I could tell this was going to be a long day.

There the professor is, just sitting as grimly as ever at his desk, looking at all of us with those keen intelligent eyes of his. He was the only person I could look in the eyes as a kid, even with the ruby covering my eyes; I couldn't look anyone in the eyes for the longest time… Then came Jean and we all know that's history.

Even without words I could feel everyone gradually look to me, to see how I'd react. Charles just told us the news that a new instructor would be joining us at the X Mansion, apparently a telepathic mutant and whatnot.

My face numbs up into a complacent smirk, and I only think about the connection of a new telepath joining us in lieu of…Jean, because I can just feel the tension and everyone around me noticing, picking up on that association, and pointedly directing concerned looks at me. They expect me to be the one to take the most notice of that coincidence. Can't they stop? I DON'T CARE!

Do they know what it's like to feel this empty? I'm done with this grieving, I'm done with their pity and the silence that comes over a chattery room when I come in.

Lately, I've just been humoring them humoring me. Humoring my sadness. I went through a cynical phase which I might still be stuck in…although now it is just plain old apathy.

Apathy that just gets you through. I know they mean well, but it's funny I guess to just grin when they spot me coming from the other direction in the hallways and suddenly find the need to look down like I'm some sort of bum or something.

So what if a new member is joining us? That's supposed to happen, we're always open to it. There might be a coincidence that a telepath is coming after another telepath left us… but it's not that important nor significant. At least to me.

Jean's Jean to me because she's Jean. Her powers don't make her who she is and even if another person shares her powers, it doesn't mean they are her. I don't feel the same way about Professor Xavier as I do about Jean and they have the same abilities. It's all irrelevant.

It seems like the others are giving this new person's coincidence more importance and controversy than it needs. As a leader of the X-Men, who is finally finding his feet again to get back up there and regardless of any situation, I will lead the team and I will treat every member new or old the same. Nothing changes if nothing changes.

All eyes are on me now, blank assuming eyes. What do they want? What do they expect? Should I put on the show they want and punch the wall in rage? Shout at the injustice of it all? I'm too tired and I am especially sick of them.

Now even the thought of Jean makes me spiteful, I know it's not really at her, but it's like a handicap and no one can look at me and all they do is see her.

I feel myself standing up and my feet carry me out of the room. Hm looks like I found them and they're working!

I'm in my room now which is a complete bachelor pad again, just like it used to be before JEAN. It's kinda nice now. At first it took a lot of getting used to, but I adapt well. After my period of torment and grief, I had a mental break down and just cleaned everything; you should have seen me then. My room had been a cavern of Jean memorabilia, week old take out, and our clothes just strewn everywhere not to mention the many damages I might have made to our room.

I cleaned everything like she would have. I boxed all of her things in anguish, shaking as I did so. She left my room that day and in a way, she left me that day far after her actual death.

I think it was good though, to make this room all mine again. I feel better, I can actually function and take showers without sobbing, I can eat and keep things down and I can make myself shave daily now.

It looks like how it used to before I settled down and committed to Jean.

The knob on my door slowly turns and in comes Ororo, always meaning and looking her best. Before I can dive headfirst into my bed and pretend to be in so much angst, she comes in and stands before me, playing on my computer.

Her stormy gray eyes are sad and translucent, yet she is looking at me with concern, her hand on my shoulder.

"Scott… I know this must be hard on you. I am so sorry. We're all here for you and-."

I keep my face straight, and interrupt, "I know. Thanks. It's fine. I'm fine."

She has that look on her face like she doesn't believe me and "sees right through my façade".

I heave a small sigh and shrug, "Really. You guys worrying just… gets aggravating. Okay? I am dealing with this and it would be a lot easier if everyone didn't just give me weird looks and hush up whenever I come by. Don't treat me like a victim anymore."

Shocked, Ororo opens her mouth, but then closes it and her gray eyes relax and she softly smiles at me, and then excuses herself.

I know everyone worries that I repress too easily and maybe that's it, maybe that's why I'm not as mournful anymore as everyone else. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not in a depressed sort of way, but more like, a blasé way. I've seen things that were horrible, so now everything else is just trivial and I am done caring.

After spending the entire morning alone in my room, tinkering on the computer or napping, I decide to go to my sports bar, a little section in the kitchen that is dedicated to sports and just for me; the whole mansion knows it is off limits.

I rise from my bed, stick my hand underneath my glasses to rub sleep away from my eyes. Stretching never felt so good after a good nap. The kinks at the base of my spine work themselves out and my back cracks under rippled muscle.

As I trundle down to the kitchen in my black boxer briefs, a dark glow issues from the dusty sky windows above the staircases. I guess I napped longer than I thought. Actually, the whole mansion is dark; it takes a few minutes for my ruby encased eyes to adjust. I pass by the rec room and peek at the digital time on the TV set. 3 AM. Nice, Scott.

I open the cabinet that is mine and settle behind the small bar attached to the kitchen wall. I double check my security coded mini fridge to see if Logan jacked any of my beers again. The glow from the open fridge is bright, and illuminates the dark kitchen. I leave it open instead of turning on the lights, to make myself a good stiff one. I notice that some of my expensive collected bottles have been opened… some of my liquor is missing. I lazily make a note to myself that I'll personally kill Logan tomorrow.

The soft swoosh of the fridge door closing doesn't bother me as I am left alone in the dark again with just me and my drink.

I down it thirstily, ready to break open another bottle. Usually, I prop myself up against the bar and prepare myself a special tray of beer or another sports-appropriate drink and a bowl of peanuts. Then I make the brisk walk from the kitchen to the adjoining rec room and enjoy my ESPN.

However, this midnight occasion is just a whim and there are no teams playing right now that would interest me, so yes, I guess I am just drinking for the sake of drinking.

Years of intense training, experiences, and instinct suddenly kick in and make me wary of a familiar feeling that I am not alone…

My muscles tense, my nerves peak, and I squeeze my high baller in my hand, ready to lash out at the darkness.

"Please, calm down, there is nothing to worry about, I am no predator, Mr. Summers."

An eerie feminine voice speaks to me from the shadows, and it is completely unfamiliar. Nobody would be up right now, and if this is an ambush, I'm not very well prepared.

With a spring of muscle, I am able to turn and flip on the lights in one fluid motion.

I blink in the sudden light and look around and nearly jump out of my skin when I see someone standing against the granite island in the kitchen.

I actually do leap up a little bit to the amusement of this unwelcome stranger, but then I see that it is some blonde girl wearing nothing but a teeny white night dress. Suddenly, I feel indecent and exposed by the way she is staring at me.

I try not let my voice waver, "Uh, who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

Nothing to be afraid of. Right?

The blonde girl shrugs a little, letting the thin strap of her dress slip off her shoulder. "I know who you are, you're Scott Summers aren't you? Leader of the X-Men?"

Okay now I am very freaked out.

"It seems like we have midnight cravings in common. Which is rare. Thank you for providing the refreshments." She merrily smiles at me, tipping a champagne flute from a set that Jean's parents gave us as a gift, and it is filled with sparkling gold champagne and orange juice. The merry smile does not reach her eyes though, which are cold and clear and staring intently at me in the most uncomfortable way possible.

"You! Y-you broke into my alcohol?"

"Well, not even a proper introduction and you are accusing me of such debauchery! Mr. Summers, we have a lot to learn about each other. Although from what I hear, you do not have any interest in learning anything about me."

Who is this strange woman in our house?

Before I can sort things out, she cuts in like she knows I'm about to speak. She walks towards me like a jaguar sidling up to pounce on its prey. I wonder if I'm dreaming or if this is some strange illusion being put on me because none of this, especially this random girl's presence, makes sense.

She walks right up to me so she is right under my chin, she is that close. I lift an eyebrow in confusion and she looks down so that I'm suddenly aware that there is not much between us except my tight boxer briefs. Oh my god why did I wear these tonight instead of normal boxers, why did I think I could step out of my room in underwear without seeing anyone?

She looks back up at me and lifts a silky eyebrow at me. A palm is stretched out and the edges of the fingertips are jabbed in my bare chest and I clumsily lift my wrist and limply shake her hand without much distance between us.

I am looking down at her and she is looking up at me and I feel a hazy lightness come over me and nothing has to make sense and I don't care and she's parting her lips and we are standing too close to each other and she might kiss me or kill me and I have no idea what's going on.

"I am Emma Frost. Scott Summers…So glad to make your acquaintance."

Her limp hand is still held in my palm and I drop it, suddenly tilted back to conscious thinking and I bluntly ask, "Huh?" I don't know any Emma Frosts.

She haughtily laughs, "You really don't know who I am, do you? I'm the new staff member here. I just arrived this afternoon and met everyone at dinner…but you. The others said that you weren't feeling particularly well and did not want to come down to greet me. Judging from the thoughts I picked up, I presume it is because of the recent…loss this place has suffered and of course, I respect that you have no respect for me because you don't want a new 'replacement.' Well I assure you that I will most likely gain your respect and also, I am not replacing anyone. No one can be as fabulous as moi. No offense to this Jean Grey. God rest her soul." Upon saying moi, her eyebrow arches menacingly.

Usually hearing her name triggers something in me, I would have probably told this new girl off for disrespecting the dead, but that all flew over my head as I leaned forward.

"What? You were supposed to come today? I had no idea, my apologies for not being present at dinner, Ms. Frost. Why did they tell you that? Nobody told me about your arrival and nobody invited me to dinner… I would have wanted to meet you! I get it though, we're all pretty rattled about the death so it is considerate that my colleagues would assume otherwise. Also, my apologies for my rudeness right now, I just didn't expect… this. I want to clear things up and let you know that I have no ill intent towards you and would love to welcome you here. Please excuse my sleep attire though."

Emma Frost smirked and looked down at my body again briefly and said, "Excused! Definitely excused. I know I certainly did not expect… this. You may find though, that sometimes, what we don't expect… can prove better than what we do expect."

I regained my senses and grunted before stepping back and trying to cover myself behind the bar counter. Emma noticed this and smiled even wider, "So, Mr. Summers, now that the ice is broken, why don't you fix me another mimosa?"

She handed the now empty glass to me, dangling the thin glass stem between two languid fingers.