She tore a piece of her already ruined dress and dipped it into the leftover water, gently pressing it to his forehead. He stirred slightly, eyes fluttering.
"Still alive?" she murmured. "Good going, Kingsley... just keep recovering."
Logan groaned faintly in response. A good sign. Jean found herself breathing again.
She leaned back against the tree behind her and kept her gaze fixed on him, refusing to let sleep tug her under.
Hours passed. The moon rose slowly above the canopy, casting pale light over the makeshift camp. The wind was cooler now, rustling through the trees, but Jean didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Every ti he shifted or coughed, she was alert. Ready. Her body ached, and her mind was heavy with exhaustion, but she pushed it all aside.
She watched him as if her will alone could keep him tethered to life.
And for the first ti in a long ti, she felt fear... not for herself, but for soone else.
By the ti dawn began to bleed across the horizon, Logan’s breathing had steadied. The fever had broken.
Jean exhaled, shoulders slumping in relief.
She didn’t realize she had been crying until the first tear hit her hand.
______________________________
Logan stirred to the faint rustling of leaves and the gentle sound of waves crashing in the distance. The world felt slower, softer sohow. The pounding in his head was gone, replaced with a dull ache... annoying but bearable. His throat was parched, but not burning anymore.
He blinked a few tis, trying to focus.
Then he saw her.
Jean was sitting next to him, leaning back against a tree, her arms loosely folded over her stomach. Her head had tilted slightly to the side in sleep, a few strands of hair falling over her face. Her lips parted softly with each breath. She looked... peaceful.
And tired.
Logan frowned, then looked around. There was a makeshift setup of crushed leaves, herbs, and bits of cloth.
The faint scent of sothing dicinal still lingered in the air. His shirt was damp against his skin, cool to the touch. She must’ve kept trying to cool him down through the night.
A strange warmth stirred in his chest.
This wasn’t the Jean Adams he knew, the woman who bit back with every word, who walked like she owned every room she entered. This was soone else. Quiet. Gentle. Brave.
And she’d stayed.
All night, for him.
He turned his head slightly, wincing at the soreness in his muscles, and whispered hoarsely, "Adams..."
Jean didn’t move.
Logan gave a weak chuckle. "Typical. You yell at for falling asleep, and now look at you."
His voice was rough, but she must’ve sensed it. Her brows furrowed, and her eyes blinked open. For a mont, she looked disoriented, then relief washed over her features.
"You’re awake," she whispered.
"Yeah... thanks to you."
Jean scoffed, brushing hair from her face. "Don’t get used to it."
But he saw the way her lips trembled just slightly. And he didn’t miss the faint redness in her eyes.
"You didn’t sleep at all, did you?" he asked softly.
Jean looked away, arms crossing as if she could shield herself from the vulnerability. "I couldn’t. Soone had to keep you alive."
Logan smiled faintly. "You did more than that, Jean."
She didn’t reply.
But her silence said enough.
Logan’s gaze drifted downward as Jean adjusted herself beside him. That’s when he noticed it, her feet.
Bare, bruised and scraped.
There were tiny cuts along her soles, dirt clinging to the torn skin, a few spots red with dried blood. All that running through the forest, barefoot, just for him.
His chest tightened.
Without thinking, he shifted, reaching a hand toward her foot, intending only to check, maybe help if she’d let him.
But before his fingers could graze her skin, Jean pulled back, subtle but deliberate... tucking her legs beneath her as if guarding herself. Her expression didn’t change, but he caught the flicker in her eyes.
She felt it. The instinct to retreat. To protect herself.
Logan’s hand fell back beside him.
Jean cleared her throat and spoke, her voice steady, all business. "We’re going to need structure if we’re stuck here. That ans rules."
He didn’t interrupt.
"First, we don’t go off alone anymore. If sothing happens, we need to be able to help each other."
He gave a small nod.
"Second, no more impulsive decisions... like eating berries you know nothing about," she added, shooting him a pointed look.
Logan let out a quiet grunt that might’ve been a chuckle. "Yes Mam."
"Third..." She hesitated for a breath, then looked him squarely in the eye. "Keep your distance. I an it, Logan. No touching, no hovering, no trying to be so hero. If I’m going to survive this, I need space."
He t her gaze silently. Sothing flickered across his features, like disappointnt but also understanding.
"Got it," he said simply.
No protest. No argunt.
Because even if she kept pushing him away, even if she built walls between them, she was still here.
And right now, that was more than enough.
The air between them settled into an uneasy quiet, broken only by the distant rush of the waves.
Jean stood up and dusted off her hands. "We need shelter before it gets too dark. I’ll see what we can use from the trees nearby; branches, leaves, anything to build so sort of cover."
Logan pushed himself up slowly, still a little weak but visibly better. "I’ll help."
Jean paused. "You can barely stand, Kingsley."
"I can carry things," he said, trying to sound more capable than he felt. "Not all useless."
She sighed but didn’t argue. "Fine. Just don’t push it."
They started gathering what they could. Jean found broad palm-like leaves that would help shield them from the wind.
Logan, despite his slowed pace, managed to carry fallen branches, stacking them near the boat. The silence between them wasn’t hostile, just cautious. Like two people walking a tightrope.
At one point, Logan reached for a thicker branch, only to hiss in pain as his side pulled.
Jean turned imdiately. "I told you not to..."
"I’m fine," he muttered, brushing her off.
She rolled her eyes but walked toward him, grabbing the branch before he could protest again. "Fine isn’t a dical term. Sit."
He obeyed this ti, more out of exhaustion than anything else. But seeing her worried about him, stirred sothing inside him.
Was she always like this? Or is she only like this with him?
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