Not So Different: I've been compared to her for most of my life, and I'm tired of it. Now, she's dead and I'm here, practically taking her place amongst old friends. But, now I'm left wondering what was so different about us after all.

Disclaimer: I do not claim nor hope to have any ownership over the X-Men or any other hereto mentioned Marvel characters. I do, however, have claim over Mackenzie Benton, Aubrey Howell, Bernadette Benton, and any other original characters found within this work of fanfiction. Don't bother suing me – I'm poor and you couldn't squeeze anything out of me if you tried.

Rating: This story is rated T for language, pathos, and brief nudity and sexual content.

"Old friends are best."— John Selden

-Chapter Twenty-

"Got another date tonight?"

Slightly startled, I glanced over my shoulder at the figure standing in the open doorway of my private room before nodding meekly. "Yes, actually. Is there something you wanted, Scott?" I asked, turning my attention back to the full-length mirror as I continued to delicately put on make-up.

He hesitated for a moment before he stepped inside, closing the door partially behind him. "Just- Well, I sort've realized we haven't really talked since you came back." He stood with his hands tucked awkwardly into the front pockets of his dark wash jeans, his eyes hidden behind his ever-present darkened shades. "I finally started cleaning out the room a bit. I thought that it would be good for me if I got rid of a few of Jean's things, maybe switched rooms."

I met his gaze in the mirror's reflection, mascara wand poised in my hand as I considered his words briefly. "Are you sure that it's time?" I inquired softly.

Nodding his head jerkily, he lifted a hand and scratched at the side of his neck nervously. "I think so. I mean, it's been almost a year. To be honest, I never thought I would make it through the week after she- after she died. And now, it's been nearly a year."

"It's hard," I murmured, applying a bit more mascara before sliding the wand into the cylinder and twisting the top quickly, ensuring that it was closed before placing it on the bureau along with my other make-up. "Jean wouldn't have wanted you to hurt everyday, Scott. She would have wanted you to live your life to the fullest. I'm sure that's what she wanted for everyone."

Silence reigned over the room for a few short moments as I sat down in the comfortable office chair at my personal desk, leaning over so that I could adjust the straps of my shoes.

"She was always so selfless, so humble." His voice was laced with what sounded like fatigue. He probably hasn't been sleeping well, I told myself as I turned my gaze toward him, my fingers still working at the straps on my shoes. "I think her obvious sacrifice for the greater good is what kept me going for so long. What she did at Alkali Lake? She would have done it for anyone, for any single person. Jean was just so innately good, so kind and generous."

"She truly was," I admitted, sighing gently. "There will never be anyone quite like her."

"You're right," he added, nodding his head slightly. "It took me a long time to finally admit that everyone's been right. I never, ever meant to make it seem as though I took her death in vain. Yes, to this very day, I would trade anything in the world for her life, for her safety. It's selfish, Mackenzie, you and I both know that." I shifted uneasily, sitting up straight and resting my hands in my lap as I stared at his unmoving form. "If it had taken the lives of every single person aboard that jet, plus a million more, to trade for her? I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Stunned, I touched against his mind gently, surprised at the lack of animosity and regret that I found there. What I found was a longing, an acceptance, a realization. Scott knew, deep down, that what Jean had done was right, was what was required, and yet he'd finally accepted that her death had been unavoidable. Of course, I didn't completely agree with him.

Still, hearing that he would have willingly sacrificed the lives of the Professor, of Ororo and Logan and the other Jr. X-Men- It left me extremely unsettled. Even picturing my life without them, without the Professor's offer seemed out of the question. If it weren't for the Professor, I wouldn't have found my way back to the Institute.

Which means you wouldn't have found Hank, I reminded myself, grimacing slightly as I stood, straightening the front of my dress slightly.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," I struggled to find the words to convey my confusion, lifting a hand slightly in the air. "Scott, I -"

"There's not really anything to say," he interrupted, shaking his head quickly. "I've given a lot of thought to leaving the Institute. With the Professor's influence and my own background, I thought about going back to Alaska, back to where the accident that destroyed my family and made me what I am today. I told you about that once, didn't I?" He paused, lips pursed. After a moment, he continued. "There were engine troubles, and there was only one parachute. My parents made me jump with my little brother. I ended up hitting my head pretty good. I was actually in a coma for a few months."

"By the time I woke up, my little brother was gone; he had been placed in the foster care system. There had been no sign of my parents, and I was dumped into the system, too." Briefly, I went over what I remembered of his records mentally, recalling the rather thick file that had outlined the primary cause behind Cyclops' inability to fully control his optic blasts. "When my mutation manifested, it was completely uncontrollable. They ended up locking me up, taping my eyes shut until the Professor showed up."

Slowly, I rose from my chair and motioned for him to join me on the small love seat that occupied the corner in front of the large bay windows. He hesitated for a moment, his body rigid with tension. Then, with a brief nod, he crossed the room and dropped onto the white couch, his elbows braced on his knees and his gaze on the floor as I sank down onto the couch next to him.

Seeking to comfort him, I rested a hand on his shoulder. Of course, he attempted to shrug it off, but I remained firm and merely gripped his shoulder in a comforting manner. "Go on," I urged him.

"It took them two weeks to find a way for me to actually open my eyes. The Professor- Well, this colleague of his was determined that there was some way to allow me to see again. I don't know how he found it or even how much the Professor spent on the project in the beginning, but he crafted me my first pair of ruby quartz glasses." A small smile, one reminiscent of the boy I'd once known, curled his lips. "He ended up helping me find my brother a few years after I joined the Institute; Alex is in the Air Force now, as you know."

"But Alaska, that's sort of where it all began, isn't it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly in order to meet my gaze. "I lost my parents that day, Mackenzie. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if there hadn't been complications that day, or even if there had been more parachutes. Oh, I know my powers probably would have still manifested regardless, but I would have still had them. It's hard sometimes to remember them, to even see their faces."

"I'm so sorry, Scott," I managed, trying to understand exactly how he felt. I'd grown up as a single child, and my parents had doted on me when it fit their needs. I had been raised by nannies and tutors; I didn't know the loss that he spoke of so intimately. "Life doesn't seem very fair sometimes, I know."

He hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching tightly as he shook his head a single time. "You know how the Professor had been tracking Wolverine? How he had directed me, Jean, and Ororo to get to him before Magneto?" Slowly, I nodded my head, stomach clenching uncomfortably. "For the longest time now, I've been wondering exactly what would have happened if we hadn't stepped in. Or if we'd known that Rogue was Magneto's intended target."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Wolverine was one of that– that sick bastard's play things. Wolverine was a product of William Stryker, Mackenzie. He raided this School, my home." He paused again, his adam's apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed thickly. "I didn't realize until after the fact, long after the fact, that he hadn't even known Logan was here to begin with. It was a chance encounter. Dammit." He gritted his teeth, the sound of his jaw clenching literally causing me to grimace.

"Don't forget to blame Rogue while you're at it," I quipped, barely managing to remove my hand and dodge out of the way as he reared back, face flushed as he glared at me. "Oh, don't give me that look, Scott Summers. You and I both know that if Rogue didn't exist, that if Magneto hadn't used her to power his blasted machine that Stryker wouldn't have had a feeble old man to interrogate." His face fell slightly, and something in my gut twisted tightly, promptly knocking me off of my high horse. "I'm sorry, that was harsh."

"No," he cleared his throat gruffly. "You're right. Of course you're right." A laugh shook through his body, one that left him sounding as though he was fighting off the urge to sob. "It's not fair either. It's not fair knowing that and wishing, if only for a split second, that the girl didn't exist. Does that make me a monster?" he asked, reeling around on the couch so that his left knee brushed against mine. "Am I like Stryker?"

"Of course not," I admonished, shaking my head as I cupped his hand between both of mine. He flinched visibly, clearly taken aback by the sudden show of comfort, but made no move to retract his hand. "I'm only trying to point out that pointing a finger at anyone isn't going to solve anything. So many things happened that day, Scott. A single decision caused a domino effect. Maybe things would have worked out okay if Jean had been aboard the jet." He grimaced visibly, his body huddling inward as though he were trying to fight off cold air. "Hell, maybe if the jet hadn't been disabled, if Rogue hadn't been proactive and attempted to save all of you, all of those students, Jean would be here today."

"And maybe," I continued, throat aching as I struggled to find the right words. "Maybe things would have turned out differently had Jean not taken the entire weight of the world onto her shoulders. Don't interrupt me," I warned him as he glared at me, his face scrunched up in obvious animosity. "The fact of the matter is that there are two types of people in this world: people that take the initiative and people that wait for others to lead the way."

"Oh really?" he grunted, jerking his hand out of my grasp as he stood, his posture rim-rod straight. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Slowly, I rose from the couch, brushing the front of my dress to ensure that it remained wrinkle-free as I stood just behind him. "I'm saying that Jean took the initiative, Scott. While others were worried about the jet, about how to get it operational again, she thought only of the lives aboard the jet. She knew, deep down, that she had the power to save you all. Even as she was exiting that jet, I have no doubt in my mind that she fully understood the risks."

The room was completely silent save for the faint sound of people passing to and fro out in the hall. But, after a long moment he finally met my gaze, straightening his shoulders and unfisting his hands at his sides.

"What would you have done?" he asked suddenly, surprising me.

Stunned, I blinked a few times as I worked through his question. "What do you mean?" I inquired, knowing full well exactly what he referred to.

Stiffening slightly, he glanced toward the window near the couch before looking back at me yet again. "If you had been there, if you had been with us, what would you have done? Jean's there and she's injured, can barely walk. What does Mackenzie Benton do?"

Eyes narrowed in thought, I licked my lips and folded my arms over my chest quickly. "If she was really struggling, I would have told her to worry about the jet and I would focus on keeping the water at bay. To be honest, instead of standing outside, I would have at least stood on top of the jet. Oh, don't look at me like that, Scott. Jean acted on her instincts and did what she thought was necessary. You and I both know that her telekinesis had been a bit out of control; it always was."

"If I had been there, I would have remained in the jet and simply lifted it out of the way of the oncoming water. Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm?" I prompted, eyes narrowed. "If she had the power to hold off that torrent of water, even if only for a few seconds, surely she would have been able to lift a few tons of Blackbird? At least, one would think so. I'm not selfless, Scott. I can be when the situation calls for it. I know how to put others before myself. But in that situation?" I paused, swallowing thickly. "In that situation it wasn't necessary."

He seemed to churn through my words slowly, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally, he shook his head a single time and released a short laugh. "You know, for a long time, I thought of you and Jean as the same person with different personalities, different appearances. During school, you two worked together, almost moved together as one. She lifted a book, you'd lift a chair. She whispered sweet nothings in my mind and you'd eavesdrop and laugh at me mentally." He tilted his head to the side slightly, as if taking in my appearance for the first time in a very long time. "You have some of the same qualities, mostly good ones - but, you're..." he trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm what?" I prompted, resisting the urge to brush against his mind to find out what I wanted to know.

"You're a lot different than her, that's all. A lot different," he reiterated, lips thinned.

Is that a good thing? I asked mentally as he swept out of the room calmly.

He never responded.