Awareness drifted through thoughts and dreams, wandering the astral plane with the sneaker-clad feet of a teenage girl. Above the awareness, the Phoenix flew on wings of flame, screaming in frustrated rage. This astral plane was far too much like her last prison, the crystal. She needed out, but the newer moiety of her consciousness must lead her back into the body, and to do that, she must remember. The awareness cast her own mind out like a net, not finding it remarkable that she could do so, although it was. She founds nothing unusual, because she had no memories with which to compare anything. There was only the awareness and the thoughts it found.
What does my dad want with her, anyway? What can she do that's so great? God, I hope she doesn't make me hex her. Whatever my dad needs her for, it's gotta be important. He wouldn't have asked me to do this if it wasn't for the best. Those thoughts were somehow the closest to the awareness and were mingled with images of a tall, silver-haired man with an incongruously young face and body. In those images, the silver-haired man laughed and played with a black-haired little girl, but those images felt false, like the colorful pictures on a flat screen in some of the other memories. There were other images hidden beneath them, buried, but rotten and reeking. A chair. A needle. A white jacket with straps. A padded room whose stoic walls swallowed every scream.
Man, this is stupid. I should take her back. I should just freakin' pick her up, drive her to the X-Mansion, and dump her on the doorstep. Maybe if I wait till Wanda takes a break. She's gotta eat or use the bathroom sometime, right? Then I could be done with all this. No more playing big bro to the losers in this house, no more high school. Hell, no more Kitty-freakin'-Pryde looking at me like I'm a piece of crap. I'll go... somewhere. I'll find... something to do. Those thoughts trembled with a frustration that reverberated beyond their source.
Wanda looks so hot right now. She always looks hot. And the way she's watchin' over Jean, it's real sweet. Nobody gets that about her; they just see the scary Scarlet Witch, but I know there's more to her than that. It's not like we're just our powers, right? Oh, hey-- a fly! When'd that get in here? I though I got 'em all. Damn, I'm hungry. Even Fred's stash is empty, and I don't care what Lance says, there ain't any cockroaches where I can find 'em. Gotta wait till she's not looking. She hates it when I eat flies...
Jean? I know you're out there. That thought was both farther away and closer than all the others, but the contradiction didn't bother the awareness. On the astral plane, contradictions were commonplace. Jean, I'm not an X-Man without you. I look at these kids I'm supposed to teach and train, and I just... don't... care. Rogue? What's she doing here. I want to be alone. I should be polite; Jean always wanted everyone to get along, even with Rogue. Why the hell does she dress like that-- like she wants someone to grab her and get a dose of her powers? And what's with the touching? I know she's wearing gloves, but still, I wish she wouldn't. Through the glove, her hand feels just like Jean's. It would be nice if I could just... Damn it! What am I thinking? Jean's still out there, no matter what Logan and the professor say. I don't need a distraction. I don't need comfort. I need some help finding her.
Ah'm a bad person. That's all there is to it. Ah want Jean back. Ah do! Ah'm here holdin' Scott's hand and tellin' 'im we'll find 'er, an' promisin' to help, an' Ah mean it... But if it weren't for my powers... If Ah could have anythin' with Scott, if Ah had anythin' to lose... would Ah still want 'er back? Or would Ah wish she'd stay gone? Doesn't matter. Ah can't give 'im what he needs, can't be his girlfriend, can't be anyone's girlfriend. So Ah have to help bring her back. For Scott. He deserves more than Ah have. He deserves more than t' be alone.
Jean. The awareness turned the word over and over in her mind, pulling it, twisting, it, seeing how all the strings attached to it bent and stretched. Jean. Scott. Those words were names tied to feelings and memories. So many strings connected those two names: Logan. Rogue. The professor. Jean-- that name had more significance than the rest. The name "Jean" had so many memories tied to it that they drug the awareness down, pulling her through the astral plane like a caught fish. The Phoenix followed, shrieking with triumph.
Jean opened her eyes. The site of Wanda's room felt like a visual assault. On the ceiling, brown water damage spots coexisted with black and green mold. The walls had what appeared to be a fresh coat of black paint, but recent cracks ran from floor to ceiling. A thick layer of discarded clothing carpeted the floor, and air smelled stale, like a hamper. Wanda herself perched on the edge of the bed near Jean, looking miraculously well-groomed, given her surroundings. Across the room, Lance sat on the floor with one knee drawn up to his chest and the other leg extended. Toad lounged in the doorway, tapping his fingers on the door jam and staring at Wanda.
"How the hell did I get here?" Jean demanded out loud. Using her voice made her head hurt, and she clapped a hand to her forehead. Her face felt rough and sticky, and when she looked at her hand, it was caked with blood. "Did I..." She struggles to remember what she was doing before this. "Did I fall off Logan's bike? Where's Logan?"
Wanda and Lance exchanged a look. The Scarlet Witch turned to face Jean and said, "Use your powers and I'll hex you. Sorry. Dad's orders."
"You really don't want to do this." Jean shook her head for emphasis. "When the professor finds out about this, you think Magneto's going to protect you? You think he cares about you?"
"That's what I said," Lance agreed. "But you know what? As long as he pays the frickin' rent for the next year, I don't care if he cares."
"The rent? You're worried about that?" Jean forced herself to laugh. "I'd be more worried about the X-Men."
"Yo-- here's the thing," Toad interrupted. "The professor, he's got this machine that finds mutants, right? And you've been here for like a whole day now, so I don't think he's looking. And if he does catch up to Magneto, we've got plausible deniability out the wazoo. I mean, who'd believe us losers caught Jean Grey?"
She considered using her telekinesis to smack him against the moldy ceiling. Even the thought of that kind of exertion made her already-sore head throb. With a groan, she laid back on the pillow decided that, for now, she would wait.
She turned her head to look at Lance. He had always been the closest thing the Brotherhood had to brains or sanity, which wasn't saying much, but it might give her something to work with. "Look, if you're that worried about the rent, just come live at the X-Mansion. You know Xavier won't turn you away."
"I tried that." Lance chuckled humorlessly. "Forget it."
An unrecognizable blur of motion streaked across the room and then came to a sudden stop, resolving into Pietro. "He's here."
"Dad?" Wanda asked, a goofy grin on her face.
Pietro shook his head. "No, some creepy guy with a ponytail. Says his name's Wyngarde."
"Wyngarde?" Lance stood up, his eyes darting around the room. "You mean Master--"
Jean awakened in her bed at the estate. She flung an arm over her eyes to shield them from the midmorning sun that streamed through the stained glass, making little rainbow-colored flecks on the white, lacy bedspread. The damage, however, was done; the light had shattered her pleasant morning drowsiness, replacing it with restlessness and hunger. She sighed, inhaling the scents of clean linen and the fresh lavender that Carrie must have brought in while she slept.
Carrie had also left her favorite slippers by the side of the bed and had draped a clean robe over the chair. Jean shrugged into the robe and nestled her feet in the slippers, wiggling her toes to make the bunny noses twitch in greeting. The bunny slippers were ancient; the right one had a missing eye, and the left a torn ear. Jason had bought her replacements, expensive designer things made of silk and embroidered with sequins, but Jean still preferred her old bunnies, much to Jason's chagrin. Poor man; he wanted so much to make her happy that he sometimes forgot how little she really needed.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Freak of Something, Midnight Angels, MysNiWol, Ondage, Shadow Hand Zealot, Tom Dajin, bluefalcon1138, jlp511, , sailormoon846212, and zodiacdragonHatori for adding this story to alerts. I know updates are coming slowly, but I do intend to finish. Thanks for reading!
