Days of Our X - Prologue
Authors: ebonbird and Kassia
PROLOGUE
Jean Grey knew the extensive grounds of the Xavier Institute better than the terrain of her own mind. She'd come of age there. Learned how to use and control her telepathy and telekinesis there. Met Scott Summers there and one fine day, there married him.
In Autumn, when the leaves of the birches and oaks turned all the colors of Jean's hair and more, he died.
Hand outstretched to the striated bark of the tree, Jean stepped out from the shadow overlooking it and the pond. She turned back to survey the remains of her fire. Putting her hand to the small of her back and stretched, her eyes closing. A fighter's muscles, an athlete's muscles, an acrobat's muscles pulled tight too long from her returning countless demanding and awkward embraces, stretched and unknotted as she bent at the waist. Jean opened her sharp seeing eyes, took in the flinty sky. Wondered if the light settling on the frosted leaves pale like age, was really light years old.
Physics supported calculus. Calculus justified physics but she herself had flouted both traveling through the stars.
Scott drew his power from the sun itself. Was she looking at an aspect of him, the light reflecting of the ice-crystals dusting the leaves? Was he here with her on this cold bright day?
Alaska?! She'd said. Alaska?!
I'll keep you warm, he'd said.
Scott was always warm.
Legs folding apart Jean sat down heavily and put the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her chest contracted. Her back dropped to the damp ground. Noise, bent between laughter and tears, shivered the quiet beneath the tree.
Dry sobs, wet laughter.
The tree had a heart burned on it, within the precisely defined curves two sets of initials SS' and JGS'. Groaning Jean hugged herself then clasped her arms beneath her head. She lay quietly. When her lips parted, it was for a smile. "Scotty," she said. Her lips closed. She smiled wider and sat up.
The fire was still smoking. Twisting index and middle finger she dispersed the smoke. She rose and legs almost crossing, clutching her pink cardigan across the elbows, her breath feathering from her nostrils and mouth, she meandered back to the mansion.
Jean knew the grounds of the Xavier estate better than she did her own mind, half of it being gone, but the sight of the boathouse where she and Scott had lived when they first married took her almost by surprise.
They'd made out there as kids.
Made love there as mock-solemn husband and silly sly-boots wife.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked with Scott, hands touching, there wasn't anything better. Like surfacing after having swum miles and years under water, without aid of sight and sound; of tasting sweetness after too many meals of ashes and wasted time. But it was also so natural, as easy as breathing, that she couldn't imagine any other way to be than with Scott, naked, palm to palm, mind to mind.
There was a sound of thunder. Thick lightning fractured the sky. Wind took tree branches by their tips and tried to wrest them from their trunks.
Ducking her head, Jean pulled a bit of pink cardigan over her hair and dashed to the house.
Unexpectedly, the door was unlocked. Hesitating only a moment, Jean pushed it open. It smelled musty. Sheets covered the furniture. It didn't feel like the place where she and Scott had lived.
The leader of the X-men stood at a window, brooding.
A rush of affection and annoyance ran through Jean's thoughts.
"Ororo."
The woman's attention snapped to Jean. Scott hid behind his glasses when he was brooding, but with him Jean had been able to slip into his mind to know what he was thinking and feeling.
The woman had picked the right window, though.
"What is it, Ororo?" Jean asked.
"I did not know.
"Did not know until he was gone how important his friendship is -- was to me."
Up at night, late, discussing the X-Men, Scott on his back, ruby quartz glasses on his face; chest brown and tight and broad, it's muscles clearly defined beneath her arm, as he considered the teams and Ororo.
A bolt of lightning revealed a glimmer of tears.
"You two are so much alike."
Ororo turned her gaze out the window. "I did not realize..." Speech failed her. "Oh Jean, he was the dearest of men, the most unassuming of friends. I did not see how important he was -" Wrapping her arms around Ororo, Jean put her head on Ororo's shoulder and hugged the taller woman tightly. Ororo finished speaking, her voice so very small, "to me."
Scott and Ro, Jean thought, two sides of the same coin. Her two impossible friends.
"He knew."
It was raining outside. Softly. Prettily.
"You saw each other through some horrible times. I don't think any other woman knew him better, except me."
"I took him for granted."
"It was obvious how much you cared for Scott." Jean hugged her more tightly. "He knew."
Ororo hugged her back. "I should be comforting you."
"Sometimes I wonder about the two of you, what would have happened had I never come back. If he never met Madelyne."
Drawing back Ororo said, "Jean, never."
Smiling gently, "Never? If you were stuck on a desert island together, all alone?"
"N-n-never."
Jean wrinkled her nose. "Of course not. Me being with Scott took my every initiative -- and still we almost didn't happen." Jean laughed quietly. "The two of you were locked up tighter than clams back then. Still are." Jean's tone was mischievous. She went to the window and put her hand to the windowpane. "He loved you so much, Ororo. Sometimes he felt guilty that you didn't have someone, too."
Holding her arms against her sides Storm spoke carefully, "Is that why you told Forge I did not love him?"
Jean suppressed a look of guilt. "You knew about that?"
"We did continue to talk, Jean."
"I wanted you to have what we had, Ororo. Not, not what Scott had with--" Deep breath, "No substitutes."
"The real thing."
"You're angry."
"Not anymore. I don't understand... But I love you. And you meant well."
"I did."
Jean looked over to the couch, pulled the sheet back, and settled herself in the crook. Ororo sat at the other hand. Tucked her legs under her. Jean slid her feet beneath Ororo's thigh. Reached beneath the couch and pulled forth a bottle of alcohol.
"You'd think," Jean said untwisting the cap, "That Scott would have had more original stashes."
Ororo said nothing. Removed her head from her hand and held her head straight.
Jean said, "I do not deliberately cause myself pain, Storm. I just, I should have known he'd started drinking."
"As should I."
Yes, Jean thought. Ororo should have noticed. As should she. As should have Charles. Jean put the bottle on the ground and rolled it back under the couch.
"Have you talked to Charles?" Ororo asked.
"I can't. I see him, I see Scott. And I feel so much." Jean made fists above her shoulders and shook them.
"Charles blames himself for Scott's death."
Jean shook her head. "I need to start planning for everything, and I can't do it here. I'm leaving tomorrow. I'd appreciate it if you told Charles and everyone." She looked away. Towards the window, a frown on her mouth, her fingers poking impatient rhythms in the arm of the couch.
"Goodbye."
Jean swung her head towards Ororo. "Good enough. I've got things to do."
"Are you sure that is wise?"
"I can't deal with everyone's thoughts as well as my own. Not right now, not with planning Scott's memorial service."
"You should not have to."
"No," Jean said thoughtfully, "I shouldn't."
Ororo reached across Jean's leg, covering Jean's hand with hers. Surprise darkened Ororo's features, at the dry feel of Jean's skin. Their fingers opened against each other. Ororo turned Jean's engagement band and wedding ring easily with her thumb, so loose they were.
They listened to the rain turn to snow.
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