by Mara

Summary: Jean finds that train rides are good places to think deep thoughts.

CONTINUITY: X2 didn’t happen, okay?
NOTES: This is based on a Challenge in a Can from
http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/: Jean/bittersweet/jewelry. Tremendous thanks
are due to Domenika, Naomi K., and Victoria P., all of whom provided assistance
on New York commuter trains to this Washington-area commuter. This story was
written in October 2002, but abandoned nearly completed. Minisinoo and Ozchick
tried to convince me to finish and post in February 2004. Thanks to both of them
for helpful suggestions I’m sure they’ve forgotten about!

* * * * *

The hiss of the rattling heaters almost drowned out the other sounds of the
train, but Jean could faintly hear the clickety-clack of wheels and it soothed
her. As she stared out the window, half her mind watched the passing scenery:
industrial parks, gray and dreary; aluminum-sided houses, almost painfully neat
in their identical rows; rows of trees, planted to beautify the train tracks.

Around her, people heading out of New York City into upstate napped, read,
chattered on cell phones, and looked out the window. It was the usual assortment
for a commuter train off-peak, commuters in suits and ties rummaging through
briefcases, and occasional tourists or one-timers using the train to get in and
out of the city without driving. The tourists clutched their paper tickets,
while commuters tucked their monthly passes away.

The train whistle blew several long blasts and Jean glanced down at the papers
in her lap. She’d brought the seniors’ biology exams along on her trip,
intending to grade them, but she was distracted by the world outside the window
and the press of her own thoughts. Her meeting with other doctors working with
mutants had gone well, and that’s where her mind drifted.

“Did your husband give that to you?”

Jean looked up, startled by the words from the stranger next to her. “Excuse
me?”

The Metro North train was surprisingly full for mid-afternoon, so Jean could
hardly have complained when an elderly woman sat in the aisle seat of the three-
seater. Now, the woman smiled at the confusion on Jean’s face. “Sorry to
interrupt your thinking, dear. The necklace is so lovely, though, I was just
wondering if your husband gave it to you.”

Jean looked down at the charm on a silver chain with which she’d been fiddling
and let it slide through her fingers. A bird caught in flight, wings
outstretched, it was a piece of jewelry she loved, but rarely wore. Why had she
put it on this morning? “Yes, my husband did give it to me. Several years ago,
before we married.”

“You were thinking about him.” It wasn’t a question.

Jean reached out with her mind, paranoia making her wonder if this was a
telepath, a trap of some sort, hidden in the guise of an old woman in a tidy
green polyester pantsuit.

Apparently unaware of Jean’s test, the woman continued. “I’m sure that’s just
how I look when I think about my husband Arthur, God rest his soul.”

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured automatically. The woman didn’t seem to be a
telepath, just perceptive.

“Thank you, dear. He died five years ago, so I’ve had some time to get over it.”
But the woman blinked a few times, pushing back tears before smiling at Jean
again. “But I do still miss him.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you were thinking good thoughts about your husband. So many unhappy
marriages these days, I find it upsetting.”

Jean picked the charm off her chest and looked at it again. “I wouldn’t say we
have an unhappy marriage, it’s just…difficult. We both have so many
responsibilities.”

The woman patted her hairsprayed coiffure and leaned her head to one side as she
regarded Jean. “Responsibilities.”

Jean felt her face flush. Why did she feel a need to justify herself to this
stranger? She frowned and glanced back at the papers in her lap.

The woman seemed once again to sense her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to
interrogate you. You just looked as if you were worrying about something, and it
might help to talk.”

Sighing, Jean relaxed. Not everything is a threat, she told herself, and not
everyone you meet is a supervillain. “You’re right, I suppose I was worrying a
bit.”

“If you’d like to talk about it, I’ve ‘been around the block a few times,’ as my
son says. Perhaps I could give you some advice.”

“It’s a complicated situation.”

“Aren’t situations involving other people always complicated?”

“I suppose so.” Jean laughed, and leaned back in her seat, freed somehow by the
anonymity of the train. Outside, the air was chill and damp, and numerous mutant
problems awaited her, but for now, she was just a woman on a train with marriage
problems and someone willing to listen. It was almost as if they were outside of
time and space.

“So what *is* the trouble, then?”

“Too many things to do, not enough hours in the day.” Jean held the bird charm
in her hand, sliding it back and forth, reminded of the day Scott gave it to
her. “I feel as though we’re moving apart.”

“It doesn’t take a great deal of time to keep your marriage alive.” Jean looked
up at the woman, who was looking at her diamond ring with a fond smile. “Arthur
and I ate breakfast together every morning for 42 years. Sometimes that
breakfast consisted solely of a piece of toast and some juice, but we only
missed breakfast if he was out of town.”

Jean chuckled at the thought of her and Scott facing each other over a breakfast
table, surrounded by arguing children and teachers discussing lesson plans.
“That sounds lovely, but it’s not entirely practical for us. By the time I get
to breakfast, Scott is already…,” shooting robots in the Danger Room,
“exercising. And then our teaching schedules and other duties keep us separate.”

“It doesn’t have to be as formal as breakfast. When was the last time you told
him you loved him?”

Jean had to think about it. Of course, Scott could feel her emotions to some
extent through their psilink, but she couldn’t say that, and she suspected that
wasn’t quite the same thing.

“You’d be surprised how helpful it is to look him in the eye and say you love
him. Men need constant reminders of these things.”

“I’ll try that.” Jean looked down at the bird again. “I know I like it when he
says it.”

She could see Scott’s hands holding the necklace and wearing a cockeyed grin.
“I’m not sure why,” the Scott in her memory said, “but the bird reminds me of
you, so I had to buy it. I love you, Jean.”

Two blasts on the train whistle reminded her where she was; the memory faded and
Jean let the bird drop back onto her chest.

“It’s important,” the woman said, leaning forward in her seat. “You never know
how long you’ll keep your husband, so be certain that if the Lord takes him,
you’re ready.”

Jean had a sudden vision of Magneto pinning Scott to the wall inside the Statue
of Liberty. “It could happen at any time.”

“Life is dangerous.”

“And considering that we’re school teachers, ours are considerably more
dangerous than one might expect.” Jean managed a smile.

A few seats ahead of them, a mother and child argued over a piece of candy, both
obviously exhausted from a day of sightseeing. Jean was tall enough to see the
look on the woman’s face as she tried to explain the necessity of dinner before
dessert.

“Do you have children?”

Jean looked back. She’d momentarily forgotten the old woman, who was regarding
her now with some amusement.

“No, not yet. Well, unless you count our students. The school is residential, so
we’re in loco parentis for some very…troubled students.” Jean sighed, reminded
that the matter of Rogue’s mutation still had yet to be solved, and she’d
promised to do some extra tutoring for Jubilee, who was having trouble in
chemistry. Not to mention the necessity to keep Angelo and Jono busy and out of
trouble. So much to do and so little energy.

“That’s difficult work, working with troubled youngsters. I was lucky enough to
be blessed with wonderful children. Although,” she smiled a mischievous smile,
“my youngest could be quite a handful. The mouth he had on him!”

“We have a few of those as well.” Jean chuckled, reminded of the time she caught
Logan and Bobby having an awkward conversation about why *Logan* could use
certain words, and Bobby couldn’t.

“It sounds as though the students are very important to you.”

“Oh, they are. No matter how difficult they can be, our jobs are so important.
It wasn’t what I planned to do, perhaps, but now I couldn’t leave. And Scott
feels the same, I know.”

“But is it more important than your marriage?”

“They’re not comparable.” Jean frowned.

“But they do compete.”

“I suppose so. And Scott wants me to avoid certain…” she paused, searching for
safe words, “activities. He worries so much, that sometimes he tries to coddle
me.”

“Because he loves you.”

“Yes, but…when I left this morning we fought over it. He says I’m being too
stubborn, doing things I don’t have to just to prove something.”

“Is he right?”

“Sometimes.” Jean managed a wan smile. “But not all the time. I do what’s
necessary to get the job done. He’s just taken so much on himself, he feels
responsible for the whole world and it maddens me to see him like that. So we
fight.”

“But you’re wearing the necklace he gave you,” the woman said, pointing.

Jean realized her hand had crept up to hold it again. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I
suppose I was thinking about how happy we were when he gave it to me.”

“Your school is residential, you said?”

Jean nodded.

“Then perhaps you haven’t considered that you owe it to your students to work on
your marriage.” The woman smiled.

“I’m not following you.”

“As teachers, you’re role models to your students, and it’s your responsibility
to give them the best model for their future life that you can. Show them that
work is more important than a spouse and that is the lesson they will take with
them.”

Jean stared down at her hands. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Mamaroneck,” the conductor called over the loudspeaker.

The woman glanced out the window. “This is my stop.”

There was a squeal and a shiver as the train slowed down and made its way along
the outdoor platform.

The woman stood up in her seat, but didn’t enter the aisle. She turned back long
enough to say, “Good luck, Dr. Grey.”

Jean froze. “How…”

“My grandson and I saw you on television last year when you testified before
that congressional committee. My grandson loves C-SPAN.”

Jean was speechless.

The woman looked past Jean, her expression worlds away. “I remember when blacks
went to separate schools. I was born not long before Hitler killed the Jews. You
do very important work, Dr. Grey. But remember what I said: Your marriage is as
important as that job.”

“I’ll remember.”

The train shuddered to a stop and the woman made her way out of the train onto
the platform, late afternoon sunlight slanting across the tracks. Still dazed,
Jean watched the woman–whose name she’d never learned–walk down the platform.
With a slight jerk, the train pulled away, taking her back home, back to her
husband.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: The Rosh Hashana sermon of Rabbi Jacob Bloom of Congregation Beth Tikva.

by Mara

Summary: Often both sides of an argument seem clear-cut to the participants.

CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: X3 spoilers ahoy! Be aware, however, that in my
version of X3, the Phoenix storyline *didn’t* happen.

NOTES: This story is MsCongeniality’s fault, for giving me the idea
while we were discussing the multitude of scenes missing from X3.
Thanks to Minisinoo and Xandri for betareading.

* * * * *

It was fortunate, Warren thought, that he was no stranger to boarding
school living. Otherwise, he’d be at a total loss as to how to take
care of himself in the chaos of the Xavier School for Gifted
Youngsters.

Visions of frying pans and fires danced in his head as he meandered
around, watching and listening to the students who gathered in hallways
and bedrooms and common spaces to discuss the weird goings-on. One
teacher had apparently died recently, another was so depressed that he
was never around, and the headmaster seemed to *know* this Magneto who
was threatening everyone.

Warren rather liked the hullabaloo because it kept his mind off his
*own* woes, and right now, that could only be a good thing. And the
anonymity of just being ‘Warren,’ not the scion of the Worthington
fortune, was refreshing.

He’d managed to scrape up something to eat, and found other necessities
of life, and now was looking in wonder at the variety of mutations
around him.

Due to his ‘position’ once his wings had appeared, he’d been pretty
isolated. He’d had a few agemates with little mutations they’d
successfully hidden from their parents: Dylan, who could project a
small beam of light no bigger than a flashlight, and Sonia, who could
lift things like feathers or paper with her mind.

But here a young boy casually sped down the hallway an inch off the
ground while a girl in a bright yellow jacket chased after him,
projecting sparklers from her fingers. One of the teachers apparently
controlled the weather and there was the guy who was blue and furry. It
was hard to take in.

Glancing at his watch, he turned down another hallway, looking for
Rogue’s room. He’d managed pretty well on his own, but he had a few
questions and Ms. Munroe had promised that Rogue would help him.

Approaching the door, he noted how most of the woodwork glowed with age
to match the exterior of the mansion. But there were so many patches
and repairs, something most people who hadn’t grown up in a similar
environment would notice. Why were–

Oh.

Warren felt stupid. A school for mutants probably *did* need more
repairs than the average pile of stones.

He knocked on Rogue’s door, noting a section of floor that had been
replaced. There was no answer and he was about to turn away, when he
was certain he heard a sound. With a slight frown, he knocked again.
“Rogue, are you there?”

Another silence and then, “Uh, Warren?”

“Yeah. Are you busy?” He used his most plaintive tone, the one that
always made his governesses give him another cookie.

It apparently worked just as well on mutant teenage girls, as a moment
later the door opened a bit. Rogue looked like she wanted to slip out
into the hallway, but Warren stood his ground, smiling at her.

The look she gave him said she wasn’t fooled, but she stepped back,
opening the door to let him step in and shutting it quickly behind him.

His eyebrows shot up when he realized her room was almost as bare as
his, because most things were packed into a box in the corner or the
suitcase on the bed. “Going somewhere?”

She turned away and continued stuffing a pile of scarves into the
suitcase. “Looks like it.”

Warren swallowed, fighting unexpected panic at being abandoned by
practically the only person he’d yet spoken to at length. But he was a
Worthington, no matter what that name meant right now, and he wouldn’t
show his fear here. Bad enough he’d– “Is this the best time to take
off?”

Her chin went up at his tone and she faced him. “I’ve got someplace I
need to be.”

Warren’s heart felt like it stopped. She couldn’t mean what he thought
she meant. “I hope you’re not thinking of getting the cure.”

“And what if I am?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

What he’d gone through to get here and she– “You’re going to run out
and let them neuter you? How could you?” He was nearly shouting.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she lashed back. “What do you care?
Pretty boy, you don’t *kill* people just by touching them. It’s easy
for you.” She ripped off a glove and stepped toward him, hand bare.

Warren stood his ground. “You think it’s easy for me?” He shrugged off
the heavy shirt that was his constant companion, let his wings touch
the walls to either side. For an instant he felt claustrophobic, unable
to stretch any further. “How am I supposed to pass like this? But I
can’t give them up, they’re a part of me.”

“Well, if killing anyone I touch is part of me, I’m ready to rip it
out.” Rogue glared, shaking her head. “Nobody’s being forced to do
this.”

“Yes, they are! My father was going to force me!”

“But–”

“My name is Warren *Worthington*. As in Worthington Industries. You may
have heard of my father’s company.” Warren pulled his wings in,
wrapping them around his body for comfort.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

Warren’s knees were weak and he sat down on the bed. “He…when he told
me about it, he said he did it all for me. They strapped me to this
thing, and the doctor had the needle…I changed my mind, but they
weren’t going to let me go.”

“Warren, I–”

“I jumped through the window and flew away,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting down at the other end of the bed. He
noticed how she simultaneously tried to get close to comfort him, while
staying as far away as possible.

“It’s not your fault my father’s a jerk,” he said, looking down at the
tips of his wings.

“No, I mean I’m sorry for saying it was easy for you. I ought to know
better. It ain’t easy for any of us.” She slipped her glove back on and
twisted her hands in her lap.

Warren closed his eyes, thinking of the years when his father tried to
hide him, then when he tried to find clothes to hide the wings.

“Warren?”

He started. He’d almost forgotten where he was. “Huh?”

“Your dad, he oughtn’t have done that. But…I’m not sorry about the
cure.”

Warren didn’t trust himself to speak.

“My first boyfriend? He, we kissed, and I nearly killed him. I screamed
and screamed and my mama and daddy were afraid of me all the time and
the doctors too. I still feel him in my head sometimes.” Rogue’s hands
were clenched so hard, her knuckles were probably white under the
gloves. “Everybody I’ve touched since this happened to me–they’re all
in there at least a little.”

“Oh.” Warren shivered. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it much. And you’re new.” She looked up at him
through a fall of dark hair and a white streak. “I need this, Warren. I
could kill someone and not even mean it. Someday I will if I don’t do
this.”

“Can’t they teach you how to control it? Turn it on and off?”

She shook her head. “They’ve tried. The Professor, he still thinks we
can figure it out. Maybe if…”

Warren waited, but she didn’t seem to remember he was there. “If what?”

Rogue looked at him, expression even more bleak. “If Dr. Grey weren’t
dead. She died when, well, she died saving us from being drowned.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rogue looked down at her hands again. “So am I.”

She looked up again, studying his wings. He twitched once, but the way
she looked wasn’t anything like the way his father looked at them or
the doctors. She looked a little intrigued, actually. “Can I help you?”
he asked after a moment.

Rogue blushed. “I was just wondering what it feels like.”

“To have wings?”

“To fly.”

Warren closed his eyes and remembered wind sliding off his back,
freedom, the rush, like the world’s best roller coaster he never had to
get off. “It’s amazing.”

“And that’s why you don’t want the cure.” It wasn’t a question.

“I sort of did, at first. I guess.” Warren couldn’t quite remember when
the subject of an *actual* cure had first come up, since his father had
been obsessed with the subject since his wings had appeared. “It meant
so much to him and I…” He shrugged.

Rogue nodded as if she understood and Warren realized she probably did.
Absently, he ran his fingers along the flight feathers on both wings,
making sure they were undamaged.

“Your feathers are pretty,” she said, voice soft.

“Thank you.” Warren stroked the primaries. “When I was on that table–
god, this is so stupid.”

She smiled. “I promise I won’t think you’re stupid.”

Staring at the bland institutional carpeting, Warren focused on a
frayed spot just inside the doorway. “They started to strap me down and
it suddenly occurred to me that this meant I would lose my wings. How
dumb is that? My dad’s been talking about a cure for years and I didn’t
really think about it.” Closing his eyes, he remembered the pain and
fear in his father’s eyes when he broke free of the restraints.

“And then, when you thought about it?”

“The whole night before, I tried to imagine being without them, and it
was like,” he flexed his wings, searching for the right words, “like
allowing someone to cut off your perfectly good hands or feet. I
freaked.” His heart raced at the memory.

“Hey, Warren,” Rogue said, making an abortive movement to touch him,
“it’s okay, you’re safe here.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitated and he wondered what she was remembering. “Yes,” she said
finally and there was certainty in her eyes.

Warren nodded, choosing to believe her, although he didn’t know why.

“Do you hate your dad?” Rogue asked.

“I–” He stopped to think about it. “I’m not sure. I’m angry. I did
hate him, at the time. But now…I don’t know.”

She wrapped her arms across her stomach. “I don’t think you should.
Trying to force you was wrong, but he was trying to help.”

Wanting to argue, Warren pressed his lips together and let her finish.

“My parents, they just wanted me back the way I was,” she said. “They’d
have done anything to fix what was wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“I know.” She hugged herself harder. “But your dad didn’t see that.”

Warren didn’t want to agree. But it was true. His father just didn’t
understand and he’d never tried to make him understand. He’d always
kind of figured that eventually his father would stop being so upset by
the wings.

“Warren?”

“I’m okay. I…you’re right. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right
thing.” His voice sounded oddly rusty to his own ears.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Rogue looked worried about him. “I need to
leave soon before Ms. Munroe or Bobby–he’s my boyfriend–realizes
where I’m going.”

Warren nodded. “I’ll be fine. So, I can’t change your mind?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want anyone
else’s memories in my head.”

“Then,” he took a deep breath and sat up straight, “I’ll wish you good
luck and I hope that the cure makes your life better.”

Her smile was lovely. “Thank you. I hope you…enjoy your wings. And
I’ll see you when I get back, ‘kay?”

“Maybe I’ll take you flying.” Warren managed a fairly creditable smile
for her and standing, he began the process of rebinding his wings.

“Warren,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to do that, y’hear?” She pointed at the harness. “Not
at the mansion.”

“Oh!” He froze, uncertain what to do. “I’ve never…” He held his shirt
in one hand.

“When I get back, I’ll help you alter your shirts to accommodate the
wings,” she said. “I’m a pretty good seamstress.”

Warren closed his eyes against an excess of emotion. “I’d like that,”
he said. “For now, maybe I’ll go flying.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: When Scott loses a bet to Jean, she comes up with a…unique way for
him to pay up.

The sun was almost directly above the mansion and there wasn’t a cloud in the
sky. Under most circumstances, this would please Scott, but today he’d been
hoping for a violent hurricane. A monsoon. Maybe a tornado?

A light breeze drifted through the shrubbery, carrying the scent of azaleas.
Scott groaned and tried to step backward.

Jean patted Scott on the cheek as she herded him out the front door. “Look at it
this way: If you’re lucky, maybe Magneto will attack on the way there.”

“I *wish*,” he muttered, scowling at her as she leaned her head back and
laughed.

Ororo came down the stairs at a jog. “I could accompany you, if you need help.”

“Oh no.” Jean shook her head firmly, waving her back. “No way. He lost the bet
fair and square and he’s not wriggling out of this.” Ororo shrugged and turned
down the hall toward the kitchen, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

Birds chirped in the trees, as if they were also laughing at him and Scott
decided the entire universe hated him. “If I’d known,” he said, almost pleading,
“that Jubilee and Angelo were *capable* of behaving themselves in class for an
entire week, I would never have agreed to the bet in the first place.”

“You’re a pessimist,” Jean said, crossing her arms.

“A realist.” Scott corrected her as he checked his pockets.

Heaving a sigh, Jean watched him. “The keys are already in the ignition. Your
driver’s license is in your wallet in your right pocket. The car is waiting and
you have to go now.”

Scott wavered. He could beg. Maybe if he offered back rubs for a month? To spend
less time working on the jet? Anything else?

Her smile beatific, Jean pointed toward the Ford Explorer sitting in the drive.
“Go.”

Scott manfully suppressed a whimper. “Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutamus.”
Turning, he trudged down the walk toward his doom.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Scott. You’re not actually going to *die*.” She closed
the front door with a resounding thud, which echoed in the courtyard.

Really, Scott thought, there was only one thing that would make this moment even
worse. He thanked whatever deity might be listening that Logan was still off on
his quest, then looked around hastily, lest the universe teleport him back in
time to witness this humiliation.

“C’mon, Mr. Summers,” Jubilee called, leaning out the window of the SUV, “it’s
almost 12 o’clock! The mall closes in nine hours and we’ve got a lot of shopping
to do.”

Scott rubbed his temples and got into the driver’s seat, glancing around to make
sure nobody was missing. No, there were Jubilee, Rogue, Kitty, Betsy, Monet, and
Paige, all lined up in their seats looking like cats with their eyes on a
particularly tasty fish.

Jean opened the door and leaned back out. “Oh, and try and look interested,
would you, Scott?”

Scott decided he hated his life.

* * * * *

Very few people knew that besides his unusual visual skills, Scott also had the
more common ability of passive absolute pitch: He could identify and name
individual notes or groups of notes. It was useless, he’d found, since he
couldn’t *produce* those notes on command, just recognize them–an extension of
his excellent memory.

All of which made for a great party trick and an absolute hatred of mall music,
which always seemed to be transposed to a different key or played at a
nonstandard pitch.

It gave him a headache every single time.

Scott paused at the door, glaring through the glass with loathing at the milling
hordes. Jubilee took his left hand and Paige his right.

“It’s okay, Mr. Summers,” Paige said in what was meant to be a kind tone, but
came out sounding like a parent trying to convince a child that shots weren’t
really that bad. “It’s just one day at the mall,” she said, “how bad can it be?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked as they led him through the doors.

“Okay,” Jubilee said, taking point. “We agreed we’d hit Hot Topic first, right?”

Monet sighed. “If you insist. However, I find the store quite wearying.”

Scott realized he was in the odd position of agreeing with Monet about
something. Proving that *anything* was possible at least once.

“I promise we’ll take you and Betsy someplace appropriately snooty before the
day is over,” Kitty said with a grin.

Betsy and Monet both sighed.

“As long as I get to go to Old Navy for pants,” Rogue said.

“Yes yes,” Jubilee said. “Let’s go. We’ve got important shopping to do, ladies.”

Scott followed in their wake as the strangely assorted gaggle of girls swept
semi-majestically down the corridor. He winced as the public address system
blared out a hideous instrumental version of “Stairway to Heaven.”

* * * * *

The procession came to a stop in front of something that looked like a
nightclub. “This is Hot Topic?” Scott said, his voice faint. “Are you sure–”

But the girls were already in the store and Scott dashed in, odd
lights winking off…was that a collar? A chain?

If he lived through this day, Scott decided, he was going to *kill* Jean for not
warning him that there was something that looked like an *S&M dungeon* in the
local mall.

There were *corsets* over there and satin things…and…

His students were happily congregated on the other side of the store looking at
jewelry and t-shirts. Monet and Betsy were laughing at Jubilee as she waved her
hands at a rack of t-shirts, and he decided to let them sort that out
themselves.

Paige’s mouth was pinched in mild disapproval and Scott went to stand with her.
“Not your favorite store?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what my momma would think of it.”

“Paige, c’mere,” Rogue called. “I need you to look at these earrings.”

Scott hid a grin as Paige forgot her misgivings and dashed over to inspect the
apparently vitally important accessory. Then he resolutely turned his back on
the wall of terrifying unmentionables and concentrated on keeping Kitty away
from clothing that bared too much of her skin.

* * * * *

Fortunately for Scott’s nerves, Hot Topic was the most terrifying store they
visited. Victoria’s Secret ran a close second, but fortunately, when they got
*there*, the girls strictly ordered him to stand outside the entrance with the
fathers, boyfriends, and husbands.

Scott was irresistibly reminded of a doctor’s office, with a corner full of men
avoiding each other’s eyes and trying not to blush. Leaning against a fake
pillar, he was briefly glad that he couldn’t see colors, as the overwhelming
amount of pink would otherwise be sickening.

Although the pink couldn’t possibly be as bad as the fact that the music coming
from overhead had moved on to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” Scott wondered if it
would really be a problem if he punctured his eardrums to survive the day.

It seemed to be days before his giggling students emerged from the store, but
his watch claimed it was only 20 minutes. He frowned at them, trying to decide
if he was supposed to ask anything. Certainly he didn’t want to *see* what
they’d bought. He squirmed at the thought. No, his responsibilities as the man
in loco parentis definitely didn’t extend to supervising the purchases of
unmentionables.

Jubilee grinned at him and the blush he’d been fighting promptly emerged. He
glared at her and she grabbed Kitty’s arm. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s go get
coffee!”

Scott sensibly dove out of the way as six girls made a run for Starbucks.
Fighting Magneto was one thing, but getting between teenage girls and a chai
latte was suicidal.

* * * * *

Betsy and Monet finally gained control of the outing and the group moved on into
the more expensive niches of the mall. Scott raised an eyebrow as he caught a
glimpse of the price tags in Lord & Taylor, and most of the girls were obviously
restricting themselves to window-shopping here.

Betsy, however, made a beeline for a complicated piece of black fabric that
seemed to have straps or…something. Monet tilted her head this way and that as
Betsy held it up in front of her, then started to mutter arcane incantations
concerning accessories and silk and…Scott walked over to where Paige was
pointing to a flowery dress that looked like nasty wallpaper.

“I’m telling you, my gramma had a housecoat that looked just like that,” she
said, covering her mouth to stifle the giggles.

Kitty nodded. “Mine too. Maybe it’s back in fashion.”

“Kitty,” Jubilee said, peering at the dress, “that pattern was *never* in
fashion.”

Scott jumped when someone sniffed. Reminding himself it might be a bit of a
giveaway to hit someone with his beams, he lowered his hand from his glasses and
looked at the woman behind him.

From the bun resting atop her head, to the glasses attached to a chain around
her neck, to the severe dark-colored suit, she was the very image of a
librarian, if hell had a chief librarian. Her tag insisted that she was the
floor manager in the store.

Jubes and the woman eyed each other warily and Scott wondered if he was going to
have to break up a fight.

“Is there a problem?” the manager said, her lips missing a sneer by a hair.

Scott opened his mouth but Rogue beat him to it. “No, ma’am, no problem. We’re
just looking at the clothing.”

“Perhaps,” the manager said, “if you don’t enjoy the clothing we sell, you might
move on to somewhere more suitable to your tastes.” She flicked a glance over
Paige’s denim and t-shirt, Jubilee’s yellow jacket, and Rogue’s enveloping
scarf. “Might I suggest the Wal-Mart down the street?”

Scott’s jaw dropped and there was a frozen moment where he didn’t know what
everyone was going to do.

“Pardon me,” Monet’s smooth and cultured voice said as she strode over. “Do you
work here?”

The manager smiled approvingly at Monet, whose long legs were encased in skin-
tight pants and her upper body draped in a maroon sweater. “Yes, I do. Can I
help you?”

Betsy came up beside Monet and smiled brightly. “Yes, you can.”

“You see,” Monet went on, “we were just about to spend hundreds of dollars in
your store, buying the latest fashions.”

“But then you insulted our friends,” Betsy said, still smiling. “So I think
we’ll go spend our money at Nordstrom instead.”

Monet gestured imperiously at Scott and the others. “Come along, everyone. We’ll
go to Nordstrom and then you must test the new Vera Wang fragrance at Sephora.”

She and Betsy swept toward the entrance in unison, looking very grownup and
graceful.

“Vera Wang?” Scott said, trailing after them. “I thought she did clothing?”

“Oh no,” Kitty said. “Don’t get M started please, or we’ll *never* shut her up.”

Behind him, Scott glimpsed the saleslady still standing where they’d left her,
jaw drooping and glasses sliding slowly down her nose.

Take *that*, he thought.

* * * * *

Old Navy was a relief, Scott decided, two hours later. It looked respectable. It
didn’t overwhelm his eyes with weird lights and reflections. It didn’t stink of
perfume and makeup and lotions. And the salespeople left you alone, which was
nice.

Most of the clothing was relatively harmless and the colors weren’t eye-
searingly awful. Scott took a deep breath and thought perhaps, just perhaps, he
might make it through the day.

Jubilee dithered over a rack full of cropped shirts, and Scott went over to try
and help. He figured it was simple self-preservation: If he helped her pick one,
it might not give him a heart attack when she wore it, and perhaps they could
leave the mall sometime this decade.

He glanced around and saw Paige and Kitty in the back of the store by a sale
rack of the odd skinny pants they’d seen everywhere, Monet hovering
(figuratively, not literally) by the door, and Rogue had her head bent over a
nearby pile of scarves, with Betsy looking on.

“I just don’t know if this color works on me,” Jubilee said. “What do you–oh,
never mind.” She popped her gum and waved at Rogue.

Behind his glasses, Scott rolled his eyes. He could never decide if she said
things like that on purpose, to needle him, or if she really kept forgetting
about the side effects of wearing red glasses. It was always hard to tell with
Jubilee.

There were several male voices a few racks away, and part of his brain paused to
listen to what they were saying.

“Dude, the one with the blonde hair is totally hottest,” one said. “I bet she’s
never done it. I could be her first.”

“No way,” another voice said, “the black chick is hotter. I’d totally do her.”

“What do you think the scarf is hiding?” a third voice said.

Jubilee was still talking to Rogue about the shirts, so she didn’t even notice
Scott sliding away and circling around the young men who were talking. All three
had the backwards baseball cap and baggy jeans look of boys trying to look like
gangsters, which wouldn’t have endeared them to Scott under *any* circumstances,
but especially not when they were leering at his students.

Not being battle-trained, they didn’t notice Scott until he stood directly
behind them. “You know,” he said, watching them jump with surprise, “any one of
those young ladies you’re eyeing could kick your ass with one hand tied behind
her back. And I wouldn’t need either hand.”

His voice grew lower as he spoke, and even the apparent leader–a particularly
repellant specimen in need of a bath–stepped back, nearly tripping over a
wheeled cart.

“In fact,” Scott continued, crossing his arms and flexing his biceps, “I would
recommend that you go somewhere else to ogle, because if you so much as stand
next to one of these ladies, I will return you to your parents minus at least
one portion of your body.”

Eyes wide, the boys stumbled away, tripping over each other in their haste to
get away from the crazy man, nearly knocking over piles of sweaters and vests.

A slow smile grew on Scott’s face. Now *that* was fun.

Betsy pushed through a rack of denim jackets and stomped up to him, scowling.
“You ruined it.”

“What?”

“I was just about to–”

“Wait!” Scott put up a hand to stop her. “Whatever you were about to say, I’m
sure it’s against school rules, so don’t tell me.”

She put her hands on her hips and waited.

“Unless…” He weakened. “Did it involve them seeing spiders?”

Betsy grinned. “Tarantulas. Big hairy ones.”

“I didn’t hear that,” he said with a firm nod. “Let’s go. I’m tired of this
store.”

Betsy grinned and efficiently rounded up her classmates to make their purchases.

Scott found himself smiling. His kids really *could* take care of themselves,
couldn’t they? And they took care of each other, which was even better.

* * * * *

Scott lost count of the stores they visited throughout the afternoon and early
evening, although he vaguely remembered something about eagles and an endless
array of stores selling music and…something about a debate over the coolness
of opaque stockings worn with shorts. That couldn’t be right, could it?

Hands laden with bags, Scott was about to elbow his way through the doors when
he stopped and tilted his head. The public address system was playing “I Will
Survive.”

With a chuckle, Scott followed his students into the parking lot.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rogue asked as they stepped off the curb, and
she smiled at him from under her white streak of hair.

Scott slowed his walk to consider the question. Really, it hadn’t been all that
bad. They were good kids, even if he would never understand their music, their
dress sense, or many of their preoccupations. And it was sort of nice to get to
know them better. “No, it wasn’t so bad,” he agreed. “But you should still take
Jean or Ororo next time.”

Rogue laughed. “So…what are you going to do to get Dr. Grey back for this?”

Hands full, Scott couldn’t put a hand over his heart, but he projected sincerity
with all his might. “I lost the bet fairly, Rogue. I wouldn’t try and get
revenge.”

“Mm-hmm.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “So, what are you going to do?”

Shrugging, he looked skyward for a moment. “I don’t know. Logan’s still got my
motorcycle. Maybe for my birthday, I’ll take her motorcycle shopping with Bobby
and Peter and Angelo.”

“Ooooh.” Jubilee turned around and stared at him. “That’s cold.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scott said with a straight face.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the
most disturbing of all journeys.”

“An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the most
disturbing of all journeys.”
– Iain Sinclair, “Riverside Opportunities”

Marie decided that snuggling on the couch was the best thing *ever*. Not that
she’d say that to anyone, because it’d probably get turned into a dirty joke or
something. But in the privacy of her own mind, she relished the ability to rub
her cheek against Bobby’s neck and tuck his arm more firmly around her.

Well, there was also the little matter of the voices in her head fading quickly
until all she retained was an odd fondness for Canadian beer. And that was no
small matter most of the time, but just now, it was subsumed by the pleasures of
touch.

Bobby absently stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb as he debated some
arcane sports question with Angelo. Marie was content to rest there and let them
argue while the words washed over her.

A couple of the younger kids were playing a board game and Kitty and Jubes were
watching TV, so apparently they’d finally found something they could agree on.
Marie heard a laugh track and spared a moment to be glad the sound was on low,
because she loathed sitcoms.

Eyes drifting shut, she let everything wash over her, glad to be home, glad to
have everyone friendly again. The few days she’d been gone getting the cure had
been hell, and the reaction when she got back…well, that was better forgotten.

Her peaceful half-sleep was disturbed by some hubbub on the other side of the
room. If she had to get up to referee the younger kids’ game, she thought with a
mental growl, somebody was going to hear about it.

“Rogue! Rogue!” That was Kitty, and she sounded *panicked*.

Marie sat up abruptly, ready to launch herself at whatever supervillain was
threatening her friends. Bobby turned, face scrunched adorably in confusion.
“What the–” he began.

Kitty and Jubes were staring at the TV, jaws hanging down and so still they
looked like they were watching the apocalypse. “Get over here!” Kitty yelled,
not turning her head.

Shaking off the last of her sleepiness, Marie grabbed Bobby’s hand and dragged
him over to see what had them so het up. Around them, everyone else in earshot
followed, several students even leaning in through the doorway.

The phrase ‘Special Report’ scrolled across the screen and a grim blond
newscaster read his teleprompter in a voice of doom.

“–our top story: Reports are trickling in from all over the country of mutant
powers returning to those who received the Worthington Industries cure. In
Denver…”

Marie didn’t hear anything else over the roaring in her ears. The newscasters’
mouth continued to move and Bobby’s hand closed over hers, but her vision
narrowed in on the television like a tunnel, closing in.

Mouth opening a closing a few times, Marie couldn’t find any words. She snatched
her hand out of Bobby’s and backed toward the door, still staring at the
television.

She ran into someone coming in the door and leapt away as if she’d touched a hot
stove.

“Rogue,” Ms. Munroe said softly, brow furrowed, “perhaps you should come speak
to the Professor.”

* * * * *

Bobby tried to take her hand and follow, but Marie shook him off, holding her
chin up through force of will. “I’m fine,” she said, marching after Ms. Munroe.
“I’ll talk to you later.”

Professor Xavier switched off the small radio on a bookshelf as she came in and
rolled his wheelchair around the desk toward her. She took an involuntary step
back.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t wish it,” he said, the mild reproof making her
face flush.

“I know, it’s just…”

He compressed his lips. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, this is a shock to all of us.
Please sit down.”

Marie perched on the edge of a chair, hands twisting in her lap. “Professor, I
need to go. I need to get to my room.” Ms. Munroe reached out to pat her hand
and Marie drew back. “Don’t…don’t touch me.”

Ms. Munroe’s face fell. “Honey, it’s all right–”

“It’s not!” Marie drew back in her chair. “Everything I went through was for
nothing, because it’s all coming back. All the fighting with my friends, the
arguments, were a waste, because I’m going to be a mutant again whether I like
it or not.” Tears dripped down her nose and she dashed them away.

“We don’t know that for certain,” Professor Xavier said, leaning forward.
“Perhaps certain mutations are rejecting the cure, or some batches may have been
faulty.” She knew he was trying to help, but she couldn’t help wondering if he
was pleased by this turn of events.

“Or…” Marie took a deep breath, “the cure is going to fail and we could give
me another dose. Leech is here.”

Professor Xavier gave her a look of such utter disappointment that she had to
turn away. “Yes, James is here. But for you to suggest that we use him in the
same way that Worthington Industries did…He is not a machine or a cow to be
milked.”

“But what if he volunteers?” She worked up the courage to look the Professor in
the eyes.

He exchanged a look with Ms. Munroe that Marie couldn’t read. “We need to think
about this–” Ms. Munroe said.

Professor Xavier held up a hand to stop her. “Dr. McCoy is on his way,” he said.
“I received a call from him just a few moments ago, and he’s arranged to conduct
research here to determine what is happening. We will not make any rash
decisions until he has studied the situation.”

Marie hugged her stomach and tried to remember how to pray.

* * * * *

Bobby found her in her room an hour later, where she was trying very hard not to
cry. “Rogue,” he called, knocking on the door, “are you there?”

“Where do you think I’d be?” she asked, clutching her pillow tighter to her
chest. “Maybe I went dancing?”

“Rogue?” Bobby sounded confused, and she could hear Jubes and someone else
whispering behind him.

Pushing her hands against her eyes, she took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Bobby.
I kind of want to be alone.”

“You said you’d talk to me later. It’s later.” She could imagine him, scowling
at the door in that way that made him look *just* like Mr. Summers, although he
didn’t realize it. More whispers, probably him telling the others to go away.
“C’mon, please?”

She’d have to face him eventually. Moving slowly, she bent to remove a cardboard
box tucked under the dresser. Peeking out of the half-closed lid, there was the
corner of a black scarf. The tears tried to come out again, and she grabbed the
box and ripped it open like pulling off a bandage, grabbing the first scarf and
gloves she found.

“Come in,” she said, her voice shakier than she’d have liked as she put the
gloves and scarf on.

When she turned, Bobby was watching her, looking like a kicked puppy, and she
wanted to throw herself against him and hug him until he stopped looking like
that. Instead she crossed her arms and swallowed her tears.

“It’s go–”

“If you say ‘It’s going to be okay,’ then I won’t be responsible for my
actions,” she said.

He shut his mouth.

Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths before reopening them. “I’m
sorry, Bobby, I’m a little upset.”

“I…” He looked like he’d been about to say ‘I understand,’ before realizing
that was even more dangerous. “I know,” he said finally.

“I don’t think you do, Bobby.” She sank down on the bed, her anger deflating as
reality set in. “I got a look at what it’s like to be normal and I liked it.”

“Rogue,” he stepped forward and grabbed her chin before she could move away, “I
don’t care if you’re normal or not.”

“I know, Bobby. But I do.” She took his hand off her chin and held it in her
gloved hand. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be able to bump into someone in
the hallway and not worry. To touch you without *killing* you.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

“And maybe it’s not all about you.” She let go of his hand. “I don’t need any
more voices in my head, thank you very much. I don’t need to acquire new powers
and possibly kill someone in the process. I know my powers can be useful, but
they’re too much for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Eyes soulful, he looked down at her. “What can I do to help?”

She started to say ‘Nothing,’ but changed her mind. “Well, it’d help if you’d
come with me. There’s something I’ve gotta do.”

“This isn’t going to get me in trouble with the Professor, is it?”

“Probably not,” she said. “C’mon.”

*****

Bobby followed Marie down the hall, down one set of steps, across the hall past
the dining room, up two flights, and around several corners. She knew he figured
out where they were going early on, but at least he chose to say nothing, just
hovering by her side as they walked, obviously resisting the urge to hold her
hand or put his arm around her shoulders.

As she neared her destination, her steps slowed. There, ahead of her, was a
nondescript wood-paneled door, next to a painting of two ships on the ocean that
she suspected was worth more than her parents’ house.

“Rogue…”

“Here we are,” she said to stop him from talking. She was fairly sure she
wouldn’t be turned down, but…Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

Marie opened the door slowly, mock-scowling at Leech–at Jimmy–as he looked up
from his computer. “Playing that game again?”

“Doing my homework this time, I swear,” he with that sweet smile that briefly
made her forget her worries.

“But you’re still hiding from everyone.” She pointedly looked around the room.
“Classes will start again soon and you’re going to have to face the students
soon.”

“I know.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I’ll deal with it then.”

Marie sighed and motioned to Bobby to come in from where he hovered just outside
the door. “Well, I’ve brought someone with me and I promise he won’t bite.
Jimmy, this is Bobby.”

Bobby stood just inside the door, blinking rather stupidly at her and the larger
than normal student bedroom. “Uh, hi, Jimmy,” he said.

“Hi, Bobby. You can come in. You won’t lose your powers if you don’t get too
close.” Jimmy turned and drew his legs up under him in the chair.

“Come in and sit down, Bobby. It’s okay.”

“I know!” He seemed annoyed at their reassurance. “I just didn’t know that you
knew each other.”

Marie looked at Jimmy, who shrugged. “We had a lot to talk about,” he said.

Marie sank down in the worn leather chair across from Jimmy. “Have you heard?”
she asked.

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Ms. Munroe told me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re here to ask if they can make the cure again for you.”

His smile hadn’t dimmed a whit and she relaxed. At least he wasn’t angry with
her for asking. She couldn’t take it if this kid who’d become like a little
brother hated her.

“Yeah.” Marie took a deep breath. “I don’t *want* my powers and I can’t spend
the rest of my life sitting in the chair next to you so I don’t hurt someone.”

Bobby stuck his hands in his pockets and gave her a disappointed look, which she
ignored. He’d said his piece and she’d said hers.

Jimmy leaned forward and looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

It felt like a punch to the stomach, and she leaned back. “Not you too! I
thought you, of all people, got it. I thought you understood, I mean, with how
other people have treated *you*.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, looking at her intently. “Because I won’t let
them take my blood if I don’t think you’re sure.”

“Rogue, maybe we should–”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want
to kill someone by accident.”

“So you’re afraid.”

“No!” She breathed in a laugh. “Well, yes, but that’s not all of it. I’m like a
land mine sitting in a field, dangerous but not useful.”

“Rogue, that’s not true. If you’d been there at Alcatraz–”

“Bobby.” Beginning to regret bringing him, Marie turned. “Please…don’t. I
want…I just want to never kill someone.”

Bobby bowed his head and she turned back to Jimmy, who nodded once. “Okay.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you.”

The door opened and Bobby jumped like he’d been hit by a cattle prod. The
Professor rolled in, followed by Dr. McCoy, neither of them looking terribly
surprised to see her.

“Rogue, Bobby,” Professor Xavier said, “if we might have some time to speak to
Jimmy…”

“Oh, right.” Marie jumped up. “You’ll let me know…”

“As soon as we know something,” Dr. McCoy said, “I can assure you that you will
be the first to be informed.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, evading Bobby’s hand as they ducked out of the room.

* * * * *

Someone had cleaned out Dr. Grey’s office, Marie noticed as she fidgeted in her
seat. All the little touches that had made it not quite so scary–the photo of
her and Dr. Summers in the woods, the drawing of the mansion Artie made her when
he first arrived–were gone. Now there were just reference books and a computer
and an empty desk chair. And her own thoughts, which weren’t much better.

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, picked up the textbook she’d been
carrying when she received the summons, put it down.

There were footsteps in the hall and the doorknob turned in what couldn’t
possibly be slow motion. Marie swallowed as Dr. McCoy came into the room.

She knew instantly what he was going to say–for a guy working as a diplomat, he
was remarkably bad at hiding his emotions. His entire body drooped, even the
fur.

“I’m sorry, Ms. D’Ancanto,” he said with a frown, “but if the cure fails, we
cannot give you another dose.”

Her fingers dug into the seat cushion until she could feel the staples holding
it down, and her breathing was sharp and shallow. “Why not?”

Dr. Grey’s decrepit desk chair creaked as Dr. McCoy sank into it, clutching a
fistful of printouts. He stared at them for a long moment before meeting her
eyes. “It would most likely kill you.”

“Most likely?”

He shook his head. “Don’t even consider it, young lady. I would give you a 3
percent chance of survival, perhaps even as much as 4 or 5 percent if you are in
incredibly good health, but no more.”

Closing her eyes, Marie concentrated on her breathing. When she opened her eyes
again, she asked, “Why?”

He understood. “Although I believe we could synthesize the cure here from the
young man upstairs, your body would react to it as if to a deadly disease. In
essence, if the medical reports I’ve received are correct, the bodies of those
whose mutations have returned have rejected the foreign elements of the cure,
destroyed them like an invader. Their bodies have been primed to fight the
cure.”

Marie thought about this for a moment, before something occurred to her. She put
a hand to her mouth. “Somebody’s already tried it, haven’t they?”

Dr. McCoy sighed heavily. “I’m afraid so. Several people around the country
managed to procure a second dose of the cure from the limited stocks still
available. All developed immediate and devastating reactions, so fast and
unpredictable that medical treatment was inefficacious.”

“They died.”

“Yes. All of them.” One of his fists clenched. “I believe that a few people
might survive, if their symptomatic treatment was prompt and aggressive. But
that’s only a theory at this point. I’m very sorry. And I am afraid that these
deaths are only the beginning.”

Marie nodded.

“But there is still no guarantee that your powers will return,” he said,
obviously trying to look hopeful.

“What do you think, Dr. McCoy?” She held her breath one more time.

He held her gaze, lips compressed. “I think that they will return. But we cannot
predict when, as the timeline appears complicated by numerous factors.”

“That’s what I figured.” She plucked at the scarf that hung across her shoulder.
“Guess I’d better get used to these again.”

“I am sorry. I wish…well, there’s no point in that. But know that I and others
continue to conduct research. I will keep you informed if we make any progress
in understanding what has happened.”

“Thank you.” She stood, swallowing hard.

“Rogue…”

Halfway to the door, she turned.

Sighing, Dr. McCoy shook his head. “Although I chose not to take the cure
myself, I understand your decision. And I would not have wished this for you or
the others under any circumstances.”

Marie gave him a sharp nod, unable to speak. She could feel Dr. McCoy watching
her as she left the room, and as the door shut behind her, she saw him put his
head in his hands.

* * * * *

Marie walked back to her room, feeling like she was walking through a fog. A few
people tried to speak to her, but she just shook her head and kept moving.

She stumbled through the door, nearly tripping over outstretched feet. “Wha–?”

Logan, arms crossed and scowling from his position in her desk chair, said,
“Sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

“What are you doing here?” She sat on the bed, hoping he’d go away soon so she
could cry in peace.

“I…” He fidgeted. “I heard the news from the Professor. And, uh…”

“Logan?”

“I understand what you’re feeling,” he said in a rush. “Kind of.”

That wasn’t anything like what she’d been expecting and she blinked a few times.

Having gotten that out, Logan relaxed fractionally. “Everybody keeps talking
about gifts, but they don’t get what it’s like for some of us.”

She nodded. “It’s not like I’ve got a receipt and I can return this.” She
plucked at a glove.

“Neither can I.” Logan shrugged. “I was experimented on and I have to live with
that.”

She scooted back against the headboard, drawing her knees to her chest. “Does it
help to know why you have the claws?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Marie sniffed once or twice. “I like my life here, but I, I don’t want to
think that it’s only a matter of time before I kill someone.” The tears she’d
been trying to ignore started to leak out. “Fiddlesticks,” she said, wiping them
away.

“Fiddlesticks?” Logan stared at her.

“My momma would be shocked if she knew how much cursing I did,” Marie said
absently, “so I’m trying to cut back.”

“Okay, but fiddlesticks?” Shaking his head, Logan looked her over. “I dunno,
maybe that shot did something to your brain.”

That made her chuckle even through the tears. “My brain is fine, Logan.
Unfortunately. I *wish* there was something we could fix.”

“If you say so.” He leaned back in the chair and waited for her to get control.

Having him there helped a little. He was pretty much the only mansion resident
who’d never judged her because of her choice to get the cure. That was restful
right now.

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

“Any time, kid.”

*****

In the subsequent days, Marie avoided the evening news and the company of most
of her peers, although Bobby and Kitty and a few others insisted she at least
come out of her room for meals. She couldn’t take the sad looks, the constant
reminders, the daily special bulletins, and the ignorant television commentary.

Dr. McCoy commuted between the UN in Manhattan and Westchester, looking grimmer
with each trip. From the short conversations she had with him, she learned that,
despite warnings, mutants were trying to take the cure again. And he seemed to
take each death personally.

Professor Xavier did his best to look optimistic, but even he could be seen
frowning into his soup upon occasion after looking at her. He and Dr. McCoy both
reminded her regularly that not every mutant was getting their powers back, so
she still had a chance. But neither sounded like they completely believed it,
and she knew they were worried about her, even if Professor Xavier seemed rather
pleased that the cure hadn’t worked for most people.

People kept asking Marie how she felt. They thought she was pushing them away
when she said “Okay,” but she didn’t really have another answer. She didn’t have
the words to describe the mixture of fear and resignation and worry and…so she
told everyone she was okay. It was a good a description as anything.

Classes went on as usual, and eventually people stopped giving Marie funny looks
when she walked down the hall, as if she’d either suck their life or their
mutation out from across the room. (She found it ironic that people were either
afraid of her for *having* her mutation or mad at her for trying to get rid of
it. It just proved that her daddy had been right when he said that sometimes you
just couldn’t win for losing.)

One or two of the younger students could be heard to say that it served her
right for trying to be a flatscan, but after they were assigned to extra self-
defense classes with Logan, that stopped as well.

Warren Worthington came to teach a business class for upper-level students, and
a woman named Elizabeth Braddock arrived from England to teach the classes in
controlling powers. Marie hoped she never had to take that class, as the woman
gave her the willies, studying her like a particularly fascinating bug.

Three weeks after the first news reports, Marie snuggled into her favorite chair
in the mansion’s library, which she liked because it was big enough for her to
draw her legs up under her, with leather arms wide enough she could rest a book
and notebook on them to take notes. It was also in the farthest corner, under a
tiny window most people didn’t realize was there, hidden well enough that nobody
would bother her.

Absently she tugged at her silk gloves, making sure they reached up under her
sleeves, and opened “To Kill a Mockingbird,” looking for the paragraph she
remembered that she was sure would prove her essay’s thesis.

Pen held in her mouth so it wouldn’t roll onto the floor, she flipped through
the book, past the scene where they go to the church, past the fire…

Before she could react, Bobby did exactly what she’d told him not to do just
last week: He swooped in around the pen and kissed her on the cheek.

Like a tractor trailer slamming into her, she was hit by a wave of cold, as her
whole body became attuned to the moisture in the air and instinctively tried to
put up a wall between her and Bobby.

MarieshowyouIloveyou/Nononono/dinnercalculuskiss/pushnopleasedont/cold/pain/fear
/pain/love/hate/sorry/love

It took all her strength, but she pushed Bobby off her and flung herself off the
chair in the other direction, skidding across the ice that now coated the floor
around them. Bobby lay still, but his chest rose once while she was watching, so
he was still alive.

Her breath was caught in her throat, she wanted to scream, but it wouldn’t come,
there was too much, Bobby was there, still there, memories of his classes of the
day, his brother, his elementary school playground, his–

“What–” someone hollered nearby.

“Help,” Marie croaked out.

“Rogue?” Kitty skidded around the corner and nearly fell on the ice. Her eyes
looked like they were going to bug out, but she didn’t pause to ask any stupid
questions, just sank through the floor. “I’ll bring help,” she said as she
disappeared.

Gasping for breath, Marie pulled herself to her knees, desperate to check if
Bobby was okay, but unwilling to get any closer. She pulled her scarf closer
around herself, whimpering once as chunks of ice flaked off it and clattered to
the ground.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor and through the shelves. “Mind the ice,”
Marie heard Kitty holler.

Within moments, a knot of people surrounded Bobby, led by Ms. Munroe.

“Is he okay?” Marie whispered.

Kitty–at the back of the group–turned, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think so. Dr.
McCoy’s on his way, in any case.” She focused on Marie, face scrunching in
concern. “How are *you*?” she asked, stepping forward.

Marie fell on her ass trying to push away. “Stay back.”

“Rogue, it’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I told him not to. I told him–” That was when it hit her: This
was really it. That last bit of hope that she’d be one of the lucky ones whose
powers didn’t return…gone.

Stumbling to her feet, she said, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

And she ran, as she’d always run from her power. Blindly, she ran through the
halls, automatically avoiding everyone, slamming through the nearest door and
into the woods surrounding the school. Tears blurred her vision as she tripped
and scraped her way deeper and further. Branches and thorns tore at her hated
skin, but she didn’t care, hoping it would all be ripped off.

Her breath was ragged from crying when she finally tripped over a log and was
flung to the ground. Curling into a ball, she rolled against the nearest tree
and cried and cried until she had no more tears left.

Eyes closed, she lay on the ground, wrung out and empty.

It took a long moment before she realized she wasn’t alone. Her eyes flew open,
expecting Bobby or Logan.

“Feeling better?” Mr. Summers asked, handing her a wad of tissues without rising
from his seat on the log she’d tripped over.

Speechless and still numb, she automatically took the tissues, wiping her face
and blowing her nose.

He hadn’t shaved and looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in a week. He also
didn’t look like he was going to try and lecture her about the wonders of her
gifts, so she relaxed.

Mr. Summers wasn’t even looking at her, instead he stared down at his hands and
occasionally up at the trees, apparently content to sit there silently.

“How’d you find me?” she asked when the silence grew oppressive.

“Professor Xavier,” he said with a lopsided shrug. “His wheelchair doesn’t mix
well with oak trees.”

She almost smiled, distracted by the image of the Professor trying to follow her
through the woods.

He finally looked at her, the vague look he’d had since Alkali Lake replaced
with the teacher she remembered. “I promise,” he said, “that I will never ever
say ‘It’s not that bad’ or ‘You’ll be fine’ or any similar platitude. I may be
the only person here who has a chance of understanding.”

Marie drew her knees up and rested her forehead on them. Mr. Summers couldn’t
ever take off his glasses or he might kill someone. “It’s not the same,” she
argued feebly.

“No, it’s not. And I’m not saying it is.” He sounded stern, like when Bobby and
John had screwed around in class one too many times for his temper. “Pain can’t
be measured and compared in a test tube. Suffering can’t be weighed on a scale.
They…” his voice broke, “just are.”

Rubbing her eyes, Marie remembered her last glimpse of Dr. Grey, just before
she’d left the plane. Face grim and set, she still hadn’t looked like a woman
about to die, nobody had thought…until it was too late.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Summers, who looked like he was
remembering the same thing. His jaw was clenched so hard, she expected his teeth
to break.

“I miss her too,” Marie found herself saying, and she winced.

But Mr. Summers didn’t glare. Instead he sighed, rubbing his temples. “We all
do,” he said. After a pause, he turned to look at her. “She was afraid of her
powers, you know.”

“She was?”

He nodded. “She could tell they were growing, and she didn’t know what would
happen. She had the potential, well, you saw her potential. And she was
frightened of what she might do.”

Marie watched an ant crawl around her foot as she digested that, trying to
imagine the cool and collected teacher she remembered afraid of anything. Then
she thought about having enough power in her body to hold back all the water
from a broken dam, while repairing and lifting a jet full of people. She
shuddered.

“Believe me, Rogue, we will never stop trying to find a way for you to control
your powers. Without Jean,” his voice held, barely, “it will be more difficult,
but we will try.”

Marie felt the tears trying to flow again and she swallowed a few times,
scrubbing at her eyes. “It’s just so hard, I have to worry all the time about
touching someone, hurting someone. Knowing it might never go away.”

“I know.”

Two birds dove through the trees, chirruping madly as they chased each other
around and around. Marie took a deep breath. “What do I do now?”

“Go on.” Mr. Summers shrugged. “What else can you do? Other than run away
again?”

“You did.” She turned an accusing glare on him. “Logan told me you left just
before Magneto showed up and attacked Alcatraz.”

He smiled slightly, a twitch of the lips. “I never said I was perfect. And I did
come back. If I promise to stay this time, will you stay?”

She studied him. “Only if you promise to shave. And eat dinner.”

Mr. Summers choked on a real laugh. “I promise.”

Marie nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

“It’s a deal?” He held out his hand, the set of his jaw saying he knew exactly
what that meant to her.

She hesitated, tugging at her glove several times to make sure the palm hadn’t
gotten ripped in her run before she slowly took his hand. “It’s a deal.”

* * * * *

The TV was blaring American Idol when Marie leaned her head in, and a dozen of
the older students sprawled across the floor heckling. Nobody noticed her, which
gave her a chance to scope things out and tuck her scarf more firmly around her
neck.

Bobby was on the floor, leaning against the corner of the couch, pelting Peter
with popcorn. Although she couldn’t see his face, his laughter was obvious as
Peter tried and tried to ignore him.

She took a deep breath, stilled her hands, and walked rather unsteadily toward
him. Peter noticed her first, smiling at her with obvious approval. She nodded
to him as Kitty looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing on the floor
at his feet.

Kitty looked briefly startled, but almost immediately grinned broadly and waved
a hand in greeting.

That got everyone else’s attention as Marie came around to the front of the sofa
and conversation came to a halt as she stood next to Bobby. “Hi,” she said,
focusing on keeping her voice even as she looked down at him.

“Hi,” he said. “Come to watch with us?”

She smiled. “Only if you promise not to sing along.”

Jubes snickered. “She’s got a point there, Icepop.”

Bobby threw a handful of popcorn at Jubes and she blew most of the kernels up
with her sparklers. Rogue took another breath and slid down to the floor next to
Bobby. He grabbed her hand and tugged her closer without saying anything.

With the greatest of care, she scooted next to him and put her head on his
shoulder. After a moment of silence, Peter said, “So, explain to me again why
these people are willing to humiliate themselves on national television?”

Jubes and Angelo groaned. “See, it’s like this,” Jubes said. “They think
that…”

Marie chuckled and tuned out the continuing debate, which she’d heard at least
three times. Bobby rubbed her shoulder with his right hand and continued pelting
Peter with popcorn with his left.

Okay, Marie thought, maybe I can do this. She rubbed her cheek against Bobby’s
shirt and he hugged her closer. Even through the layers of clothing, she could
feel the warmth of his body and it was enough. Enough for now.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: A series of unconnected drabbles. Mood, setting, and pairings will vary.

1. It’s Not Easy Being Blue

“Why are blue skin tones so prevalent in mutants?” Hank asked.

“Interesting question,” Kurt said. “Why not hordes of mutants with green or
orange skin?”

“The phenotypical variety of hair color I’ve observed is certainly far greater
than for skin. But I will admit a sense of dismay at the thought I might have
become orange instead of blue.”

“True, true. Blue is somehow more dignified, I believe.”

“We haven’t asked our esteemed colleague his opinion. What do *you* think,
Warren?” Hank asked.

“I think that when Apocalypse turned my skin blue I had to throw out half my
wardrobe.”

2. On the Road Again

“On the road again, I just can’t wait to get on the road again,” Remy warbled,
leaning back in the seat of the pickup as if he belonged.

“Damnit, Gumbo, do you have to sing that song? You’re off-key and your Southern
accent sucks.”

“It’s all part of Remy’s charm. Dat’s why you love me.”

“No, I don’t.” Logan took his eyes off the road long enough to glare.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I…I’m not having this argument with you, it’s idiotic.”

“Whatever you say, mon cher. Can I sing ‘Drop Kick Me, Jesus, Through the
Goalposts of Life’ instead?”

3. Once a Parent

The sounds surprise him–he recognizes those voices. The X-Men burst through the
mansion’s door into a shocking scene: confused students being gathered, Guardian
flying away, holding a screaming Annie and Carter.

The shout comes before he can move, but it isn’t necessary, because he would
have done this anyway.

He streaks through the air, all his being focused on the red and white suit of
Alpha Flight’s leader, previous friendships thrown aside by his most important
rule: Nobody separates parent and child against their will, not while Northstar
has strength left in his body.

“Pour ma petite. Pour Joanne.”

4. When It Was All Over

The sky was gray with particulate matter, and distant fires raged, but the
shouting and shooting and chaos had died down. Now there was just the silence–
heavy with portent, heavy with loss and emptiness.

Scott had fought his hardest, worked past exhaustion into numbness. Now, he sat
in a small room, staring fixedly at a wall, fixated on the contrast between a
charred hole and the pin-up poster of Marilyn Monroe.

It was the morning after the end of the world, and the last man on earth sat in
a room. There was a knock on the door.

5. Monday’s Child

“Monday’s child is fair of face,” Jean-Paul muttered as he surveyed the
conference room filled with mutants.

“Hmm?” Hank looked up from the pad he’d covered with incomprehensible equations.

“Rien.” Jean-Paul sighed, watching recent arrivals Scott, Bobby, and Alex greet
friends and acquaintances, shaking hands and pounding backs. “Merely noting that
the apparent connection between the X-gene and–shall we say–a certain level of
attractiveness, remains in effect.”

Hank blinked and looked around. “You are quite correct. I wonder if that…” His
words trailed off as he scribbled further incomprehensibilities.

Jean-Paul sighed. “Eternal Mondays and not one for me.”

6. After the Labors were Done

Jean always wondered at the naivete of Hercules’ wife, Dejanira–so jealous of a
female slave she used a false love-spell that killed her husband. The story left
many questions unanswered.

How did love become so warped? Why did Dejanira think the centaur who kidnapped
her would give a love-spell with his dying breath?

Hercules labored for many years in the service of the gods, Scott labors for The
Dream. Dejanira trusted the words of an enemy, Jean trusts in the Phoenix.

As she confronts Emma and Scott, the Phoenix rising in her, Jean wonders if
she’s any less foolish.

7. Game Night

Bobby stretched his arms over his head and glanced over at Warren, head was bent
over a chessboard. Across the board, Scott grinned in triumph, arms crossed as
he leaned back in his chair.

Across the room, Ororo and Jean played a cutthroat card game, crowing at
particularly nice plays, and Alex was teaching Cain how to play Apples to
Apples.

Jean-Paul wandered into the room, looking bored. “Bonjour. And how is game night
proceeding?”

“Well, I’ve learned something this evening,” Bobby said, standing up.

“Yes?”

Bobby pointed to his abandoned game. “Never play Scrabble with Hank and the
Professor.”

* * * * *

Apples to Apples is a real game, BTW, and probably my favorite game ever. It’s a
bit hard to find, but well worth the trouble if you like words

8. As You Wish

Logan growled as he opened the lab door, alarming Hank.

“What is wrong, my hirsute and hitherto-unseen-at-these-depths friend?”

Stomping his way around bubbling retorts and churning printers, Logan spared a
moment to glare. “You’ve been working for two days without any real food or even
a damn *nap*.”

Just the word made him yawn, although he tried to hide it.

“Bedtime, bub.”

“I suppose that my experiments will continue without me for a few hours.” Hank
yawned again.

“Damn right they will.” Logan’s hand propelling him out was surprisingly gentle.
“In the meantime, rest well, and dream of large women.”

* * * * *

The title and the last line, as you have no doubt recognized, are from “The
Princess Bride”. The dual challenges on x_men100 were sleep/dreams and movie
quotes. As you can see, I met both

9. A Soldier’s Life

Challenge: What if they weren’t mutants?

* * * * *

James waited outside the bar for his buddies. They were due on base in an hour
and if they were AWOL, Sarge’d go apeshit.

A click made his highly-trained reflexes jump–almost amusing in a civilian
context.

It was a couple out walking and he almost whistled, ’cause the woman was sexy:
red hair, short skirt, high heels. Too bad the guy was a geek with tidy hair and
an old man sweater.

James grinned at her, the feral grin that earned him the nickname Wolverine, and
for just a moment she smiled back. Then she was gone.

Too bad.

* * * * *

For those who don’t know the comics, Wolverine’s real name was recently revealed
in “Origins” to be James Howlett.

10. When Villainy Knows No Bounds

“Scott, I’ve finished scanning Sinister’s files, and you won’t believe it.”

“Hey, Kitty, as long as you don’t say Remy is the long-lost Summers brother, I can handle anything.”

“Well, it has to do with money.”

“Yeees?”

“And how Sinister earns his.”

“Kitty…”

“Remember when your computer crashed and you said Microsoft’s software was an invention of evil?”

“You mean…”

“That was Sinister. Apparently he thought an unhappy and disgruntled population was good for his plans. Then he created and sold the SUV and convinced junk mailers to move to the Internet.”

“No!”

“He also invented the Macarena.”

“You’re kidding.”

* * * * *

This idea comes from Juliana, who told me she liked my drabbles and also mentioned she’d always wondered where villains got their money. So this drabble is for her! (In the sense that I’ve borrowed her idea…)

11. Scenario 241-B

The Professor would be angry, Kitty thought, kneeling in Danger Room. He didn’t
like her practicing without supervision, but…

Today this scenario had beaten her seven times, belying her claim to be an X-
Man.

She could do it. She could.

The center platform rose and Kitty ran up, air made solid beneath her feet by
force of will. A gaudy flag hovered as the room attacked, a robot arm slamming
into her. Breath whooshing, falling, she stretched toward the flag.

“Scenario over,” the computer said.

Alone in her victory, Kitty cried hot tears into the crumpled fabric in her
hand.

by Mara

Summary: Northstar and Iceman chat post-Uncanny 415

NOTES: I don’t generally write “between the lines” fics, but this issue so
desperately called for it, I found myself sitting in bed fiercely scribbling
away while my husband waited impatiently to turn out the light. There isn’t any
sexual content here, but if you’re squicked by the idea that one man could be
attracted to another…you probably shouldn’t be reading anything with Northstar
in it. Thanks once again for the beta to Captain Average, in whose debt I will
be for the rest of my life for all his editing help Oh, I borrowed one line
from issue #415.

* * * * *

Against nurse’s orders, Jean-Paul was wandering the grounds of the mansion when
he saw Bobby.

The dark blond hair caught his attention–a stray shaft of mid-morning light
making it gleam–before Jean-Paul saw the rest of the other man leaning against
a tree, not far from the wrought iron pagoda that had been the site of a battle
several days before. He paused, taking this quiet moment to watch him.

Annie was very perceptive to notice his attraction to Bobby, Jean-Paul thought,
it was not the kind of fact he was accustomed to revealing. It was also true,
the X-Man known as Iceman was hardly his usual type, but something about the
insouciant attitude in the face of danger struck a chord. And the package it
came with was most certainly worth looking at, he thought, eyeing the muscles
that shifted under the uniform of the X-Man.

Mon Dieu, he thought, crossing his arms, Robert Drake is a man, yet nearly
everyone treats him like a boy. He was a boy when he came here, but no longer.
Of course, Jean-Paul had to admit that Bobby helped the illusion by always
playing the joker, the fool.

But in this moment–believing himself unobserved–Robert Drake was a man, one
weighed down by cares Jean-Paul wished he could smooth away. Bobby sat on the
ground, his back against the tree, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting in
his palms. For a moment, he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as
if he were laughing…or crying. Jean-Paul took a step forward, but stopped as
Bobby leaned back and pounded his fists once against the tree trunk, staring at
the pagoda in front of him.

His eyes were dry, but his face was resigned and drawn; Jean-Paul felt a pain in
his heart to match Bobby’s, and he found himself walking down the brick-lined
pathway toward the other man.

It didn’t take Bobby long to hear him, and Jean-Paul’s heart sank further as he
watched the mask slip down. The grin that met him was oh-so-adorable, but he
knew it was false.

“Hey, Northstar, I didn’t know Annie was letting you off the leash again.”

“I’m not certain she knows yet,” he admitted, hovering a few feet away in
unaccustomed reticence. Since the explosion and his severe injuries, he’d been
second-guessing himself unusually often.

“Way to go!” Bobby’s grin grew wider. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There’s a great deal you don’t know about me,” Jean-Paul found himself saying.
He paused and frowned. “That sounded a great deal less cliched in my mind.”

“Hey, ‘sokay, what’s the good of being a superhero if you can’t use a cliché now
and then?” Bobby’s grin was getting strained now. “So, there something I can do
for you?”

Jean-Paul ignored the obvious attempt to get rid of him, looking down at Bobby.
“Are you well?”

“I’m fine. Hey, Annie let me out of her clutches without too much of a fight, so
I’ve gotta be okay, right?”

Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow at the circular logic and, uninvited, sat down next
to Bobby. “What were you thinking about with such concentration?” he asked.

“Huh?” Bobby looked surprised, as if he’d never been asked that before.

“When I approached, you seemed to be thinking thoughts most serious.”

Bobby twitched a little, then tried for his previous grin. “Me? Oh, nothing
much.”

“Of course.” Suddenly annoyed by the whole situation, Jean-Paul gave his most
arrogantly Gallic shrug. “Of course, you Americans always go to the place where
someone has just beaten you into unconsciousness in order to think thoughts of
no consequence.”

Bobby shifted from friendly to angry in an instant, practically spitting out his
words. “What do you care, Mr. French Canadian waltz in here and tell us we’re
losers?”

Well, angry was probably better than indifferent. “I didn’t intend–”

“Bullshit. You loved that Xavier had to beg for your help, that the mighty X-Men
were in such shitty shape that we called you.”

“Again.” Jean-Paul winced as soon as he said it, annoyed to find his usual bad
habits rising to the forefront.

“What?”

“You had to call *again*,” he said, almost apologetically. “I came before when
Jean asked for my help.”

Bobby sneered. “Well, lah-di-fucking-dah, isn’t that special? Do I bow down or
what?”

Jean-Paul looked down at his hands, unsure what to say. He supposed he deserved
this, since he *had* come in with more than his usual boundless arrogance,
pleased in a small way that the X-Men needed his help. And he *had* been

extraordinarily snide and annoying, even for him. But to explain it, the long
history of Alpha Flight and the X-Men, his own feelings on the matter, this was
not possible.

A squirrel ran across the ground nearby, chittering madly, and the two men sat
in silence for a long moment watching it.

“Why are you here?”

The sneer was gone from Bobby’s voice and Jean-Paul looked up. “I am here
because Professor Xavier asked me and the X-Men needed help. Whatever you think
of me, in the end I could not refuse.”

“No.” Bobby shook his head. “I mean, why are you out here right now?”

“I was in need of some time and space to think, so I decided to walk.”

“Out here, where someone had just beaten me into unconsciousness?” Bobby
mimicked his accent.

“Yes.”

The flat reply left Bobby momentarily speechless, and they sat there for a
little while looking at the pagoda, lost in thought. Jean-Paul remembered his
first sight of Bobby being slammed into the ground as he raced toward the
confrontation; his super-speed reduced by injury to what felt like a crawl,
shaking with the fear that he might not get there in time, that someone else
might die on his watch.

“Josette,” Bobby said suddenly, his hands clenched and resting on his knees,
“she…she was using her empathy to control me, you know.”

“I heard her say it.”

“I mean, I don’t normally…and in the hallway…”

“Yes.”

They were silent again for a while, and Jean-Paul fought the urge to put his arm
around Bobby, lean against him, hold him. The other man would certainly not
allow it, not from a gay man, and not from someone he didn’t even seem to like
very much.

Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Bobby staring at the pagoda with a
kind of loathing. Jean-Paul suspected he’d found the root of the problem. “To be
controlled, it is most abhorrent,” he said. “It may be the worst thing that
happens to those of us who join the team, who become a public mutant figure.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare ahead, one hand straying
to rub the center of his chest. Jean-Paul frowned slightly, wondering at that,
but decided not to push his luck by asking.

“I’m afraid I do not have such an excuse for my behavior,” Jean-Paul said. When
Bobby looked at him in obvious surprise, Jean-Paul found himself flushing a
little–apologies were not something in which he often engaged. “I should not
have been so rude to everyone, when we met at the house in Fort Albany.”

“Yeah, well…we all have bad days.”

“True, but–”

“Look, forget about it. There’s been a good bit of water under the bridge since
then. You were rude, I’ve yelled at you. I’m over it.”

“Yes, water under the bridge.”

A bird twittered on a nearby branch, the same squirrel ran halfway across the
grass, stopping to look at them curiously, and they sat.

“So,” Bobby said diffidently, “I was sorry to hear about the kid you were
carrying back here.”

It was like a punch to the stomach, and it took all Jean-Paul’s returning
strength to say, with equal diffidence, “Peter. His name was Peter.”

“Yeah, Peter. It’s rough when you lose someone you were trying to save.” Bobby
didn’t look at him, just twiddled with a piece of grass next to his boot.

I see his face when I close my eyes, Jean-Paul thought. “Yes, it is.”

“You did your best.”

Not enough, it will never be enough. “The Professor could not stop the
explosions.”

“He told me you stayed with Peter at the end, instead of flying away.”

“Yes.” Peter’s face, bleeding, scared, begging for reassurance he could not
give. ‘I’m going to die this time–aren’t I?’ Jean-Paul closed his eyes
momentarily, then caught onto a distraction. “You spoke of me with the
Professor?”

“He really wants you to stay, and I think he’s worried I’ll annoy you outta
town.”

“I do not think that is likely.”

They sat a little longer, the silence now more companionable than uncomfortable;
in the distance, the sounds of the school started to drift toward them, the
laughing and shouting of the teenage mating dance, a basketball thudding on
pavement, even the unmistakable *bamf* of Kurt in a hurry to get somewhere.

Bobby started to fidget a little, and Jean-Paul sighed to himself at the
approaching end of this interlude. He would likely never get another chance to
speak with Bobby in such a forthright manner, and he was certain Annie would
urge him to tell the other man how he felt, but he knew she was wrong.

It was easy for a woman with a romantic heart to urge him to say something, but
what did she expect him to do? In his considerable experience, men who were
straight–and controlled by Josette or not, Bobby *was* straight–did not take
kindly to declarations of undying affection.

Jean-Paul ached bone-deep–in a place that medicine couldn’t touch–as Bobby
jumped up from the ground and took a few steps away.

“Hey,” Bobby said, pausing and turning to look back at him, “we never did get
that meal I promised, and it’s about lunchtime. You hungry?” The engaging grin
was back, a bit more genuine this time, if Jean-Paul was any judge–and he’d
become a veritable connoisseur of Bobby’s smiles in recent days.

“I do believe I *am* hungry,” Jean-Paul said as he carefully stood, glad he’d
regained an echo of his usual grace.

“C’mon then, or the only thing left’ll be the meatloaf.”

Take what you can get, Jean-Paul told himself as they walked back toward the
mansion. Just take what you can get.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: A day in the life of Ultimate Professor Xavier’s cat.

NOTES: This is a response to the Ultimate X website
(http://ultimate.comixtreme.com/home.html) Fan Fic Challenge: “A Day in the Life
of Ultimate Cat.” More challenges, please, this was *fun*!

************************************

I have read enough narratives to know the rules for telling a story properly.
But really, did you expect a cat to follow the rules? I thought not.

So, I will tell you about myself, but there are things I simply cannot explain.
Either because humans (and I include mutants in that category) are not ready to
believe them, or because I doubt you will understand.

In any case, I am the cat who has been living at the school for the past year.
My name? Hmm, I don’t have one in the sense that you mean. You may call me Cat,
if you like.

As I was saying, I was assigned to this school to assist and protect the young
mutant students.

Now, please don’t remind me of the Weapon X fiasco. That may possibly have been
the worst failure of my career and I doubt I will ever live it down. I tried to
warn my charges something was wrong, but it was too little, too late. Scott
heard me, but not in time to take effective action.

How did I warn them? Well, obviously I used the same telepathy I’m using to
speak to you. I certainly wasn’t playing charades.

I am a combined telepath and empath, and my mission is to try and keep these
youngsters emotionally healthy, (preferably without revealing my presence to
them). It’s a monumental task, as I’m sure you’re aware. Even normal teenagers
generate enough angst to power a small city. Super-powered teens? Let us just
say they keep me busy and leave it at that.

I know you thought I spent most of my day sleeping, but that is not the case.
Perhaps if I describe a representative day in my life, you will you understand.
Perhaps last Tuesday?

*****************************

I started my day sprawled across Bobby’s chest as he lay in bed. His depression
was so strong, I’m surprised it didn’t generate a black bubble over his head.

I lay on his chest and purred at him until he began to rub my head. Licking his
face a few times netted me a reluctant laugh. Meanwhile, I was pushing so many
soothing thoughts at him he almost fell back asleep.

“Hey, cat,” he finally said.

“Mrow,” I replied. Most humans can understand rudimentary Cat, or at least they
would if they tried.

“Yeah, life does suck, you’re right,” Bobby said. Well, he obviously *wasn’t*
trying to understand me.

“Mrow *mrow*.”

“It’s just that I feel like such a doofus compared to everyone else around here.
I’m just the dumb kid brother that they have to take care of.”

I hissed, and he looked strangely at me. I blinked slowly at him and sent more
soothing thoughts. He relaxed a little bit and scratched under my chin.

“How will I ever be as good at controlling my powers as they are?”

I slowly shifted my soothing thoughts to those of confidence. After I allowed
him some time to think, I prodded his attention back to me with a paw on his
chin.

“I guess I probably shouldn’t compare myself to people three or four years
older, should I?” he asked me.

“Mrow,” I said firmly.

He put me down on the bed beside him and reached for his workout clothes. “I
guess this means more time in the Danger Room.”

I licked the side of his face again and set off, content he was taken care of
for the day.

Then, I spent an enjoyable hour hunting the mansion grounds with Logan. Now,
there is a human with a good head on his shoulders and proper claws. I’m pleased
there is *someone* around here I can trust to take care of the children other
than me. I’ve been trying to help him clear out some of the interference in his
mind, although he is unusually resistant to both empathic and telepathic probes.

*******************************

After breakfast, I paused outside Peter’s room, but he was relaxed, so I didn’t
bother him.

However, Scott was already studying and worrying in the library. That child has
a severely overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Hard work is to be applauded,
but he takes it a bit too seriously.

The door was closed, but that is no deterrent to a determined cat.

I jumped onto the table, tail swishing with my annoyance, and settled firmly
onto the book Scott was trying to read. From the tenor of his emotions, I
suspect he was tempted to drop kick me out of his way.

So, I curled my tail and tucked my paws under my chin in a most appealing way,
sending cheerful thoughts to his scowling face. The scowl cleared a little, but
he still picked me up off the book and put me on the floor.

I didn’t get where I am today by being deterred by an amateur move like that. Of
course, I jumped back up and settled myself even more firmly on the book. He was
going to tell me what was bothering him, even if it took all day. (You’re right,
I *could* just read what’s bothering them in their minds, but they are more
likely to notice that. For some reason, humans rarely notice when you tamper
with their emotions, just their thoughts.)

“Cat, what’s wrong with you?” Scott finally asked. “I’m trying to get some work
done.”

“Mrow?” I asked.

“Look, if you leave me alone, I can get an hour’s worth of research done before
my first scheduled practice.”

I stood up and rubbed my head against his cheek. He flinched when I neared the
edge of his glasses, and I soothed him. The poor thing is so terrified of
knocking his glasses askew, I can’t remember the last time I saw him hug
someone. I made a mental note to work on that. Of course, he has a number of
issues to deal with before regular human contact will be easy for him.

“C’mon, give me a break,” he said, leaning forward to get a grip on me, “I can’t
get behind in my work, I’ve got too much to do.”

I lifted my head until we were eye to eye and said, slowly, so he couldn’t
mistake my meaning: “Mrow.”

His eyebrows lifted above his glasses and he leaned back in his chair, a curious
feel to his mind. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Mrow.”

“I should know better than to argue with a cat.”

“*Mrow*.”

Scott clasped his hands behind his head and stared off over my head. I prodded
gently at his mind. “You don’t know what it’s like being the leader,” he said
absently. “What if I fail them?”

I sat with Scott for over an hour while he worried about leadership and failure
and trust. I did what I could to reassure him, but he will require a great deal
more work.

I was wearied after working on Scott, so I took a nap in the living room. After
all, these days I patrol the grounds for most of the evening. I won’t be caught
napping again by any two-bit soldiers.

************************************

I didn’t have to find my next job, because she found me. My nap was interrupted
by Ororo, who dropped down on the couch next to me and stroked my back. I
forgave her for waking me up, because she’s *very* good at that. After a few
moments, I felt her worrying away at something, so I crawled into her lap, and
kneaded away at her chest a few times.

“Hey, don’t stick your claws in me,” she said, pulling my paws away. I
stretched, turned around once and settled down with my head against her stomach.
I could feel her sigh reverberate in my head.

I purred. She sighed. She was almost ready to tell me what was wrong, when the
door opened. I could smell Jean even before she asked, “Have you seen Hank?”

Ororo rolled her eyes, angry over something. “No, I haven’t. Believe it or not,
I’m not his keeper.”

Jean was confused. “Um, sorry, I just thought you might’ve seen him. Never
mind.” The door closed behind her with a small bang.

Ororo leaned back on the couch, and I thought reproachful thoughts at her until
she grimaced. “Okay, I guess that wasn’t nice of me, but I don’t feel like being
nice. Especially not to Ms. Jean ‘I’m So Perfect’ Grey.”

She’d stopped petting me, so I put my head under her hand. She looked down.
“Boy, I wish I had your easy life. Eat, nap, have people rub my head.”

Hmmph. After all the work Logan and I put in retrieving them from Weapon X. I
nipped her hand and she jumped. “Mrow,” I said.

“What was that for? Geez. Darn ungrateful cat.”

I settled back down on her lap and rubbed my head against her chest, trying to
calm her back down so she would tell me what she was worrying about.

“It’s just this thing with Hank,” she burst out after a few minutes. “I’m
worried that one day he’ll wake up and realize he can’t date me anymore.”

I projected curiosity. This was interesting, especially since Hank spent half an
hour yesterday explaining how Ororo couldn’t possibly want to date him, because
he was ugly.

“I mean, he’s such a wonderful smart guy. And, well, I’m just an uneducated
bitchy car thief.”

Nonsense. She attends this school, she can hardly be considered uneducated. As
for bitchy…well, we can’t all be perfect. I tried to project my disagreement,
but I don’t think it reached her.

I made a mental note that Ororo would need a reminder of her quite formidable
(if not entirely classically-trained) intelligence, and left after she shared
part of her lunch with me. (The school could use more tuna, by the by. I don’t
get to eat it nearly often enough.)

I prowled around the mansion for the rest of the afternoon without encountering
any serious problems.

Peter has been rather cheerful lately, well, as cheerful as Russians allow
themselves to be. I have high hopes for him, since he seems to be the most
emotionally stable of the bunch. Not what you would expect from a teenager
wrestling with an unpopular sexual preference, but apparently he finds that less
stressful than being a mutant.

Jean was a little depressed, but not enough to warrant my interference. She
requires a great deal more finesse, since she’s more likely than the others to
notice my actions. So, I only work on her when absolutely necessary. A little
angst over why Ororo was annoyed with her didn’t strike me as absolutely
necessary.

**************************************

And of course, you know the rest, because I spent the evening with you.

Now, listen carefully, Professor Xavier. These children are going to be very
important, and I’ve been sent here to oversee their health and safety. You will
*not* be allowed to endanger them as you have previously.

Who sent me here? Well, that’s a story for another day, I think.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: What happens when the laws of physics meet the Marvel Universe?

NOTES: This story began when Avi looked at a picture of Bobby Drake. After a
short discussion of physics, we hashed out this plot (such as it is). Thanks to
Askani’daughter for the beta and giving me my snarky ending.

***********************

“The Fantastic Four *finally* show up for an annual picnic,” Scott Summers said
to Johnny Storm, also known as the Human Torch.

Johnny laughed. “Well, we’re glad to be in town this year, and I’m ready to
relax. If any supervillains show up, they’re all yours.”

Scott grinned at him, and waved him toward the party.

Most of the X-Men, a few Avengers, and a couple of stray X-Factor folk were
lounging around the X-Mansion back yard, engaged in various summer picnic-
related activities.

Johnny found an empty seat and watched Franklin, Artie, and Leech play a
complicated game involving empty soda cans, two balls, one paddle, and the prone
body of Cable, who had apparently agreed to play dead for them.

Bobby finished making ice for the sodas and came over to sit next to him. “How’s
it going, Icecube?” Johnny asked.

“Not bad, Sparky,” Bobby said. “So, how would you like to torment our
unsuspecting teammates today?”

They exchanged nearly identical evil grins and everyone nearby groaned. The two
pranksters tiptoed away to make some plans.

After an incident involving Logan’s towel and Rogue’s sunscreen, Bobby and
Johnny found themselves perched in a tree overlooking the backyard, waiting for
their victims to calm down.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Bobby said, “let’s see whose powers are stronger.”

“How?” Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bobby looked around for a suitable test. “See that bucket of water over there
behind Domino? You heat it with your plasma and I’ll freeze it.”

Johnny nodded, and the two bent their minds on the hapless bucket of water.
After a full minute of concentration, Johnny blinked. “Um, Bobby, shouldn’t
something be happening by now?”

“Yeah, I guess we can stop.” Bobby frowned at the recalcitrant bucket and then
looked at Hank’s drink, which immediately froze solid. “Huh, my powers are
working fine.”

At that moment, Hank picked up his drink and stared at it. “Bobby!” he called,
with resignation.

Johnny concentrated and a small flame hovered over Hank’s drink, melting it
quickly. Hank nearly dropped the glass, before carefully setting it down to
finish melting. “My powers are working fine, too,” Johnny said, “I wonder what
happened with the bucket. Let’s go ask Hank. If he’s speaking to us, that is.”

After a quick detour around the pool (chased by a shovel wielded telekinetically
by Betsy), they explained the situation to Hank.

“Well,” he said with a frown, “It’s possible your powers are so equally matched
they cancel each other out. But that seems unlikely.” He started to mutter.

“Uh oh,” Bobby said, backing away, “we’ve revved up the scientific genius. Maybe
if we leave quickly, he won’t notice we’re gone.”

Hank looked up. “You’re not getting away that fast. Just give me fifteen minutes
in the lab to get some readings.” They groaned and followed him inside.

Released from the lab later, Bobby and Johnny went back to enjoying themselves.
They became engrossed in a game of volleyball, and had forgotten their
scientific mystery by the time the party was breaking up.

The sun was setting, mosquitoes were emerging, and the guests were preparing to
leave, when Hank emerged from his lab with a dazed look on his face.

“Hey, buddy, you weren’t supposed to stay down there all day,” Bobby said.

Hank just shook his head and looked around. “Is Scott here?” He looked at the
Richards and Johnny Storm. “Please stay a few moments, I have interesting news.”

By the time Scott arrived, most of the remaining guests had come to hear Hank’s
news, and the hall was almost full. Scott pushed his way through to the
oblivious Hank, who was looking strangely at Bobby and Johnny.

Before Scott could open his mouth, Bobby said, “I didn’t do anything Scott,
really.”

Most of the crowd cracked up at that, and Hank waited for the laughter to end.
“No Bobby, you and Johnny didn’t do anything wrong. Just…fascinating. I wanted
Scott and Reed here so I could explain to both team leaders at the same time.”

Scott and Reed exchanged confused looks. Hank continued, “This afternoon, Bobby
and Johnny showed me that their powers appeared to cancel each other out.”

Reed said, “But that’s-”

“I know, Reed, that’s why I went to my lab to investigate. The answer lies in
the laws of thermodynamics. Specifically, the rules regarding the conservation
of energy.”

Reed went a little pale and his mouth opened and closed. Everyone else just
looked curious, confused, or annoyed.

“You see,” Hank said, “I’ve never really investigated how Bobby’s abilities as
Iceman work. But the laws of physics state that matter and energy cannot be
created or destroyed, simply changed. So, when Bobby turns the water in the air
to ice, he is drawing energy out of the water to slow its molecules. Where does
the energy go?”

By this point, most people had turned to look at Johnny Storm, who was holding
onto a banister like it might run away from him.

Hank concluded, “Apparently Bobby draws the energy off the water, and places it
in some kind of a pocket universe, where Johnny subsequently draws it out. When
they were trying to affect the same object, the power put in by Bobby balanced
out the energy Johnny pulled and nothing happened. This will require further
study.”

The crowd looked delighted at the thought of the two pranksters trapped in a lab
with Reed Richards and Hank McCoy. Bobby and Johnny just looked scared as they
were dragged off. Sue Richards trailed behind the group, and she could be heard
plaintively asking her husband if maybe he couldn’t put this research off until
next week.

Scott turned to the remaining crowd with a sad shake of his head. “And here I
thought Hank had found something interesting about the two of them.”

Jean wrinkled her nose at him. “I thought that was interesting. What were you
expecting?”

“That he thought Bobby and Johnny were my children from the future and had time
traveled back to save us from some sort of inevitable destruction by a powerful
supervillain.”

A hush fell, and Scott looked around. “What? You act like it’s never happened to
me before.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “She has a lot to think about, and her mind won’t stop spinning.”

NOTES: This was written for the “We Invented the Remix…Redux” challenge, in
which I remixed bounce’s “An Impossibility”, which can be found on her site at
her site. As with bounce’s original, this story takes place around New X-Men
126(ish), basically the end of the “Imperial” storyline. Gigantic thanks to the
fantabulous Victoria P. for organizing the challenge.

* * * * *

She should be sleeping.

Jean glares at the clock as it registers 4:59 AM. She’s been awake much of the
night, and now the minutes seem to be passing even more slowly.

She has a lot to think about, and her mind won’t stop spinning. So much has
happened.

She did the impossible a week ago. But then again, she and Scott are X-Men: they
do six impossible things before breakfast…and that’s on a slow day. She should
be used to snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, as well as the other way
around. She should be used to the impossible. After all, just months before, the
man lying next to her died.

A small sigh from Scott catches her attention, and she carefully rolls over to
watch him sleep. She should be ecstatic to see him lying beside her, breathing
and alive, but her ambivalence is a cold knot around her heart, tightening
imperceptibly with every passing day.

He’s back. Except that he’s not. Not really. The figure in bed beside her wears
Scott’s face, laughs his laugh, has the same freckles in places she won’t
describe, makes the same mess when he tries to twirl pasta on his fork–but
somehow it’s not him.

It’s as if he’s only Scott skin deep, and beneath that is cold and emptiness.

Jean knows that she could make it better. The Phoenix energy within her would
make it so easy, she could just reach in and tweak a bit here, twist a little
there, take away all the bad memories and thoughts and everything would seem
right as rain. Except that nobody would ever trust her again, they’d hate her.
Especially Scott.

To distract herself, she reaches out to the other minds in the mansion.

The Professor is walking the halls, astonished and happy to be back in his home
with legs healed and working, but he is crippled by the guilt of the past days’
(could it be only days?) events. The idea that he tried to kill his sister while
they were still in the womb is practically inconceivable, and his mind is
twisting in an attempt to encompass the enormity of his crime.

He doesn’t even realize she is in his mind. Disturbed by this fact and faintly
guilty, she slips away again.

Skipping gently across the minds of several students–one dreaming about sex,
one about her parents’ divorce, and one having a nightmare about missing an
exam–she alights on Emma’s mind. A butterfly touch and she is nearly blown away
by the pain and grief, a hammer blow to her mind.

The blow isn’t even aimed at her, just at the world in general, but Jean reels
back, afraid to get any nearer to Emma as the other woman remembers all the dead
of Genosha.

She pulls away, unwilling to intrude on a grief more profound than hers.

Barnell is half-asleep, in that state where your mind conjures images and
partial dreams. Cassandra Nova looms like a funhouse clown over his head as he
cowers and begs her to stop.

Jean feels tears running down her cheek as the dream Barnell beats Hank over and
over again, until there isn’t an inch of him uninjured. Barnell sobs as he
pounds away, guilty even though he couldn’t have prevented what happened.

Her leap away from Barnell’s guilt sends her plowing into the edges of Xorn’s
mind and she recoils from the power, the inferno that is the only person whose
mental powers rival hers at the moment. The Phoenix stirs in the back of her
mind, restless, eager to challenge Xorn, see who’s stronger, but she pushes it
down.

She draws back into her own mind, saddened by the realization that there isn’t
anyone in the mansion who isn’t hurting, isn’t damaged in one way or another.
Years ago, she learned how to block it out, how to ignore the pain around her,
but those walls are breached and crumbling under the onslaught.

It’s harder tonight than is normal, because a week ago she did the impossible.
She split Xavier’s mind into a thousand, thousand pieces, and stuck them back
together again. It should have been impossible, but she did it. She did it.

She rolls back to face the clock and it ticks away a few more seconds, a few
seconds closer to time for her to get up and move on as if everything were
normal. Closer to pretending everything is fine.

Still sleeping, Scott rolls closer to her.

Jean cries and tries to ignore the feel of a dead man’s breath on her skin.

* * * * *

Remixer’s end notes: I specifically chose to keep bounce’s first and last lines
intact as a frame to my remix, and I hope I kept the spirit of what she was
trying to convey about Jean at this point in her life.