From the Ashes

Chapter 2

Bobby tossed restlessly for some time before cracking one eye open to check the blinking display on the alarm clock, then pulled the pillow over his head. Five a.m. Apparently, overcoming the accumulated abuse of years of early morning training sessions was going to be more difficult than he'd expected.

Or it could just be that this was, quite possibly, the lumpiest bed in the seediest motel Bayville had to offer. The ache in his shoulders and back definitely leaned toward that as a viable option.

Sighing, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes, then rolled his head back, trying to work out some of the kinks. At least he had most of today to find some place decent to live. Spending another night at the Crawford Street Motel wasn't something he was willing to do, though by the time he'd arrived the night before he'd been happy enough to simply find somewhere to sleep, period.

Of course, that had probably had a lot to do with the fact that he'd stayed at the student union until nearly midnight, thinking and drinking one coffee after another. But he wasn't sure he would've been able to sleep earlier, anyway. Not after having bumped into Jean. Literally.

Shaking his head as if to push the thoughts away, he grudgingly threw off the age-thinned sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there for a moment longer before finally pushing himself up and heading over to the window. The reality of what exactly he'd irreversibly done had sunk in after Jean had headed off into the rain the night before, and he couldn't help but wish that there was someone here he could talk to about it all.

Of course, he admitted to himself as he pulled the drape aside and peered out at the barely brightening sky, if there was someone else here to talk to, he probably wouldn't need to.

Jean was everything he'd remembered…and then some. She'd always been his big sister in so many ways – the one he'd gone to with his problems, the one who'd helped him get his powers under control, the one who'd smacked him down, occasionally literally, when he pushed things just a bit too far. He'd remembered her as warm, and caring, and hot-tempered…

He hadn't remembered just how beautiful she was, though, and it was something that was more than a little disconcerting to be noticing now.

He pushed that thought aside as well as he let the drapes fall shut, and headed over to the duffel bag he devoutly hoped hadn't been invaded by any new inhabitants while he was sleeping. Unzipping it cautiously, he pulled out what was, to all appearances, a plain bound journal. He pressed his thumb to the clasp for the requisite five seconds and waited for it to verify his identity and pop open.

Best Christmas present Forge had ever given him. Barring his younger self, who would hopefully never get anywhere near it, no one except him would ever be able to open it, which made it ideal for his purposes now. Someone thumbing through his journal at this point would either think he was writing a bad sci-fi novel, or wonder if he'd lost his mind, and he didn't really want to risk the latter.

Though he kind of had to wonder if maybe, just possibly, he had.

Shaking his head, he carried the journal over to the bed and plopped down to lean against the worn headboard, ignoring the rather ominous creaking sound that the bed emitted. He'd never used the journal before, never felt the need when Live Journal not only allowed him to get his thoughts in order but to get feedback on them from his friends. Unfortunately, 'Chris' had neither internet access nor a laptop, so this was going to have to do. Fishing the pen out the loop it slipped into, he bent his knees to serve as a tabletop and began writing.

September 20, 2005

Dear Journal,

Bobby paused for a moment, then shook his head, a wry grin forming on his face. Scratching out the word journal, he replaced it with "Jubes". Maybe this'd be easier if he was writing to someone, and his long-term correspondent was probably just about perfect. At least he'd already had years of practice dumping all over her, even if this time she'd probably never have the opportunity to read it.

Remember when Scott used to say I'd never, ever amount to anything unless I got serious and made the tough decisions? Well, I guess I've finally done it – I think I've probably made the toughest, most irreversible decision of my life. And he's not even around to tell me this is not what he had in mind.

That could change, though – I mean, that's the whole idea behind this little time jaunt. I'm out to change the past, and thanks to some help from our favorite self-styled sorceress, I'm writing this from back in 2005. From that crappy motel we threw Sam's 21st birthday party at – and yes, it's just as bad now as it will be in four years. Possibly worse, though I've gotta admit that my memories of that night are pretty blurry. Probably due to whatever that crap was that you brought from LA that we were doing shots of – I never did find out what it was, but it definitely packed a punch. I remember Tabby and I…

Damn, this isn't what I want to talk about, but you know me, Jubes, I never do just get to the point, do I?

The point, then. This seemed like a really awesome idea when I thought of it way back when, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, what the hell am I going to be able to do to stop what's coming? Ororo may say one person can make all the difference…but in this case, that one person has all of two months to do it, and no clue as to what he's doing. And let's face it, none of my past schemes ever went quite as expected. I might just make things worse.

He paused again, staring at the last words he'd written without really seeing them. Because actually, that was a distinct possibility, one he really hadn't considered. What if he did change the past…but made things even worse than they'd been when he left? He sighed and rolled his head back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he contemplated that possibility. What right did he have to do this, when it came right down to it?

The answer…none. But he was already committed. If he understood anything from all the crappy sci-fi shows Sam had subjected him to over the years, it was that his presence here had already started changing things, ones that would spread out like ripples in a pond when you threw in a stone. Something as simple as making Jean get a stain on her pants could have repercussions, and he had no way of knowing what they'd be.

His mind flashed back to the expressions on his friends' faces when they'd seen the original Institute burned to the ground by the so-called Friends of Humanity. To Jubilee's, her jaw clenched as she fought back the tears she adamantly refused to shed in public, as they stood side by side at the memorial service they'd held for Ray and the others in Seattle sometime later. If somehow he could prevent that, the future could only be better. And Jean was the key.

He reopened his eyes and turned back to his journal, picking up the pen he hadn't even realized had slid from his fingers.

Illyana figures on picking me up in a couple months – I'm not counting on it. One way or another, things are going to change, and there's no guarantee that she'll even remember I'm here, let alone be able to come get me. I knew that going in, even if she didn't. Which means I'm never gonna know if I succeeded or not, not really. But I figure if somehow, I can just save Jean, hopefully everything else'll fall into place. Optimistic, I know, but…it had to be tried, y'know? Someone had to, and let's face it – even if nothing changes, I'm likely the one to be least missed from the fight, so I'm the perfect candidate.

I miss you guys already, though, and it hit last night – I'm probably never going to see any of you again. Oh, I'll see you, I'm guessing. Sooner or later I'm going to have to bite the bullet and visit the Institute. But it's never going to be the same again. There's a me here already, having migraines and hanging with Sam, making Scott's life miserable. He's the one who'll come meet you at the airport next month when you finally get your butt back where it belongs. Not me.

Stayed at the Union last night, drinking large quantities of coffee and trying not to think about that. Harder than I expected, but I had other stuff to think about. I ran into Jeannie last night.

Jubes, she looked just like I remember her – well, other than shorter. Apparently I finally got taller than her, even if it's only about an inch. It was all I could do not to give her the hug of her life when I bumped into her, but I settled for buying her coffee.

She knows something's up, though – I must've slipped up somewhere, because I felt her poking at my shields. Luckily, they're stronger than she is, though I'm pretty sure that'll change soon enough. At least I guessed right about her not recognizing my mental signature; it changed pretty drastically once I got control over my powers, and that hasn't happened yet, here. Soon, though, so I don't have much time.

I don't have much time, anyway. Despite Jeannie's shields, I could feel the tension already building. She's exhausted, she's unhappy, she's worried…

I'm having lunch with her today. After I find somewhere to live that doesn't come complete with crawling roommates. Jeannie needs a friend, one who can listen and understand. I tried, back then (or…now, god I hate talking about time travel), but I was too young, and too wrapped up in the changes I was going through. Hopefully, "Chris" will have better luck.

If not, this'll all be for nothing.

Bobby popped the top on the pen to close it and slipped it back into its holder, then closed the journal with a click.

Somehow, writing it all down hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped. But it'd helped a little, at least.

He swung his legs off the bed, pushed himself to his feet, then carried the journal back over to his duffel bag and stuffed it inside. Time for a shower, then apartment and job hunting. If nothing else could be said for waking up at 5:00 a.m., he had plenty of time before lunch.

Jean yawned and scrubbed her hand through her unruly hair as she made her way into the Institute's kitchen. A quick glance at the clock confirmed what she'd more than half expected; she'd missed the team's morning training session, by virtue of having been so exhausted she'd slept straight through her alarm. A surge of guilt flooded over her and she sighed. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pace, and staying up until 2:00 a.m. studying for today's exam had pushed her over the edge into total exhaustion.

It was just one training session though, she reminded herself as she crossed the room and helped herself to one of the mugs stacked on the countertop, then filled it with coffee. Just one, and she hadn't even overslept by that much. She'd make up for it by taking her coffee and bagel to her office, spend breakfast pouring her way through some of the reports that had piled up there and reviewing her day planner.

Before she could do more than head for the refrigerator, however, she heard a voice behind her and turned to see Scott enter the room, followed closely by Kitty and Kurt.

"Hey Jean, missed you this morning," Kitty said brightly and with far too much enthusiasm, given how recently Jean had climbed out of bed.

"Ja, decide to sleep in?" Kurt asked with an impish grin as he headed straight for the fridge and immediately began assembling the oddest collection of food imaginable on the countertop. "Very nice. I wish I was one of the high and mighty college students who had that as an option."

"Well, if you don't get your homework finished up quick, Fuzzy, you won't have to worry about that next year, either," Kitty quipped as she snitched the last of the bagels off the ever growing pile.

Jean opened her mouth to protest, then closed it and shook her head. It really wasn't worth the debate that would ensue. All in jest, of course, but she really didn't feel up to it this morning.

"Are you feeling okay?" Scott asked softly as he stepped up beside her, and Jean directed a tired but hopefully reassuring smile toward him.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a little worn out – I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning studying."

Scott frowned, and Jean could feel a trace of concern trickle through their link. "I thought you had study group after class," he said. "Was it cancelled?"

"No, just missed it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I got out of class late, and then I had a bit of a run in on the quad. Literally."

"More pro-human protestors?" Scott guessed.

She shook her head and forced a smile, fighting an urge to point out that no, not every misadventure in life had to necessarily do with mutants, mutant haters, or power malfunctions. Especially since she was fairly sure that it had involved a mutant, just not in the way Scott would necessarily expect.

"No, actually, I was knocked to the ground in the age-old tradition of not watching where I was going," she joked lightly. "I ran into someone – or he ran into me. I still haven't quite decided which, given the fact it was pretty obvious neither of us were paying attention to anything other than getting out of the rain. In any case, my pants paid the price, so he bought me a cup of coffee to apologize." Belatedly remembering that she was holding her coffee mug in her hand, she raised it to her lips and sipped at it cautiously. With Logan gone, the coffee was sometimes of dubious quality, depending on who brewed the first post.

This time, she decided as she made a face and set the mug down on the counter, someone had apparently outdone him or herself. She resolved to check with Jamie to determine whether or not he had any missing socks. Whatever the mystery ingredient might be, it was definitely not coffee.

She felt a trace of annoyance seep through their link, and turned back to look at Scott, puzzled. Granted, she hadn't been paying much attention to whatever conversation Kitty and Kurt were having across the kitchen, but it hadn't sounded as if it were anything to be upset about. His expression and stance weren't reassuring, however, and instead of him glowering at Kurt as she'd half expected, his irritation seemed to be directed at her.

What's wrong? she demanded impatiently, more annoyed by his reaction than she probably should be. But she was tired, she had a full day ahead of her, and she had no idea what Scott could possibly be annoyed about, unless… Look, I'm sorry I missed practice this morning, but –

You went out for coffee with some guy who knocked you down in the quad? Scott interrupted. What were you thinking?

That I was cold and wet and wanted coffee? she countered, amazed by his reaction. Honestly, you'd think she'd run off and eloped with Chris, rather than had a cup of coffee in the Union. Why, are you jealous?

No, of course not, Scott replied, and she was astonished and a bit hurt to realize that he honestly wasn't. At least that would have added a vaguely endearing element to a conversation that was already deteriorating rapidly. But you said you were going to your study group, not out for coffee with some guy you don't even know. If you weren't going to study, I would've thought you would've come back home.

The coffee cup on the counter rattled ominously, and for once, she honestly didn't care that her TK was working overtime. I did come back home, she argued, glaring at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. I had one lousy cup of coffee, with a really nice Psych student, and then came home. When did this become some sort of crime?

Well, you've been complaining about how tired you are, and instead of coming home and getting some rest so you'd be up for the session this morning -

Before Scott could finish that thought, Jean cut in, so annoyed she was trembling. That's what this is about? she asked, disbelief obvious in her mental tone. That I missed a training session?

You've got responsibilities! Scott argued. What do you think the Professor -

I know I've got responsibilities, Jean countered irritably, barely noting that other objects throughout the kitchen were now rattling too, or that Kurt and Kitty's conversation had come to an abrupt halt. And at the moment, she didn't much care. How dare he lecture her on her commitments, as if she were 13 years old and new to the Institute? As if she didn't spend nearly every waking moment trying to keep up with her ever-growing list of responsibilities. It wasn't fair, and dragging the Professor into what was obviously just a totally unreasonable reaction to her stopping off for a cup of coffee was nothing short of -

Jean, calm down, you're shaking the kitchen, Scott pointed out.

Her anger peaked, then was abruptly replaced by alarm as the coffee pot exploded, spraying bits of glass and scorching coffee around the room. Trembling, she caught the majority of the glass fragments midair and focused on floating them over to the garbage can while avoiding Scott's eyes.

"You know Jean, all you had to do was ask if you wanted new coffee, ja?" Kurt quipped, concern evident in his voice despite the lighthearted remark.

Jean directed a wan smile in his direction and Kitty's, noting that they both looked concerned. "Sorry. Too much caffeine, too little sleep," she said by way of explanation, despite the fact she'd barely touched her coffee.

Are you okay? Scott asked through her link, his tone changing to one of concern, a momentary return to the Scott Summers she'd fallen in love with years before. A little too late, in her opinion, but reassuring nonetheless.

I'm fine, she replied, trying to send some reassurance she honestly didn't feel through their link. Embarrassed. I haven't done anything like that in ages.

But you are now, he observed. That's what I was saying. You need to work on your control…

That was it. Directing one last glare in his direction, she deliberately caused the coffee in his cup to overflow, spilling onto his shirt.

My control's just fine, she snapped mentally as she turned and left the kitchen, blinking away tears of anger, exhaustion, and embarrassment. Thanks so much for your concern.

She could feel Scott poised to reply, but she wasn't going to listen to any more of it and pressed a mental mute button on their link, knowing full well it would just infuriate him more. She didn't care. Not this morning. Not when it was becoming increasingly obvious that it wasn't actually her he was worried about at all, but simply how she might be becoming a liability to the team.

She made it back to her office without further incident, and set down her coffee so hard that it splashed, spreading a sepia stain on her notepad. Sighing, she focused and drew the moisture out of the pad, sending the drips over to her plant on the windowsill that seemed to thrive on the remnants of her coffee cups, when she didn't have time to dump them in the kitchen. If this was a sign of how her day was going to progress, maybe she should just go back to bed.

Sadly, that wasn't an option, and she sat down at her computer to pull up her schedule, ignoring the growing pile of training reports and such that seemed to be glaring at her from the corner of her desk. She'd missed the team training session, obviously – the next item on the agenda was a session with Bobby in her office, so at least she was in the right place for that. He could be depended upon to be late, so she undoubtedly had a little time…

A soft rap at the door proved the error in that theory, and she looked up to see her next appointment enter. Pale, slump-shouldered, and bleary-eyed, Bobby looked worse than she felt. Not surprising, considering the pain that was pouring off him in waves. "Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked softly, her voice pitched low so as to not aggravate his far too obvious headache.

"Hey Jeannie," he said, not answering her question but forcing a faint semblance of his usual grin. "Sorry I'm early, I know you're busy. Any chance you have any more of those pills Mr. McCoy gave me last time?" he asked hopefully, squinting at her as if afraid to open his eyes any further.

"Headache's back, huh?" she asked, trying to remember just when he'd gotten the medication from Hank, and how many had been in the bottle. They were highly potent – she'd used them herself in the past, when she'd had problems with her telepathy. And she was fairly sure if he'd been using them sparingly, he wouldn't be out of them yet.

"With a vengeance," he admitted, re-closing his eyes. "I made it through half of practice this morning, then bugged out. Fearless Leader Man was hotter than hell, said I was looking for excuses to go back to bed."

Jean bristled, then sent a mental You are such an ass to Scott through their link, adding a stay out of it in response to his bewildered query. Honestly, she would have thought he might actually have thought to get Hank down there to check things out.

"It'll be okay," she assured Bobby, her voice tight with suppressed annoyance, then sighed. If Scott wasn't going to do his job, apparently that was going to fall to her, too. "Let's get you down to Hank, he can check it out, see if you need some more pills," she said as she got to her feet. But much to her surprise, Bobby shook his head.

"Mr. McCoy's not here," he explained. "He left last night – had some sort of meeting on Muir with Dr. MacTaggert. I really did try him first," he explained, his mouth quirking sideways. "I know you're pretty busy these days."

Jean sighed and shook her head. It was nothing but the truth, but if the younger students started to think they couldn't come to her, who were they going to go to? "Not too busy for you, Bobby. You should know that. You win, though - I'll give you one out of my personal stash," she joked feebly, gesturing him into a chair as she reached into her desk drawer to rummage for the small bottle of pills.

"Or two, maybe?" he asked, and she look at him with alarm. Something in her face must have registered, because he shook his head. "Not for now. But I've got a test this afternoon, and the dumb things wear off too quick."

"Bobby…how many have you been taking?" she asked, a little more forcefully than she might have under other circumstances. But they were talking about high dosage migraine medication, and he had just confessed to taking at least two a day. And having a pretty decisive knowledge of just how long they lasted.

"Three, sometimes four?" he shrugged. "C'mon, Jeannie, don't lecture. It's been a really bad week. You know I don't like pills – if I didn't need them, I wouldn't take them."

"I know," she replied, pulling out the bottle slowly. It was true – Bobby normally had to be coerced into taking allergy meds in spring, despite the fact he was sneezing so violently that he couldn't see and ended up randomly icing bits of the landscape. For him to be taking medication in this quantity indicated something was very, very wrong – something that had nothing to do with Scott's allegations that the younger boy simply wanted to sleep in. Finally, she poured a few of the red capsules into her hand and extended them to Bobby, closing her fingers around them as he reached for them and meeting his eyes with a deliberate look.

"Only if you promise to see Hank as soon as he gets back," she insisted, her eyebrows arching as she watched Bobby's face for any sign that he was going to promise and then hedge his way out later. It only fed her concern, however, when he dropped his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I will. I promise. Just let me get through this History test with my head intact, okay? My grades in there are sucking big time."

Jean's mouth curled into a smile and she shook her head. "More studying for you, kiddo," she said as she poured the pills into his outstretched hand, then paused a moment, considering. "In fact, I think you need more time to study for it – and more rest." Ignoring his puzzled look, she picked up the phone and pressed the auto-dial on her phone where she'd stored Bayville High's office number.

"Jeannie, what're you up to…?" he asked, and she looked up from the phone to see a trace of his customary grin in place, mingled with equal parts of confusion and curiosity.

"No reason we both need to be half-awake and miserable today," she told him, waving away his attempts at a response as the high school's voicemail answered the call. "Yes, this is Ms. Grey of the Xavier Institute," she said calmly once the obligatory beep sounded. "Would you please inform Robert Drake's teachers that he won't be in today? Thank you."

"You're the best," Bobby informed her seriously as she returned the receiver to its base.

Jean rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture. "Get yourself back to bed," she insisted with a gentle smile. "Get some sleep for me too, okay?"

Instead of Bobby making for the door as she'd more than half expected, he cocked his head, a curious expression on his face. "You sure you're okay, Jeannie?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, wondering just what was giving her away. Exhaustion was her lot in life these days, and he couldn't possibly have already heard about the altercation with Scott in the kitchen. "Go on, sleep and homework."

Bobby cast a doubtful look her way as he headed toward the door. "I will. Y'know…if you need to talk, you know where to find me, right? I mean, you do it for me all the time. Might as well let me pay you back."

"I'll remember that," she assured him, arching an eyebrow at his back as he gave her one last smile and headed out the door. Something odd was going on with that boy, and if only she could lay her finger on what…

Sighing, she turned back to her day planner. Time to add "figure out why Bobby Drake is suddenly being intuitive" into this week's schedule. As if it weren't full enough already.