Howdy! I recently saw RENT, and was inspired to write this. Note: the next chapters are to be written in past tense, as Jean is recalling how exactly she DID get into this mess. Anyway, I know I should be focused on "The Price" but... honestly, I'm considering dropping it and simply adding the alternae ending I originally had written to the end of Left in Scarlet Wake. I feel almost like I've wasted a halfway decent tragedy. Enjoy!

Full summary: What happened to perfect Jean Grey? How did she get addicted? How did she, of all people, contract AIDS? Why is she the one to die? She's the last person to know. As she fights a losing battle with Death and her friends are helpless, only on thing is for sure- things can never be the same for anyone at the Xavier Institute.


Will I lose my dignity?

Will someone care?

Will I wake tomorrow from,

This nightmare?

-RENT

Chapter One : We're So Damn Sorry

How did I get here? I watch, trying not to flinch, as the needle pierces the tender skin of my inner arm, and draws out my blood. Funny that I, of all people, would flinch at a needle, I muse as I look at the pinprick scars dotting the once-delicate skin on my arm. The furry man in a lab coat stands and looks at the vial of my blood- oh my blood, don't take it, I need it!- and grins wryly at me.

"Jean, it gets harder every time."

I bet so Mr. McCoy. Nobody ever thought it'd be me, now did they? No one ever figured that I would end up this way.

I return the grin, my chapped lips moaning in protest.

How did I, the perfect Jean Grey, end up breathing through a tube in the infirmary? How did I get the raw deal, end up with the consequences I shouldn't have? It's always someone else, some other person that gets hooked, someone else that gets caught, a different person breathing through the damn tube, having her T-cells checked for the third time in less than a week! Today, I'm the someone else. Because, this time, it's me being tested, me breathing through a damn tube, me having her T-cells checked for the third time in less than a week.

This time, it's me that's dying.

"I have bad news."

I don't get good news anymore. It began with the rehab. Jean, we have bad news. You are addicted to heroin and cocaine and all sorts of shit. Jean, we have bad news. You have been diagnosed with the HIV virus, you are now a part of the secret club of terminally ill people. Jean, we have bad news. Your T-cells are dropping, and we think it has developed into AIDS. Jean, you have less than three months to live.

We're so damn sorry.

"I know, my T-cells are dropping, I'm just getting sicker." I reply absently, softly. He grins. "It could be worse. I'm lucky."

"Positive as ever, I see."

I'm not lucky and I'm not positive, but I'm still Jean. I'm still perfect Jean Grey, the girl that could have made it to Harvard, the girl that had the chance to be whatever she wanted before she fucked up and ruined the beautiful image.

He turns and fiddles with an IV, eager to leave. No one like to see me thin and broken, running out of time, dying. I lean back into my pillows, closing my eyes just as a loud knock interrupts whatever rest I could have gotten.

"Hi, Jean." Kitty steps tentatively into the room, gripping a bottle of blue nail polish like it's her only lifeline. Rogue follows, hiding behind a bouqet of flowers someone roped her into bringing down to me.

"Hey guys." I smile. I'll admit, it wasn't my goal to die at just twenty years old. But at least I've got friends (who would have ever thought I'd refer to Rogue as a friend?) and I'm not alone. Kitty unscrews the blue nail polish, a smile in place like always. She gently takes my hand, and begins to paint. Rogue plops into a chair, a sour smile in place as she sets the flowers in a vase.

"Scott's busy with the New Recruits, but he'll be in soon." Kitty says chipperly, like I'm not dying, like I'm not breathing through a tube in my nose, like I can still swallow on my own, like I'm still fucking perfect Jean Grey.

"He doesn't have to come." I sigh. "But I appreciate it."

"How ya feelin', Red?" Rogue asks, her eyes averted to look out the window as beautiful snow flakes meeting the warm earth. Part of me wonders why she even cares; ever since I was diagnosed, she's been weird, dancing on the edge to watch over me inconspicuously. As I've gotten weaker, my telepathy has joined the losing fight, and I can't read her mind.

"Like crap. I'll get through it."

And my words hang in the air, because I won't get through it, because I will die, because they cannot bear to tell me the truth. Kitty focuses on my pinky, and Rogue just looks away. People always think she is brutally honest, but she can't bear to remind me that I will die?

"Anyway, I'm just glad to have some company."

"Oh my God, it must get so boring in here!" The valley girl jumps on the chance to change the subject.

"Yeah, it does." I reply softly.

It gets lonely, and I am left alone with my thoughts far too often.

"Hey Jeanie." Scott hurries in, leaning down to give me a gentle kiss on the cheek. I smile at him, and Rogue is quick to give up her seat to him. I doubt it's a remnant of the old crush; she is always uncomfortable when she visits me.

"So, Jean, have you told your family yet?" Kitty asks softly, waving a casual good bye as her friend leaves the room.

"No."

Why would I tell my family, those that need to think I am perfect even more than anyone else? I don't know what I'll do; maybe they'll just find out at my funeral, and I'll never have to deal with it. That would be the easiest thing to do. No one can imagine how hard it would be for me to admit the drugs, the AIDS, the mistakes. '

Yes, they can find out when purple lilacs and tiger lilies and classic roses decorate my casket, tied with a red ribbon. Sometimes I think it's bad to think of my funeral like it's my wedding.

"Eventually-" Kitty begins sadly. I know what she'll say; they deserve to know, and they will eventually. Spare yourself the trouble, and just tell them. You'll feel better, and they can say their good- they can spend some time with you.

"Well, I don't think I have to worry about eventually!" I interrupt her, irritable suddenly. "I'll be dead by the time eventually comes around."

The room is silent, and even Kitty is just staring, slack-jawed. When did Jeannie get so mean? I don't really know when the change happened, when I suddenly started caring more about myself than everyone around me. It hurts to admit it. Most people are the same, but before all this- I wasn't.

Was I? Could I just not admit it at the time?

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." I whisper.

"It's fine." Kitty says shakily, gently dipping the brush back into the bottle. "You're stressed, and you don't feel well. That would make me a total bitch, not just a little cranky."

I smile at the understanding girl. A small cough tears out of my chest, a knife scraping the inside of my throat. Scott runs a hand through my hair, obviously worried, unable to do anything at all. The small fit subsides, and I find myself wondering once again:

How did I get here? If anyone were to end up like this, it should have been Tabitha or Rogue, maybe Kitty if we're stretching it. It shouldn't have been me! But, here I am, ice cubes gently rubbed against my parched lips, my nails painted a light blue by Kitty.

It isn't real, it isn't honest, I'm not sick! I don't have AIDS, I never started drugs, I never managed to ruin my life. It's all an illusion. Fake, fake, fake…

But it's real and true. Jean Grey is dying of AIDS before she can even legally drink alcohol.

How the hell did I end up so low?


So, yeah. Very short, but it's just an opener. Not the best of my writing, but it should improve. Now this will switch between four different POVs: Jean (first person, present tense), Jean (first person, past tense), Third person (past tense), and first person (multiple people, past tense). I may or may not involve journal entries in this. Later on, these will chnge, but you can count on them for awhile.

Didja like it? Review and tell me. I would love C+C, as well as any addtional information on the disease I may not know.