I'VE RETURNED!!! Oh my goodness... thanks to all those who are still waiting for updates on "Like Freedom In Spring"... I'm sorry it's been taking so long. School, work and wedding planning are consuming my life at the moment. But don't worry, the next chapter is close to done and on its way! And hopefully next semester will bring with it a new job, less homework (music classes don't tend to have much) and... well, of course there'll still be wedding planning, but I'm hoping that won't take up too much time. Anyway... just to keep you all on your toes, I decided to upload this lovely little snippet. As you can guess, set just after Jean was brought to the school as a teenager. I will most likely be inserting this in "Like Freedom" later, but I don't feel it's appropriate for this point in the plot yet. So... have fun and keep reading, you all. ;)

Ithaeli

She sat on the edge of the bed in her new room, hating all of it. The voices had been bothering her too much lately. After a while, it seemed like they all just blended together into one huge scream that hurt like hell for a few hours, then made her mind go numb. But it was always loud enough that it was distracting. She hadn't slept in days, and only now did it begin to show; now as she faced the wall, slumped over, her eyes red and puffy, absolutely vacant, letting everyone who saw her know that she was numb inside. To what should have been her gratitude, nobody did see her.

She had to say she'd been in a particularly good mood when she'd met Professor Xavier and Professor Lehnsherr. Most of the time she was aggressive and even violent with her newfound powers. But they had caught her at a good moment. Jean herself didn't know why she acted this way now. Before Annie had died, she remembered being… happy. A child, bursting with energy and laughter. But now her best friend was gone, and she'd lost three years of her life to the day she'd disappeared from the world.

She always tried to convince herself that that was why she was so emotionally volatile now. She hadn't finished grieving, and the fact that she was a mutant wasn't helping matters. That's what everyone passed it off as; that's what she wanted to think too. But that always seemed like a half-hearted response to whenever "screaming spells," as Jean found herself calling them, happened to occur. They all knew it. So did she, though she fought that reality with all the strength of her heart. What they didn't know, that she did, was something else that had been sleeping since the day she was born had woken up inside her, and it was taking up space in her mind and giving her abilities that she couldn't master no matter how hard she tried. And even though it didn't mean to, it was hurting her, because she wasn't used to all these thoughts in her head that weren't her own. And Jean was bitter at it, for hurting her and for taking up space. She wanted to get out.

A new voice entered the mix that formed coherent thought for a second before being sucked into the mind-numbing swirl of others. She recognized it as Professor Xavier's. He was in the doorway.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Jean?" he asked, sounding sad. He was sympathetic.

"I can't sleep," she whispered hoarsely. "It's too loud."

He was sitting down beside her. She felt his hand touch her shoulder and instinctively jerked back, her eyes seeming to blaze with fury. She shot a look that made the Professor flinch and hold his hands up in surprise. After a few seconds, though, she slumped over and her expression once again became vacant as she made a conscious effort to cool her extraordinary temper. Charles relaxed as well, but didn't try to touch Jean again.

She sighed and raised her head to look at him. "I still don't think I'm like other mutants."

Charles leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and folding his hands. "No, you're not," he agreed. "You are very special, Jean." He knew this. He'd never met anyone like Jean, and he'd met many mutants in his lifetime. But she was also very unstable, and he knew he was probably the only one who could help her.

Jean lifted an eyebrow, a trace of hope showing in her tired eyes. "You can?"

Charles nodded, not bothering to chastise her because he knew she didn't have the control not to see into other people's thoughts yet. "I can try."

She looked doubtful. "How?"

"First I'd have to place telepathic instruments in your mind to block out random thoughts and telekinesis. That means that you won't hear any more thoughts or move anything unless you try to." He smiled before continuing. "After that, you and I will work on you learning to control and strengthen your mental abilities. Over time, you'll become skilled in your telepathy and telekinesis. Eventually those blocks may not even be needed anymore." Charles hoped he wasn't just being optimistic. He could already tell at this point that Jean's boundaries were few when it came to her mutation… if there were any. And all that power could be potentially catastrophic. But he consciously blocked these thoughts from Jean's head so she couldn't hear. They would cross that bridge if they came to it later.

Jean stared straight at him, resolve filling her expression. "Then do it now."

"Are you sure you want this, Jean? It may take years before—"

"Yes." She looked desperate now. "I'm so tired, Professor."

Charles sighed deeply. "All right, then. Lie down and try to relax." As Jean complied, sinking her Charles gently placed his hands on either side of her head. "Try to think of a good memory… your family, your birthday, Christmas." He closed his eyes as he pushed deftly through Jean's mind and into its core. To his surprise and awe, Charles saw the source of all that had happened to Jean: a great firebird, neither evil nor entirely good; it burned with intensity and gave off a light that flowed through Jean's essence. So that's what she is… a Phoenix. But he could also see Jean was suffering from being unaccustomed to its power. He decided it was time to set the parameters.

Jean breathed deeply and blinked back tears as she set her hands on top of the Professor's. Charles opened his eyes briefly. "Jean, this may hurt. But once it's over, you can go to sleep. Okay?" He tried to speak comfortingly, like a father might.

Jean nodded and closed her eyes. "Okay."

"I'll start now." Charles felt a ripple moving through his mind and into Jean's, where it stopped firmly. Then another. And another.

Jean squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Charles's hands. "Agh… that hurts…" Another mental block locked in and Jean felt a sensation like a knife jamming into her head. "OW, GOD!" she squealed as she writhed on the bed. But it wasn't stopping. More knives kept jamming in at different places; more sharp, searing pain cutting into her brain as the patchwork of blocks forced itself into place. Jean's body thrashed instinctively against the pain, kicking her legs and gritting her teeth as hard as she could. But she didn't tell him to stop. She wanted those voices to leave.

"Almost done, Jean," Charles whispered, though he bit his lip to avoid crying out as Jean's fingernails dug into the backs of his hands. With every new block, she clutched his hands harder and harder. She was almost breaking the skin. Finally, the last block was forced into place, subsequently shifting all the ones around it. Jean's eyes snapped wide open, and she screamed in pain as her fingers ripped down Charles's hands. Charles gave an agonized shout as he let go of her head.

Jean sat up, her eyes squeezed shut, as she breathed heavily and waited for the pain to subside. As the throbbing in her head went down, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at her hands. Her fingernails were a bloody mess and they had what looked like skin caught in them. She quickly looked back at the Professor, who was gasping in pain as he held the bleeding back of one fingernail-raked hand. Jean looked up at him with wide eyes. "Professor! I'm so sorry!" Without even thinking about it, she jumped up to go get a wet washcloth from her bathroom.

Despite the pain in his hands, Charles looked up and chuckled as Jean returned. "Bit of a painful experience for both of us. It's all right, Jean," he added when he saw the remorseful look on the teenager's face.

She flopped down onto her bed with a large sigh and closed her eyes. "Okay. Thank you, Professor Xavier."

Charles stood up dabbing his hands with the washcloth, ready to let her sleep and go take care of his hands down in the school's new medical bay. Before closing the door, he smiled at the exhausted girl on the bed. "How's your head, Jean?"

She exhaled slowly, already half-asleep. "Silent," she whispered calmly.