"One mile down, one to go. Come on, Charles, push yourself."
A man who appeared to be in his late fifties jogged along the side of the road, huffing and puffing slightly as he went. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, that slight ache of muscle as he went step by step. The "burn" everyone always talked about; his morning jog. He loved that feeling.
About a year ago, he hadn't been able to use his legs at all. But that wasn't his body anymore. That one was scattered in billions of pieces, darkly cremated and lying among the ashes that lay beneath Jean Grey's childhood home. This new body was… better, dare he say. More functional. More complete. Since he had performed his transfer-of-consciousness, he now enjoyed the use of his legs. That's why he had taken up jogging after returning to the school about ten months ago. Everyone was glad he was back, and they praised him for not taking his new abilities for granted. Charles Xavier was definitely happier.
He came within sight of the school and slowed his pace to a brisk walk, dabbing the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve as he made his way across the lawn.
"Charles!"
Charles looked for the source of the voice that called his name, and saw Dr. Moira MacTaggert coming toward him from the building. Moira was an old friend of Charles, and she had returned with him to the school when she heard they were in need of a doctor (and of course, to stay current on Charles's progress as he became accustomed to his new body). She was also a talented geneticist, and had even been asked to do research for the organization that had developed the mutant cure of a year ago, but she had refused because of her ties with the mutant community. As of now, she was the only true human residing on campus at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. She got along with everyone splendidly.
Charles slowed to a stop and waited for Moira to catch up to him. "Good morning, Moira. How goes everything?"
"Everything's great; good morning yourself, Charles," she told him in a light Highland accent. She smiled, but her eyes were still slightly serious. "I need to show you some blood samples I collected from Marie."
"Marie?" Ah, yes, Rogue, Charles thought. She had taken the cure during his absence and no longer preferred to be known as Rogue, but he still wasn't used to calling her by her birth name. "Why did you need samples from her?"
Moira cocked her head toward the building. "Come to the lab with me and I'll show you?"
"Of course." He was intrigued, and yet he felt there was some seriousness in the matter.
He and Moira passed through the doors of the school and into the hallways, which were bustling with activity at breakfast time this Sunday morning. Charles remembered a time when he used to go through these same halls with Jean on the way to the lab. To tell the truth, Jean was never far from the Professor's mind. Xavier had been heartbroken, yet not surprised to learn of her fate. He blamed himself for not being able to help her, for not being cautious enough. He had made a terrible mistake in allowing the Phoenix to rampage, and it had cost the life of one of his oldest and dearest friends… in fact, she was more like a daughter to him. He missed Jean terribly. He missed her soul, her vibrancy, the dedication and love she put into everything she did. Without her, the school would always be missing a certain part of itself… she had made the time she spent there magical. Now, Jean was but a good memory.
Still, at times, Charles wondered… in all the folklore, the Phoenix always rose from the ashes of its former self.
---0---
The sun was rising higher as she walked on. Jean dwelled faintly on everything she'd caused to happen as she kept walking and looked straight ahead through the crowded sidewalks. People were talking around her, laughing, yelling at each other; coughing, little kids squealing… she heard their every thought as well. Fortunately, not too many of them were about her. As she stood at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, a young boy and his mother came and stood right next to her. She could feel the boy's eyes boring into her, examining her from head to toe. His only thought was, why isn't she wearing any shoes?
Jean looked down and realized that, in fact, she hadn't been wearing shoes the entire time. Her feet were grimy and it felt like they were bruised—even cut—on the soles. She hadn't even noticed the ache until now. She hardly noticed anything. Jean was, one would say, numb to the world… her only concentration on keeping the Phoenix barred from it. She thought maybe it was better that way. If she was unaware of any threatening circumstance, the Phoenix—which, now she thought of it, was just like a strong survival instinct—would continue to sleep. She would live a painless, joyless life as only Jean… it's better than no life at all, Jean assured herself. But she really wasn't sure if she believed that.
The lights changed, and Jean walked forward automatically, going with the crowd, still staring only straight ahead. She tried to block out the thought of her aching feet, her tired legs, the way that little boy had stared at her… but to little avail. She could ignore her feet, but memories were memories, and they wouldn't go away, no matter how much she wanted them to. Jean stopped once she reached the sidewalk, wrapping one arm loosely around the stoplight post. She leaned her head on it and released a regretful sigh as she closed her eyes, trying, even just for a minute, to be someone else, someone not telepathic, someone who wasn't a walking time bomb… no, more like a walking apocalypse, she thought with a sickened shudder.
Her feet were throbbing. The aching was becoming unbearable. She'd been walking for God-knows-how-long, and she hadn't even been aware of what she'd stepped on until now. Jean realized she had no money, nobody she knew here. Just her own two aching, dirty, cut-up feet. And how far would they get her? She was reconsidering whether begging was really above her.
A series of melodious, echoing rings resonated in her ears above the street noise and she looked over her shoulder toward the sound. Church bells, she thought. It's Sunday. Despite her efforts to be uninvolved with the outside world, they sounded hopeful and inviting to her. The church was on a landing above the sidewalk. People were crowding into it. Jean remembered a verse she'd learned as a little girl. "Come, all ye who are weary, and I will give you rest," she spoke it softly. Well, she was weary now. Had God forgotten about her? She would find out. Jean started walking decisively toward the church, and then broke into a run as she felt her feet treading on the cool, damp grass. In spite of circumstances, she conceded that it really did feel good to be alive.
---0---
Bobby Drake sighed deeply as he stood at the window in the kitchen, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the students lining up for breakfast behind him. He watched the sunrise absentmindedly as the clouds flushed yellow and pink, fiddling with the recently-made hole in the left pocket of his jeans. His mind was on something else altogether.
"Bobby?"
He blinked and took his hands out of his pockets as he turned to face the person addressing him. Kitty was in a wifebeater and black sweatpants, and she looked at him quizzically as she sipped her orange juice. "Sleep okay?" she asked casually.
"Yeah, fine," he shrugged. "You?"
Kitty smiled, her upper lip shiny and slightly yellow from her juice. "Slept well, thanks."
"That's good," Bobby replied. "Hey, do you know where Marie is? I've been waiting here a while for her…"
Kitty's gaze drifted away as she thought. "Well, ummm… she was still asleep when I left, I think. Probably still is."
Bobby laughed and shook his head. "She's so lazy… maybe I'll go give her a wakeup call."
Kitty raised her eyebrows and took another swallow of juice. "'Kay, but don't be too long or I'll have to come check on you."
"Don't worry," he said as he maneuvered out of the kitchen. "We'll be down soon."
"Oh, Bobby!" Kitty called after him, remembering something. When Bobby looked back at her, her face was both pensive and fretful. "She might be… a little off today. Just be nice," she told him. He shrugged, but worry started to spark in his mind. "Okay, I will. Thanks, Kitty."
"Yeah, sure thing." She turned back and started looking for a plate as though nothing had happened.
When he reached Marie's room, he tiptoed up slowly and put his ear to the door. At first he heard nothing, but just as he raised his fist to knock on the door, a muffled sob escaped across the threshold. He lowered his hand slightly and called through the door. "Marie? You okay?"
"Bobby?" he heard the weary reply. Then a pause before she spoke again. "Don't come in here!"
"Okay." He waited patiently for a couple of minutes, but was concerned. Finally, he rested his hand on the doorframe and called in again. "Can I come in now?"
"No! Not now, not ever! I'm not coming down!"
"Marie, what's wrong?" he asked, growing more and more worried. She never acted like this; even when she was having a bad day, she was always happy to see him… "Please, can I come in?"
"NO!" she yelled from inside the room. Followed by a quiet whimper. "I'm too dangerous."
Bobby was unsure of what his girlfriend meant by saying that, so he stood there for a little while and then slowly, quietly tried turning the doorknob. When the door breezed open a crack, he paused. But Marie didn't object, so he opened it all the way and stepped into the room. He saw her lying on her bed, covered by sheets except for her eyes, which were red and swollen from crying. He wondered how long she'd been awake. Sighing, he went to her side, only to have her inch away from his touch and huddle further under the blankets. Bobby gave up and sat on the side of the bed. "What's going on, Marie?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a stifled sob, and began to cry again as she rolled over away from Bobby. He could see she wasn't ready to talk yet, so he just sat and let her cry into her pillow. Why is she so upset? He wondered. Bobby was afraid she'd had a nightmare, been hurt by someone… or something worse. He couldn't take just sitting by and watching her wallow in torment. "Please… I've gotta know what's wrong. I can't stand to see you like this and not know why," he pushed her gently for an answer.
Marie rolled over to face him as she sniffled. "I… I think my mutation is back, Bobby. I'm so scared," she whispered.
Bobby was shocked, but he tried not to show it. "How… how do you know?"
She sniffled again. "Well, yesterday evening I was in here with Kitty, just hanging out… she made a joke about me or something and we started wrestling around," she explained, laughing a little. "But when I pinned her arms down and started counting to ten, she started to look pale and sweaty and was breathing harder than she should've been… and when I got up and went to go sit on my bed, I went right through… Kitty was fine after a few minutes, but I was really scared," she cried.
Bobby covered Marie with a sheet as she sat up and hugged her to him tightly. "Are you sure?"
Marie nodded into his shoulder and swallowed. "Dr. MacTaggert took a blood sample last night… she hasn't gotten back to me on it yet, but I'm pretty sure." She burst into a fresh round of tears.
Bobby sighed reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Marie. I'm so sorry." He stroked her hair softly and let her cry. She clung tightly to his shirt and shook with each sob. "It's not right, it's not right," she whined into his chest. "I loved being able to touch you… to touch anyone… they can't do this… they just can't! It isn't fair!" she yelled as she pounded on his back with her fist. Bobby didn't care. He was angry, too, but he was biting his tongue. Marie needed his comfort more than anything at that moment. "I know. I know," he whispered as he kissed her hair. "It'll be okay."
Marie drew back looking incensed, her face still streaked with tears. "Okay? Okay? No, it isn't okay! Not for me!" she vented. "They said they had a cure! Meaning forever! Not—not this!" she threw her hands down on the bed to make her point. Her breath caught in her throat as her anger died. "They lied. They lied to everyone." She hugged her knees to her chest and sank her head into them with a despairing moan.
They sat in silence for a little while, and then Bobby reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'm always here. I'm not leaving you. It… it never made a difference in how I felt about you, Marie." She looked up at him with a glimmer of hope in her eye and he smiled sweetly at her. She smiled back uncertainly. "You sure? I mean… I can't ever—"
"—It doesn't matter to me at all." He was half-lying. It had mattered; in the last year their relationship had grown so much, but he knew without a doubt that he could be happy with Marie, even if her gift—yes, he considered it a gift— was an obstacle for them. "Remember, I told you in the first place that it didn't matter whether you had taken the cure or not."
Marie smiled genuinely this time. "I love you, Bobby," she said with her deep-south accent showing through.
He planted a brief kiss on her lips and grinned. "I love you too." He could see she was still distraught, though. This hadn't just been about them. Marie had always felt limited and dehumanized by her mutation. But, he decided, she needs to not dwell on it so much. "Do you wanna come downstairs and have breakfast?" he asked as he opened the drawer to her nightstand. "They've got chocolate chip pancakes; I know you like those."
"Bobby, I don't know, I just—" Marie trailed off as she looked down and saw his hand extended, holding the satin gloves he had given her at his family's house. They were her favorite pair, she remembered. But was she ready for this yet? She stared at them with both apprehension and desire. If I put them on, she mused, Marie is gone. Only Rogue remains. It wasn't as if she had a choice; she would have to assume Rogue sooner or later. But how long did she want to delay it? To her surprise, she thought of Jean. She thought of what the other X-Men had explained to her about the rise of the Phoenix. Of how it consumed Jean and she struggled for control. Suddenly she became more afraid.
But I'm not Jean, and Rogue isn't the Phoenix, she thought. I can handle it. Every mutant had to take risks with their power. Now that Marie thought of it, she had just always shied away from risk, preferring fearful stability… like Jean, she thought. Maybe this really was what she needed. Maybe she could learn to deal with Rogue. There had to be a reason for these powers.
Marie slipped a glove over her right hand and wiggled her fingers in, gazing at it thoughtfully. Rogue had returned. She looked up at Bobby and gave him a wry smile. "I think I can handle it."
Bobby smiled back proudly at the woman he loved and held her gloved hands in his. "I always knew you could."
"Hey, you two behaving in here?" Kitty stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face. Rogue and Bobby both looked up. "Yeah, we're fine," Bobby said as he stood up. Kitty's smile faded into worry as she saw that Rogue was wearing her old gloves and had puffy, red eyes from crying. She sighed and went to sit next to her. "You doing okay, sister?"
Rogue read the concern on Kitty's face. She shrugged. "As well as can be. I'm sorry for what I did to you."
Kitty gave her a tentative hug. "It's no big deal, I'm fine. I just hope you don't get too depressed about this," she said with a small smile.
"I don't think so," Rogue said thoughtfully, staring into space for a moment. Then she stood up and shuffled her slippers onto her feet. "Anyway, I don't know about y'all, but I'm gonna go get some breakfast. They have any chocolate chip pancakes left?"
Bobby got to his feet and grasped her hand as they walked out the doorway. "Oh, yeah. Like they wouldn't save some for the always-fearsome Rogue," he joked.
"No one is safe from her wrath once all the pancakes are gone!" Kitty gasped melodramatically.
Rogue laughed and pulled off a glove as the three teenagers made their way down the hall. "Ah, sweet, sweet vengeance…" The other two looked at her nervously and backed away. She rolled her eyes and shoved the glove back on. "I'm just kidding!"
---0---
"Thank you, thank you for coming today… it's good to see you; welcome!" An older woman handed out programs and greeted churchgoers with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. "Good morning! Nice to see you here." She turned to face the next person waiting for a program and greeting. The man had midnight-colored skin and yellow eyes; his face was carved with gruesomely detailed symbols, his fingernails were white, thick and crudely trimmed, and his barbed tail swished along the ground anxiously. Nevertheless, she smiled, the same kindness lighting her face. "Good morning, Mr. Wagner! How are you?"
The strange-looking man returned the smile and gave the woman a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek. "Wünderbar, Mrs. Allen, thank you very much," he replied with a thick German accent. The lady handed him a program as she chuckled. "Enjoy the service, Mr. Wagner."
"I will," he nodded before moving on into the lobby. There, he greeted fellow members casually and made conversation. Kurt Wagner was happy here. He felt, after all this time, he'd finally found a place in the world for someone like him. Most mutants didn't look any different from humans, so they could go where they pleased without fear, but he had always been different, always been feared because of his appearance. At this church, he was welcomed and treated as a person. Here, people saw past the first impression (even Kurt had to admit he looked frightening) and into the person he really was: a man who was faithful to God, with a gentle spirit and always willing to lend a helping hand. Plus, his ability to teleport sometimes proved useful (though he rarely did so in public). He had even been asked, recently, to teach Sunday school for first- and second-grade children. All because of God's grace, and the dream of one brilliant mutant named Charles Xavier, Kurt often said. No one ever told him, but they knew it was mutants like him that made them believe in a future of peace and cooperation between the two races.
"Hello, Kurt, good to see you," the gruff voice of a friend said as he nodded and shook Kurt's hand vigorously. "How are things?"
"Everything is going well. I'm staying on my feet these days, even though rent is harsh." Kurt saw his friend staring at a point behind him, his brow creasing in a frown, jaw dropped slightly. "Who in the world…?"
Kurt followed his gaze to see a tall woman with her back facing him, looking around as if she didn't know where she was. She looked—he could think of no other way to describe what he saw of her—serenely destitute. Her hair was long, tangled and red with gold hints as a bit of sunlight escaped through the doorway to shine on it. She was wearing a dirty and wrinkled white sundress, which her long fingers clutched at unconsciously, and her long, thin legs were dirty and scraped. Her feet were bare. When she stepped, he saw her soles were black with dirt, and blood coagulated in small cuts all along them. Compassion rose in his heart for this creature. "She probably just wanted to find some shelter…" he found himself saying aloud. Suddenly the woman turned around, and Kurt's compassion turned to shock as he saw her face, dazed and confused, glancing around, but all too familiar. His eyes went wide. "It can't be…"
"Kurt?" His friend had seen his reaction. Kurt turned to him. "I know that woman," he told him before making his way through the crowd toward her. A million thoughts ran through Kurt's head. He was still in touch with Xavier's Institute; last he had heard, she was dead as of a year ago. Could he just be seeing things? Could she be an angel, perhaps? But Kurt was sure she was real. Other people saw her, too, and they were staring at her, not sure what to do. But she had helped him before, and now she looked like she needed his help. He approached her tentatively, and finally her gaze fell on him, turning into almost the same kind of shock Kurt had expressed when he'd seen her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.
"Jean? Jean Grey, is that you?" Kurt asked in a hushed tone, not wanting to draw more attention to her than was necessary. She nodded in response, then finally forced out words. "Kurt… I didn't expect to see you here…"
Kurt laughed in disbelief and shook his head. "They told me you had died!" he said as he gave her a brief, tight hug. Then he stepped back and looked her over. "Jean, you look… you look…"
"Terrible?" Jean threw out the suggestion with a wry smile. "Yeah, I probably do." She sighed.
"Why are you here in San Francisco? And in this church?" Kurt whispered as he led her away from the crowd to speak to her more.
Jean shook her head. "I don't know… I just… woke up, and I was on Alcatraz…"
Alcatraz! The word triggered a new flood of memories, a more detailed picture. Save me, save me, save me, it echoed over in her head, over the screams and the fire and the wind and the rain and oh, God it was too much! "No, stop it…" she whispered to herself as she held back that tidal wave of emotion that threatened to crash down on her heart and destroy her control again, but then she remembered that last moment… Jean, I love you… I love you…and the swelling of emotions in her mind cooled and went still, and Jean breathed out as she regained control. She opened her eyes to see tapestries settle against the wall from where they'd been floating, papers scatter on the floor in front of a crowd that stared at her, mouths gaping, either in terror or in awe. Kurt's expression was one of worry. "I'm taking you to my home, Jean. You need some rest and cleaning up, and may the good Lord forgive me for missing the service."
Jean nodded, trying to hide her embarrassment. She looked only downward and held herself in her own arms as Kurt led her down the steps away from the church and toward an apartment complex about a block away.
When they arrived, Kurt went to run a bath for Jean and told her to feel free to look around. Jean noticed Kurt's apartment was well-lit and very neat. He lived and took joy in simplicity, she guessed from the lack of electronics (except for the phone) or unnecessary things throughout the space. It seemed his only source of entertainment was a large bookshelf stuffed with literature—Jean was surprised to see, among Judeo-Christian references, classics by authors like Tolstoy and Dumas and poetry by Whitman. His preferred décor consisted of an embroidery or two of Bible verses, and various crucifixes on the walls and end tables. The biggest of these, and the centerpiece of the apartment, was a one-foot-long, intricately detailed iron cross with white linen hung around the beam; it hung on the inside of the front door. Kurt was a man of faith, that much was true. Jean recalled, with a smile, that at their first meeting she had dismissed him as fanatical, but now that she saw the quieter, more human side of him, she found herself wanting to touch the surface of something to believe in. Was it just that she was so afraid of herself that she wanted to cling to something more powerful than her?
She was left hanging on this thought as Kurt emerged from the bathroom. "It's all ready for you," he said with a wave of his hand and a nod. Jean smiled as she absently finger combed her hair. "Thanks, Kurt," she replied.
Her old teammate smiled as he sat on his sofa and put his shoes back on. "I have to go grocery shopping; I will try not to be too long." He passed Jean to go out, and paused at the door, turning around to smile at her. "I hope we can sit down and talk after I return. I'll be back soon, fräulein," he said as he closed the door. Jean let out a puff of air as she made her tired way toward what she suspected would be the best bath she'd ever take.
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For those of you who are confused, in this story I chose to go with the storyline (as far as I can follow it) from the X-Men 3 video game, which explains Kurt's absence in the third movie by having him leave the X-Men because, apparently, their lifestyle was too violent for him. So blatant a kill-off on their part, I know (and Nightcrawler was cool, too!), but it was good for this because it meant that Jean could run into someone she knew instead of wandering aimlessly for chapter upon chapter… besides that, I hope I've been good at sticking to character so far! Please review and give your ideas for future chapters… Jean still has a long way to go before she reaches Xavier's. Thanks for reading!