Background:

In All New X-men, the original 5 – Scott, Jean, Hank, Warren, Bobby - are brought to the present that's very different from their reality. Charles Xavier is dead – debatably killed by Cyclops who has gone to the dark side and who's now leading a team with Magneto. On the X-men front, Storm and Wolverine are heading the Jean Grey Institute.

So this fic is just a snippet in the grand scheme of things. But really, how can the writers not give us a few panels between these two?

Jean Grey.

The young Jean Grey.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

I've been waiting for Jean to come back for years. Yes she died, yes we buried her. But she always returns. Always. It's only a matter of when. Walking around downtown sometimes I'd see a flash of red hair. In the middle of a tense fight, I half expect to see that display of power. Or when I pass by the statue on school grounds, I can almost imagine her standing behind me when I turn around.

It's a cruel trick, this anticipation of mine. But it's over now. She's here. Only different. Not the Jean I know.

Not yet. And that makes a whole world of difference.

The young Jean Grey.

I feel like dirty uncle Harry when I'm around her. Same red hair, piercing green eyes, full lips. The way she talks, the way she moves - it's all the same. But a teen version. So I suppress my thoughts and desires, even more than when Jeanie – my Jeanie – was around. If she was off limits before, hell, she's most certainly is now.

But some habits are hard to break.

I watch as she's eating lunch with the other X-kids. Ice cube's making a couple of jokes and she's laughing that laugh I miss. She wrinkles her nose and punches Bobby's arm.

I smile.

Like a creepy stalking geezer. Well shit.

Suddenly her eyes catch me staring across the room. In a hall full of noisy mutants, everyone blurs to the background until it's just us two. She looks away abruptly.

Cripes. How much of my thoughts has she seen already?

I go out for some fresh air. She's jailbait, you asshole. Stop acting like one of your pimply pubescent students.

But it's not just attraction fuelling this. It's not just lust. It's all those years of pining.

I miss my Jean. I miss the Jean who shared a history with me.

I stop by the Marvel Girl statue. She will rise again. She did, except not the way I expected. The Jean here and now is a painful reminder of what I've lost. The waiting's not done after all.

I hear her tentative steps first, then smell her scent. I turn around.

"Hi James," she says timidly.

"Hey Red."

Teen Jean stands there with her arms crossed, fingers tugging at her sleeve.

"I want to apologize for that Dark Phoenix projection. I didn't think it would go out of hand like that," She says sheepishly. "I promise I won't do it again."

"You better kid. That's not a good memory for a lot of us."

"I know that now. I was just trying to scare off Mystique." She pauses before asking, "Do I really go crazy when I'm Phoenix?"

"Not a good idea to know stuff about your future."

"Too late for that."

"Then you shouldn't snoop around for more."

"I know. It's just – " She glances at her statue. "All this is confusing."

For a teenager to find a group of strangers adoring her must be strange. Cripes, I fucking named a school after her. I chuckle

Jean looks at me, brows furrowed. "I'm serious. I become Phoenix, go insane with power, wipe out an entire solar system, almost destroyed our planet, and I'm still good enough to earn a statue?"

"It's not about what you did as Phoenix. It's what you sacrificed to stop it. You fought that powerful force to protect your friends. That took a lot of guts and a lot of heart. You're the most selfless person I know, Jeanie."

"I'm not. I'm not selfless at all," she says, almost annoyed. "You've seen it. I did mind control on Warren."

"You're still growing up."

"So I'll grow up to be a selfless martyr? What if I don't want to?" Jean asks, voice resentful. "What if I don't want to die?"

"No one wants that Darlin," I murmur.

I wish I could take her in my arms and tell her it'll be fine. But I can't because history proves the worst days are ahead.

"I know it's tough but don't over think it."

"It's just so strange how people think of her. They put her on a pedestal. Literally." She gestures at the statue. "I'm not that Jean Grey, I'm not a saint. I can't live up to that."

"She aint' a saint either. And thank God for that," I say with a chuckle.

Her cheeks redden slightly.

I mentally kick myself.

She hesitates but asks anyway. "Then what's she like?"

Dangerous territory but she looks on expectantly.

"Warm. Funny."

Sexy as hell. I push that thought away.

"Cheeky. Brave. Full of life."

Mysterious, fascinating, passionate, gorgeous. But I don't say them out loud. I might scare her teenage self away. Actually waxing poetic like that can even make a grown woman think of getting a restraining order.

Fuck unrequited feelings.

"You care a lot about her."

"I do." No sense in hiding that.

Her face is uncertain but her green eyes hold mine steadily. I know that look.

She breaks off. The moment passes.

Teen Jean laughs nervously. "It's just strange. All of it."

I exhale. "You tell me kid."

Jean raises an eyebrow. "Stop calling me kid. I'm not a kid."

"You are to me."

"How old was I –" she pauses then corrects herself, "How old was the other Jean when you first met her?"

I think. "21"

"I'm only 5 years younger."

"Five years is a lot," I mutter.

She shrugs. "If you're a century old then 5 years is nothing."

What the hell is she getting at?

"I'm not a child," she explains plainly.

I stare at her. Maybe not. I don't know anymore.

Jean clears her throat. "I'm sorry, that was rude. Are you really a hundred years old? I just heard that from some of the students."

"What if I say I'm older than that?"

"At least you look young for your age?" she offers.

"Smart girl."

She grins.

Jean turns back to the statue, hands on her hips. "So can we put this thing away while I'm here?"

"No."

"I thought so." She sighs. "And she's wearing a weird costume too."

"It's the Marvel Girl costume," I defend. "Classic."

"It's a mini skirt and a pointy mask."

I cough back a retort.

"I better go. We have Danger Room with Professor Kitty."

Professor Kitty. I find that funny as hell. But all I say is - "It's nice talking to you Red."

"You too James."

"Not James," I reply without thinking. "You call me Logan."

"Logan." She draws out the word as if feeling it out. Jean nods, satisfied. "Makes sense. Fits you better."

"Good to know."

"See you around Logan," she says with a soft smile on her lips, before turning away.

And just like that, there she is – right there – it's the Jean I know.

- Fin -