"You changed brands."

To catch a creature like the Wolverine unawares, you had to either be [i]very[/i] good...or cheat. Seeing as she'd been at best a decent dancer during her own prep school days, stealth was out of the question. It was only telepathic cheating that Jean Grey could use to rob Logan's senses of the upper hand. And cheat she did, treasuring that moment where he jumped just-so at being caught by surprise. Not that you'd see it. His body never moved so much as a centimeter. But his mind couldn't hide the surprise. 

Neither could his eyes.

"Come to talk cigars, Red?"

His eyes were brown, and narrowed slightly. His defenses were up. But, then, his defenses were always up around her. Jean let his question sit in the crisp midnight, New York State, air. There was a brisk breeze as grey clouds framed silver when they passed beneath the near full moon overhead like a parade in passing. He stood under a sentinel pine, well worn jeans, leather boots, plaid shirt yellow and brown, and a leather jacket that seemed as used to him as he was of it. Just the sight of the man made her grin at him like a girl, as moonlight peeked between passing clouds.

"With you?" She scoffed, not with his taste for cheap cigars. "Unless it's something with flavor like an Acid brand--"

"--fruity," he said, dismissing it.

"Or something with some balance like an Ashton ESG."

"--overpriced," gruffly he dismissed that, too.

But her grin didn't die there. Dismissing her choices in cigars was part of what constituted 'fun' for Logan. Her grin showed more than her amusement; it shadowed his own. "Champagne tastes?"

"For a champagne girl."

"Careful, Logan, that's awfully close to a compliment coming from you."

Her tone teased him. Her eyes watched him. She was dancing on the edge of an adamantium blade, now, and she knew it. For a moment, her green eyes met his brown eyes, and she forgot all about what it is she had come to say to him. With Logan, passions ran deeper than blood and fire. They ran deeper than life and death. Just because she'd died...

"Listen, Jean..."

She ignored him, her white flats crunching brown pine needles underneath her weight, her hands resting heavy in the front pockets of the denim jacket she wore with the Xavier Institute 'logo' teeshirt and black leggings, to keep the chill close without letting it through to her bones. One step, a [i]crunch[/i], then like a little girl playing a game, another dancer's step, and another satisfying [i]crunch[/i] beneath her feet.

Irritation grew, and the man before her's voice grew strained. "Jean, I'm sor--"

"--no." Gone was the girl playing with dead pine needles underfoot, gone was the grin, replaced by the woman who'd returned from the greatest adventure worth having: death. Her green eyes came alive in the faint light of the moon filtered through passing clouds, and the orange-red glow of his lit cigar as she leaned in close...close enough for Wolverine to understand there was no debating what message her lips would utter next. "You don't get to blame yourself, Logan."

"I--"

She cut him off again with little more than a prolonged stare deep into his eyes, the intensity of her gaze growing as her voice drew softer. "No, Logan," the corners of her red lips curving upward in the moonshadow of a smile, "I don't need to read minds to know what you'll say. Except listen to me, and listen to me good, 'bub': the only thing that would have changed had you been in Genosha? Is you would've had a front row view. Instead you were here, in upstate New York, smoking cheap cigars and looking after them." She said, her head motioning in the direction his body faced leaned up against the tree as it was: in the direction of the school. 

"Lot o' good that did."

In that moment, Jean Grey did the most dangerous thing she could've done: she touched him. Her right hand flashing out of her jacket pocket and catching his jaw, making him look her directly in the eyes. "Don't [i]ever[/i] think I wanted you anywhere else that day. I love you, you idiot." She was past thinking, past having any other purpose besides gut reaction. "I needed you here..."

Then it came to her, like a light flipped in the dark. "I still need you here," she said, letting go of her gentle hold upon his jaw with her fingertips. "If robots coming blasting out of the sky and onto this school...I need you here."

The man was wrought. Beaten out of shape by her touch, her three little words, and her new request. It was through gritted teeth he found words to respond with, words she could have laughed at predicting, had she been certain the laughter wouldn't have wounded his pride. "I'm not a babysitter."

"No," Jean agreed, speaking softly still. Softly speaking cold, hard, truth. "You're a killer. I need to know that a man like you is here, protecting this building and these children." To death and back, Jean almost surprised herself with the maternal, protective, nature she found overtaking her heart and mind to make this decision. Because truth be told, there wasn't another member of the X-Men she'd want going to Cuba with her than this primal killer right here.

But the students mattered more than she did, and so they needed him more. She would ensure they had him. 

Jean shouldn't have gasped when he reached out to her, she should've seen it coming. She didn't, and all she could do was try to swallow the gasp even after the start of the sound had escaped her. His arm was a steel vice, holding her body to his in an impossible strength. He was several inches shorter than she was...but he never seemed like it, wide and powerful as the man was he felt like a titan to her now.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I should've been there."

Her fingertips plucked the cigar out of his mouth, and tossed it, her lips smiling. "Just promise me you'll be here tomorrow."

"I promise. And tonight?"

[i]Go where you want.[/i]