'd never shared with anyone else.

Later, when he held her, she couldn't help chuckling. "So much for crack of dawn runs."

"Debriefing day. No run on debriefing day."

"New rule?" She loved to tease him out of his characteristic seriousness.

He dropped a kiss on her hair. "We all need to recover." Some of us more than others.

She knew what he meant. Scott… it's okay. It wasn't you attacking me. I know that.

It was me. My body, my blasts.

But not you. I saw inside you, remember?

He pulled her closer. I remember you severing the ties that controlled me.

It was already wearing out of your system. I just helped it along.

Whatever you did, I'm glad you did it.

She turned in his arms to kiss him again, let the link deepen as she did.

Ask you something? His mental voice was more tentative than she'd heard it in years.

Anything.

She felt him pointing to a shielded place inside her thoughts. What's this? It wasn't there before.

I need to tell you about that, but I think you may have enough on your mind already. 'That' was the kiss Logan had given her in the woods, but she was careful not to let even a hint of memory out from behind the shields.

And wondering isn't going to be on my mind? A host of complex emotions lay behind that near-teasing tone, and Jean tried to sort them out. Most people were emotionally simple, but not Scott. Jean? he prompted when she didn't answer quickly enough.

As much as you're already dealing with -- she broke off. Now he knew he wouldn't like whatever she had to say. Of course he'd suspected, but now he knew.

I don't need to be protected. I'm not a kid anymore. No teasing now, not even a hint of it. Just tell me. I'd rather know.

She let the shield drop, and gave him the memory. His mind, always quieter than most people's, went totally still.

You didn't say yes. His comment, when it finally came, wasn't what she'd expected.

What?

When he challenged you.

"I love him."

"Do you?"

"You didn't say yes," Scott repeated aloud. He'd shown her the exchange he meant, then pulled back from the mindlink. "If you had, he would've backed off. But you didn't."