ABOUT LOVE
By The X-Woman


X X X

Disclaimer: The X-Men characters belong to Marvel Inc, and the movie characters belong to Fox. I will return them pressed and clean and undamaged… hopefully.

Author's Note: This is movie canon, so keep in mind that things are based on the movie, not the comic; for example, I know that Jean's eyes are green in the comics, but Famke Janssen has brown eyes; thus, Jean in the movie is brown-eyed. Also, this is kind of a speculative fic, so just got with it. As a side note: this was an experimental story with writing in dialect - I'd like to know people's opinions on writing Rogue's dialogue the way she speaks versus formal writing.

Rating: PG (slight hints at adult situations, character death)

Type: Post-X2, movie canon, somewhat AU, Jean/Scott, Rogue/Bobby

Summary: In the aftermath of the events of Alkali Lake, Rogue and Scott teach each other a lesson about love.

X X X

"Scott?"

A small voice broke through the darkness. He heard it, and stirred, but could not overcome the night surrounding him.

"Scott… hear me…"

I do, I hear you! He tried to speak, but could only scream the words in his mind. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn't see her, he couldn't see anything but the cold night pressing down upon him. His arms flailed, hitting something soft, too soft to be her body, grasping for fiery strands of hair that shone in the moonlight. Where are you! He screamed, silent.

Something brushed his fingertips, perhaps only the edge from her pillow she had frayed over hundreds of sleepless nights. Or perhaps, it was her hair, falling around her face wildly; her calm face, blessed by slumber.

"Jean."

She didn't answer. He let her hair fall through his fingers, a blood-stained waterfall. "You should grow it out again."

She opened her eyes, looking up at him, and smiled. It was tight lipped and small, but shone through her eyes. "I was going to cut it. Rogue wanted to… she said something about a 'updated' look." She laughed.

"I loved how you had it when we first met. Long, falling around your shoulders."

"We're not teenagers anymore, Scott. It's not sensible to have it so long. I'll cut it short… I think I can trust Rogue's taste."

He was amused, but tried to look annoyed and stern, almost impossible to pull off behind dark red glasses. And she could read his thoughts, sense his real feelings. She laughed at him, like she always did.

"If she messes up, I can always grow it out again," She mused, reaching up to place her hand gently on his cheek. He bent down to kiss her, but when his lips reached the place where hers had been, she was gone.

"Scott, I keep feeling something terrible is about to happen."

She stood in front of him, her eyes widened, filled with a fear he had yet to see reflected through her. All the years he had known her, all the battles they had fought, he had yet to see such fear as he saw in her now. And something else in her eyes… something foreign that had not been there before. She was now a stranger to him, filled with a power that he could not name, a power that froze his heart and ran his blood cold. He knew nothing else to do but take her in his arms, hold her and comfort her. He wished he could heal her pain with his touch.

"I'll never let anything happen to you."

But he had.

He had let her die.

Arms flung out, he sat up, wailing her name. When the dark settled and his eyes adjusted, he found her not in his arms, but instead he was alone in their silent room. He squeezed his eyes shut behind rose-coloured glasses and held his breath, longing to hear the sound of her gentle breathing in the night. He wanted this to be the dream… the pain, the loneliness. He wanted to wake up wailing her name and feel her arms wrap around him, feel her whispers comforting in his ears. But when he started to breath again, there was not touch of her hand, no caress of her lips. He was so utterly alone.

"Why, Jeanie?" He should have followed her. He should have died with her.

He knew he wouldn't sleep with the images of her running through his mind, she he got up and wandered to the main room. He could hear the TV mumbling, saw it's soft glow spill across the cold floor, and he wondered who else wandered these halls wide awake, with the memory of Jean Grey haunting them. Especially those who had been there – Storm, Logan, Kurt, who had made the institute his home, and the younger ones, Rogue and Bobby – all those that she had died for, all those that watched her die.

Scott passed by the living room quietly, not bothering to glance and note how many other mutants were awake. He headed straight to the kitchen, where he knew he'd find who he was looking for.

He did. Logan sat at the counter, nursing a warmed beer, and rolling a half burnt cigar in his fingers. He looked up and met Scott's eyes, then glanced back down, as if Scott had not been there at all. He walked into the room and stood across from Logan.

"Where'd you get the beer?"

Logan glanced up, and took a puff of his cigar quietly. "Bought some. I was sick of not having any around here." Scott stood quietly, and Logan grunted inaudibly. "If you want one, they're in the fridge."

Scott refrained from making a comment of the ignorance in keeping beer at the school, and instead reached into the refrigerator and grabbed one for himself. He sat at the counter across from Logan, and sipped quietly, hoping the alcohol would calm her nerves enough to go back to sleep. Logan grunted again stared at his cigar.

"You still havin' nightmares?"

Of all people Scott didn't want to admit that to, it was Logan, but there was no way around it. Logan did, of course, already know the answer.

"I keep reliving these conversations we had. Seeing her, wondering if there was something I could have done different."

Logan shrugged and stubbed out his cigar before taking another swig of beer. "There was nothing you could have done, Cyclops. She did what she had to. She saved our lives." He finished his beer. "Be thankful for that."

He lowered his head and shut his eyes. "I can't."

Logan stood up and moved beside him, setting his hand on Scott's shoulder gently. He cleared his throat, seeming out of place as he tried to comfort man he once despised, but now just pitied. "She loved us. She loved you. That's why she did it. You should feel lucky, to have been loved that much." He took his hand away, but before Scott could respond, Logan was gone.

He sat there and sipped his beer quietly for what could have been minutes, or hours, until he heard the TV switch off and the mansion fell beneath a blanket of silence. He was almost done with his beer, and the loneliness still pressed down on top of him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I thought I lost you. I love you so much."

"I love you."

His eyes snapped open as he heard the sound of skin brushing the tile floor, and he spun around, feeling the hair on his neck prickle up. He scared her, her mouth dropping open, and she took a few steps back, pushing white strands from her eyes.

"Rogue!" He gasped, standing up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

She balanced herself, forcing a smile. "Sorry, Professor." She muttered in her thick southern accent. "Ah didn't mean to scare you, either."

He sat back down, motioning to the chair across from him where Logan had sat earlier. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"Can't sleep." She shrugged. She was wearing a long white nightgown, with long sleeves that covered her bare hands, and almost touched her bare feet. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, her streaks of white – battle scars – hovering over her face. Scott couldn't help but note that this was the most exposed – literally and figuratively – he had even seen Rogue. Without her gloves that covered her arms passed her elbows, and a scarf tied around her neck, with her usually calm hair wild about her face, she seemed almost like a different person from the covered, quiet girl that sat in his classes. Almost… normal.

She sat down in the chair, poking the table with a finger, and Scott tried not to flinch, barely aware of the power beneath her skin. He pulled his beer close to him, and she peered at him through tired, dark eyes.

"When did ya meet Dr. Grey?"

"You've been thinking about her?"

"Yeah," She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Ah wish… Ah wish Ah had gotten to know her bette', ya know?" She poked the table, biting her lip distractedly. She had grown so much since she had come to the Institute, gone from a child to a woman, really… but here she sat, looking just as scared and young as the first day she came into his classroom. He reached out and touched her sleeved arm, forcing a small smile.

"She was about your age when she came here. Before then, the Professor was still tracking down mutants… so there were not very many of us. She was the first girl to come here, and we were all fascinated by her. Her poise, her power… She stood out."

"And ya fell in love with her?"

This time his smile was real. "Not right away I guess. I respected her, though. I saw something in her that I wanted to know. That turned into love, after a while."

"Yeah…" She smiled. "Ah know what ya mean. It's the same thing Ah felt when Ah first met Bobby." She blushed furiously then, realizing she was talking to a teacher. He squeezed her arm gently, and she looked down, embarrassed.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I want you to talk about him, about you two."

He stood up, taking his empty beer bottle with him to toss into the garbage, and offered her a drink. She asked for orange juice, and he poured her a glass, examining the clean kitchen around him as he spoke.

"When you came here, we all worried that you'd have some problems fitting in. Even with kids that have the powers they have here… yours was the most different, really. Not being able to even touch someone without harming them. The Professor worried that you might live up to your name, and slip away sometime." He sat the orange juice in front of Rogue and sat back down, and she sipped quietly, listening intently. "But when you and Bobby became more serious… we were happy to see you fitting in, making some friends. We're proud of you, Rogue."

She narrowed her eyes at him gently. "Do Ah remind you of her?"

He was taken by surprise, not so much by the question itself, but by her sincerity and honesty. "Yes," he answered truthfully. "You do. When you came her, you were a lot like her. Lost, alone. Modest about an amazing power, unsure of what to do with it. Quiet, kept to yourself. But you've come into your own, like she did." He caught himself then, not sure if he was rambling too much, or not elaborating enough. How could he explain to an eighteen year-old girl the emotions he felt for a woman he had known half his life? But as she talked about Bobby Drake, he found he couldn't ascribe the sparkle that appeared in her eyes to teenage hormones or puppy love, and he wondered vaguely if he had underestimated her.

"The day before… well the day before everything happened, Bobby took me out to dinne'. It was out first real date, Ah guess, even though we have practically been dating since we met… And when we got back to the school, it was the first time that, more than anythin' Ah wanted to be able to kiss him." She grimaced. "And Ah almost did. And then, Ah remembered what Ah was." She slumped back in her chair, staring at the juice glass. "And Ah didn't then. But when we finally did it… Ah hurt him." She lifted up her hand and buried her face into it, wiping tears off with her sleeve. Scott took her hand through the sleeve away from her face, and she looked at him through wet eyes. "It's hard… Sometimes Ah can't imagine goin' through life with him… feeling the way Ah feel about him, and neve' getting' to show him." Her voice faded and she shrugged.

He didn't know what to say, because he knew all too well how she felt. He remembered watching Jean enter the Professor's office for the first time, standing straight as she could, moving various objects with her mind, with a grace that was foreign to Scott. While the other boys lusted for her, Scott adored her with such pure innocence that she chose him as her closest confidant and friend. He remembered so many times watching her as she talked, looking so deeply into her dancing brown eyes he felt lost within her. And wishing more than anything he didn't have this power, this vicious, dangerous power that held him in, that blocked his soul from all, promising death to any who may be so foolish and daring as to look. And when he realized he loved her, when he told her, he feared that she wouldn't believe him; that his words would fall heavy around them, meaning so much less because she couldn't see it in his eyes.

But when she looked at him and said those words back, he knew she felt it, because it was real. She didn't need to see his eyes to see his love; it was all around them.

"You don't have to prove anything to him, Rogue." Scott smiled, remembering Jean. "He knows. They always know."

Rogue looked at him, her face transforming from the look of bitterness that had pressed down upon her all evening to true understanding. She looked away. "She haunts ya, doesn't she?"

"I hear her. I see her in my head, calling me."

"Then maybe, she's not really dead." Rogue shrugged, rolling her head so her cheek rested against her clothed shoulder. "She'll keep livin' on in you. That's the thing about love… when it gets into you, it's there to stay." She lifted her hands. "Every person Ah have touched since Ah had this power… they're all in my head, Ah feel them there. That's what love is, Ah guess… someone who has touched you."

Her words rang within him, and he knew then he had underestimated her. He wanted more than anything to take her hand, to thank her, but he remembered the curse; he couldn't touch her, she couldn't look into his eyes.

"Is everything okay?" A young man's voice broke the silence.

Rogue glanced up and Scott spun to face the doorway, where Bobby Drake stood, dressed sloppily in a long sleeved shirt and sweat pants. Scott nodded and Rogue stood up, leaning against the counter.

"We couldn't sleep… we were just talkin'."

He frowned. "About Dr. Grey?"

"Yeah." Rogue looked at Scott, her eyes smiling. "And about love."

"About love?" Bobby looked confused.

"Yeah," Scott nodded, and Rogue walked forward and grasped Bobby's arm gently. "Love."

"Well, Ah think we should go back to our rooms, Bobby… we have class tomorrah."

Bobby hugged her carefully and nodded. "I'll walk you to your room." He smiled. "'Night, Professor Summers."

Scott smiled. "Goodnight, Bobby." They turned to leave. "And Rogue?" She turned back, brushing hair from her lips. "Thank you. I needed someone to hear me."

"She hears you. Ah know it." She waved a little. "G'night."

They brushed out the doors and their footsteps faded into the dark, consumed by the night. He glanced out the window in front of him, watching the wind playfully dance through the leaves on the trees.

"This is the prettiest place to live."
He turned, and Jean smiled at him, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. He nodded, looking at her, taking her in. "Yes. Beautiful." She flushed and turned away. He stared back at the window. "I hope we never leave."

But she did. He didn't take her hand because it vanished, but somehow, for the first time since her death, he knew he wasn't alone. He could feel it in his heart. Maybe Rogue was right; Jean could hear him. He couldn't see her, but when he told her he loved her, she knew. And that was enough.

He found his way back to his bed and slept; her image never faded from his mind's eye, but she didn't continue to haunt him. He slumbered as if in her arms until the morning light streamed through the window, and even then, the sun kissed him gently, as with warm fiery lips, and he woke, knowing she was gone. But he also knew that he loved her, she did him, and instead of reaching out to find him, he reached within. And she was there.

His love may have echoed through his heart, through the Institute, into the hearts of all who had know the woman he loved. Perhaps it overcame the weight of the world and went beyond it, somewhere, to touch the slowed heart of a red-haired girl who understood the sacrifice of love, who could sense the meaning her death had brought to her life. Perhaps it was the power of his love, or her strength, or the need they had to reach and touch one another again; but it was a power greater than they could understand that reached the watery grave to which she had fallen, where she had given it all for the man that she loved.

And deep within the water, she stirred.