A/N: Disclaimer here, you know the drill by now, don't own, don't sue. Love the song 'Creep' by Radiohead, had to write a fic to go with it.

And All That Should Have Come In Between

This wasn't right, fuck none of this made sense. She shouldn't be here, not in his bed, not tellin' him the lie that she needs him. Not foolin' both of them for one more night, the both of them swearin' it'll be the last time. The last time she tears off his clothes, the last time she sneaks into his bed, the last time she cries herself to sleep.

He's a dick, he's an asshole, goddamit he's the sleaziest creep that ever lived, and she was barely legal for fuck's sake, barely ol' enough, never ol' enough to know what this is. They fuck to forget, to appear barely human, to burn away memories of rejection, hating each other in the process and hurting, wanting to hurt, needing to feel it, something anything.

That's what it had been, but it'd changed, for him at least, here he was sat in the open window of his room, hating the smell of sex that hung in the air, 'cause this wasn't what it should have been like, not with her, all that hate, indifference and nothin' but lust belonged to the times in those seedy motels when he'd fucked nameless blondes, fucked to feel nothing, a drunken haze to forget everything.

He took a heavy drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly watching the smoke slowly drift out into the night air. Surely she must have felt it, tonight was different, tonight had been something else, she'd climbed slowly into his bed, working her way slowly under the sheets, wrapping her longs legs around his.

He hadn't been able to stop his body reacting, hadn't been able to stop the heat from rising, hadn't been able to catch his breath as her warm mouth closed around his length. And then when she'd finished and moved to sit atop his chest, her two-tone hair billowing around her, caught by just the right breeze, he hadn't been able to look her in the eye.

For the first time he hadn't met her gaze as she'd looked down at him, eyes drifting, heady and glazed over with a misplaced passion. Because he'd seen something close to the divine, and here he was sinning against it.

Hating it, hating himself, because she didn't belong here, wasting the life she should have had, spending all that energy, exorcising the demons in her head by wasting away, here sat on top of his chest.

And she was so beautiful, so hurt, so broken….fading away, letting herself be used, thinking he only did this for her because what he wanted was to forget.

To forget that the woman he had once chosen hadn't wanted him in return, and it was rejection that had brought them together, a fear that they would never be wanted, a loathing, of themselves and of each other.

And it had been that, in the beginning, but now, he felt like tearing his heart out, clawing the rotten thing away until he could go back. It had been easier when he had expected nothing more of her, when he had wanted nothing more, and she offered nothing.

He was a creep, a fuckin' bastard, to be thinking like this, he had no right, he was the one who had made the terms of their sick arrangement clear, right from the very beginning, it had been his choice, and now…what now?

What now, when she still wanted nothing more, when she would exude all that energy with him, burn away the pain, only to roll away, leave the room and cry herself to sleep. He looked over to her lying on her back staring emptily up at the ceiling, she was so fuckin' beautiful, that glorious skin, the ruby red lips, and the heart that wasn't his to claim.

She was special, too good for him, for far too long now too far above him, and maybe it served him right, for using her like this, for putting them both through so much hurt, divine justice laughing at him, because he had found himself breakin' the terms of their agreement.

He found himself in love with her.

She was a bitch, she was a whore, goddamit she was the lowest, what the hell was she doin' here? Hurtin' him like this, using him like this, this wasn't her place; she had no right to lay claim to a heart she knew already belonged to another woman.

She had no right to change the rules, they'd agreed, it was this, crawling into bed, fucking for hours, burning away the pain, the memories of rejection, and this was all it would ever be. Hating and hurting, themselves, each other and the unfairness of lives they seemed to have no control over.

He thought she only did this because she wanted to forget, and that's what it had been because of that damn cure that promised so much but had delivered nothing. It had only made her mutation more volatile, she'd thought it'd been the answers to all her prayers, at last being able to touch, to kiss, to love.

And she'd had all that with Bobby, but barely a month later it was gone again. She'd kissed him that night, soft, innocent at first until she ran her hands over his arms, under his shirt. Laying her hands softly over his chest, she pried his willing lips open with her tongue; tasting the sweet innocence of the boy she'd lost her virginity to.

It was every bit of heaven she'd been promised, every bit she'd been waiting for, and it was here, and she'd thought it'd be forever.

And suddenly as she was smilingly kissing him there it was again, the pain, the excruciating knowledge that she was drawing in his life force. The pull, the mutation and all that was hellish about it was back. Nothing was cured, no new life for her, nothing of a promised heaven.

She'd almost killed Bobby, the fact that her bare hands were over his heart had made it worse, almost as if the mutation was seeking its revenge for her rejecting it, the pull had been so strong, so complete that she'd almost bled him dry.

And when he'd at last recovered, he'd been so afraid of her he wouldn't even let her into the med lab to see him, usually making the excuse that he was too tired. Not giving her the chance to say she was sorry, to say she hoped they could work it out, but knowing always knowing they could never get it back.

That had led to this, to hurting the man who had once been her closest friend, hurting herself in turn, wanting to punish herself for being so stupid as to hope, to dream, for wanting something more.

Knowing he'd be indifferent to her mutation, knowing that it switched on and off almost of its own accord would never scare him away the way it had done Bobby, and that's why she'd gone to him. And he's complied, consenting to fuck her, burning the pain away, helping her to forget.

God he was special, too good for her, for far too long far more than she deserved, she had no right to want something other than this from him now, and she'd made their arrangement clear, help me to forget, help me to burn it away.

She looked over to him at last, the faintest tear rolling down her cheek, opening her mouth to speak, wanting to say something anything to let him know how she felt. But she'd seen the way he'd shut his eyes against her tonight, seen how he'd looked away, he knows tonight was different, as she'd sat on his chest she'd felt it at last…love. It had set her alight for the first time within, it was more, so much more than what she'd ever felt with Bobby, it was divine.

And she'd sinned against it.

She wanted to let him see that she'd broken the terms of the agreement. She'd fallen in love with him.

In the end it was another conversation they missed, another opportunity allowed to slip away. Because in all that they'd wanted was to see perfection in the other, believing that within a perfect soul and a perfect body they could have been what they'd dreamed.

Not subject to rejection, not at the mercy of adamantium claws or poisonous skin, not seeking the divine but acceptance, not caring if it hurt, but just wanting, needing to be loved.

Each believing that only those with a perfect soul are loved, the ones like Jean who don't sin against it, the perfect bodies, and the perfect souls that are mourned even when they are long gone.

Who was going to mourn her, the parents who had rejected her and cast her out? Not likely, and who was going to mourn him, the scientists who had torn him to pieces, ripped him apart?

But had they stopped and looked in between the loathing, the forsaken routes to perfection they believed the other sought, Logan and Marie would have seen, the perfect soul, the perfect body exists, not despite the claws, and not in spite of the skin, but because of it.

If only she'd stopped running away at the end of the night, if only he had the guts to say what he had long wanted to, they'd see they were both special, so fuckin' special.

Maybe in time, when they realised that some wishes are meant to be put away, are meant to be left unfulfilled, because what you are, the point at which you give up perfection and embrace acceptance is when the pain finally burns away.

He thought he was a creep, and she felt a like a bitch, if only they could have had the conversation that should come in between.

"Creep"- Radiohead

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

She's running out again
She's running out
She run, run, run run

Whatever makes you happyWhatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here.