"I guess I was confusing sex with love."

"Oh. I did that once. It was great!"

--Roxanne

Author's Note: A lot of my stories start with one "what if?" or another. This is this story's "what if." What if Jean Grey mistook her sexual attraction to Scott Summers for love? (Obviously, this is very AU. Yes, I have to say it.)

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I watched her from afar as he flirted with Emma Frost. Her pink lips quivered, but her green eyes shed no tears. I knew the routine. She was telling herself that it didn't matter. He had to love her. The sex was fantastic. All the romance novels say you can't have great sex without love. There must be something to it. Right?

Scott didn't care. He knew she was there. She was always there. He left her room this morning knowing she would follow. He set this up. I saw him waiting for Emma, looking for her. He gave a sly smile as she approached him for her kiss.

He held Emma gently and whispered something naughty in her ear, her blonde hair brushing his mouth. She smiled smugly at Jean and tossed her head, then left the room. Scott followed closely, eyes glued to her tiny white miniskirt, leaving Jean standing alone on the outside again.

She shook her head, then sat and let the pain loose from her eyes. Curled up against the white wall, her arms snug against her knees, she stained her blue jeans with her grief. He had done it again. She chanted the litany of names, trying to find some way out. Lee Forrester. Colleen Wing. Madelyne Pryor. Betsy Braddock. Spiderwoman. Tigra. Maria Vanity. Emma Frost. She tried to comfort herself. They had all come and gone. Surely Scott would see how bad Emma was for him soon. Surely he would realize she was the constant in his life.

Her red hair veiled her face, her arms clad in green holding her sorrow, but her friends tried to move the barriers that kept them at bay. Ororo took a few minutes, letting Jean scream into her white hair that all men were pigs, then nodding as Jean apologized. She didn't really think that, not even about Scott, though she really should.

Logan made his usual offer, metal screaming from his hands, and she again refused. She believed she loved Scott, even though she was learning to accept that he did not love her. The short man growled as he left her holding the wall for support, trying to smile. She was locked in her own prison and he could not free her.

I came to her after the others left with their well-wishes and aching hearts. She gave me a watery grin that became a sob. I wrapped my arms around her, insulating her from the world for a little while. She finally pushed away from me and gave me a real smile.

"You know, you should try to find someone who would really love you," I said gently, brushing a last tear from her cheek. Her grief tingled on my finger. I winced again.

She turned away a little, looking at the potted palm on the floor near my wingtips. "I have that. I'm not worthy of his love, though." She gave me another, weaker smile. "Thanks, Warren."

"It was nothing." I walked away, leaving her locked in love with a man who didn't deserve it, trying to keep the pain from taking over as I left my first love, my only love.

Oh, Jean. Will you ever stop doing this to yourself? Must we watch, all of us who love you, as you destroy all chances for something good?

I am no oracle, despite my appearance. I do not know. I did, however, take five minutes in the old family chapel that Kurt and Rogue use to pray to Whoever might be listening. Please. Even if it's not me. Even if it's no one. Please. Have her find a way out.

Please, God.