"How is he?"

A female voice.Jean

"He's going to be all right. He is recovering slowly, but he'll be all right…"

A male voice answered. It had been many years since he had last heard him, but the man's voice was recognizable. It was Charles Xavier's.

"I'm glad. I'm so relieved, Professor, you don't even know how much I..." A pause. "Professor, is there something the matter?"

A sigh. Sad, regretful. "I have something to tell you. This news is not to be taken lightly, Jean. Moira and I have already conducted the test three times, and the results have remained the same."

"Test? A test for what?"

"Jean..."

Duncan strained his ears trying to listen, but Xavier had lowered his voice down to a soft whisper, and...

Jean gasped. "Are you sure?"

"As I have said, the test was done three times. Besides, how else would Mr. Matthews have..."

"Yes," Jean replied softly, "that must be... it's the only logical..."

"Ms. Grey, Charles, please excuse me—" a new voice spoke. Female, Scottish, professional, but friendly, Duncan observed. "—but I think our patient is gaining consciousness. I must ask you to leave the room for now. You may talk in my office, if you wish, and I'll let you know when—"

"Of course, Moira," Xavier's understanding voice said. "Jean?"

Duncan heard a quick scraping sound: the legs of a wooden chair sliding against the tiled floor as its occupant stood up. He also heard the soft hum of an electric wheelchair. A door slid open, and then closed, announcing the departure of the two telepaths.

Finally, Duncan felt obliged to open his eyes, and found a lovely woman dressed in a lab coat observing him. She looked to be in her early forties, and though she seemed to usually carry a professional demeanor, she wore a welcoming face.

"So, Mr. Matthews, how are you feeling?"

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There was something going on.

But Duncan Matthews was out of the circle, and it was so much easier to just believe what he had been told. He grimaced as he remembered his conversation with Dr. Moira MacTaggart an hour before. She had told him that he did not suffer any burns from the explosion, although the force was enough to throw him a long distance. The impact cost him a fractured left arm and a concussion. Other than that, he was fine.

Incredible.

But impossible.

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"No burns?" he asked disbelievingly. He ignored his left arm that was currently now in a cast, but instead hastily examined his right arm… and there it was: pale Caucasian skin with no traces of any burns. Then, he ran his right hand across the smooth skin on his face. Relief swept through him.

"Miss Grey must have protected you from the blast."

Duncan nodded, still in shock.

"If you wish to change from the standard hospital gown that you wear now, your clothes are right here." She gestured to a wooden cushioned chair. "I'll leave you to rest," she said, before leaving him alone in his room.

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I'll have to remember to thank Jean for saving my life.

Shaking his head slightly, he finally allowed himself to observe the hospital room that he had been staying in. The place was big, and circular. It had a high ceiling, and it seemed to Duncan that everything –the walls, the floor, and the door- was made of metal -except for the two wooden chairs: one that Jean had been sitting on hours before, and the one with his clothes on it. Those were located to his right, and a few feet further was the door.

A hospital curtain blocked the view to his left. With a sigh, he slid off the bed but almost yelped when his bare feet stepped on the cold floor.

He waited a few moments for the soles of his feet to get accustomed to the low temperature before continuing on towards the curtains. He pushed them aside—

"My God…"

The sight before him took his breath away. Instead of a wall, there stood a glass window, and through it, stood Earth.

It was magnificent, awe-inspiring, beautiful. Blue oceans covered most of it, with streaks and swirls of white clouds adorning it. Brown land formed the shape of the Americas, and Duncan could not help but walk towards it.

He gulped as he pressed a hand against the cold glass.

He was in space.

So the rumors were true.

Erik Lensherr, the mutant also known as Magneto, had built a fortress, a sanctuary, a haven for his people. And Duncan Matthews, a Friend of Humanity, was stuck inside of it. Asteroid M, as they had called it, accompanied the moon as it slowly orbited the earth.

The sight of earth underneath him…

He had expected to feel powerful, like a god watching over unsuspecting humans. Like a kid with a magnifying glass playing with defenseless ants. But instead the view humbled him. He felt so small. So painfully small.

If he had died in that explosion, life would have gone on without him. It would not have mattered. All his aspirations with his career, the risks he took for the Friends of Humanity… they all meant nothing. He had been living a worthless life.

The hand that was placed flat on the glass curled into a fist.

Life goes on, his mind repeated cruelly.

His parents probably haven't even noticed that he was gone. His team will probably notice that he had disappeared, but then what? Jackson would probably be promoted, and Smith would hand them a rookie as his replacement.

He had been abducted and blasted off into space by the very people he had sworn to pursue, apprehend, kill. And he was nursed into full health…

By the very people he had sworn to pursue, apprehend, kill.

But that wasn't what bothered him.

That was not the constant itch at the back of his mind that refused to disappear.

The mere idea of being expendable, unessential… He was nobody.

No one would care. No one would care!

The sentence repeated.

A malicious thought. Poison in his mind. Anger built up within him. His heart began beating faster, his pulse got quicker as resentment pushed his blood flow violently.

No one would care…

'I would.'

Duncan released his clenched fist, but refused to turn and face her. She had spoken clearly in his mind, but not only that, the words she sent him were clouded with emotion.

"It's true," she said softly, "you're my friend. I love you."

A small smile played at his lips. But it was rueful.

"No, you don't love me." He faced her at last. "You only say that because you are indebted to me. A big win for the mutants, Jean. You've got Xavier back. But because of you, my future is no longer clear to me. Everything I have worked for in the last five years has amounted to nothing."

At this, Jean bit her lower lip, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She was waiting for him to finish, he realized. In an instant, Duncan regretted his words, but he forced himself to be strong. He hated this woman in front of him. He hated how she had power over his emotions. He hated… hated… he repeated the words in his thoughts, determined to plant them in his brain.

"Tell me something," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Tell me why I helped you. Tell me why I chose to abandon everything I ever knew. How did I get from being a Friend of Humanity to becoming a… a hero for the mutants? I mean, I must be going crazy! I am standing here in front of you on top of a fucking asteroid!" His voice had risen, but he had to keep going. He had to…

He shook his head. "I really hope you have answers, Jean, because I sure as hell don't."

Jean didn't wait a second longer as she rushed up to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly for as long as it took for him to finally break down, and release the tears that he had refused to let go. The slow passing minutes turned into an illusion of hours.

He found himself seated on the cold floor, leaning back against the glass. Jean sat with him, their fingers gently entwined.

"Don't tell Summers I cried like a baby."

Jean smiled. "Who cried like a baby?"

"Thanks."

Suddenly, Jean squeezed his hand too tightly, too comfortingly, and Duncan froze. Instinct told him that something was wrong. "What is it?"

"There's something I have to tell you…"

Duncan raised his head to look at the beautiful redhead beside him. She wore an uneasy smile on her face, scarlet strands hung loosely against her cheeks. He said nothing.

"I am not exactly sure how to say this..." she continued, stalling. "You know, Dr. MacTaggart didn't tell you the whole truth about how you survived the explosion from that night."

Duncan frowned. "What are you talking about? You saved me. You used your telekinetic powers to protect me. Y-you formed a sort of bubble around me and that prevented me from getting…"

His words trailed off as he turned his attention down at his hands that lay on his lap. Jean's soft hand covered them, but it felt cold. He waited for her to speak again, but when it did not look like she would continue, he finally begged. "Please, just tell me. What is it? What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, captured his green eyes with her own, and parted her red lips.

Time slowed as her lips moved, his mind barely registering her words as they reached his ears.

But he understood.

He understood her perfectly.

"Duncan..." she whispered, "you're a mutant."

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And behind the glass that separated them from cold dark space, the green earth continued to turn, as nature resumed its cycle… and life went on.

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The End.