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.

"Look out, look in and realize

You always get so carried away

There's times and things you can never change

Don't get so carried away" — Shinedown, Carried Away

-Chapter Thirty-Seven-

"It's already been a week."

"So it has."

"I can't believe we're actually free."

I nodded in agreement as I leaned my head back and stared up at the dim winter sky. Sunrise was still some ways off and the chill that bit through my leather jacket was almost welcome - it helped remind me that I was still alive.

It had been a week since our fateful escape, and so much had happened.

I'd been surprised to learn that I'd been declared officially dead and had been buried, so to speak, at my favorite place in the world - my grandparent's vacation home on Kentucky Lake, the very same place where I'd had so many happy memories. My grandmother had promised to have the memorial headstone removed promptly, but it had been strange to learn that everyone had considered me dead.

Apparently, the building that Magneto and Arclight had attacked had been completely demolished. There were dozens of deaths and it had been a miracle, in everyone's eyes, that all of the X-Men and even Magneto and his companion had escaped - everyone except for me. Logan had discovered traces of blood, but they hadn't been able to search for my body because the building had, rather mysteriously, caught fire thanks to some idiotic former member of the Brotherhood. There had been no trace of me, physical or otherwise, so it had been only natural to assume that I'd died.

For eleven and a half weeks, the total time of my captivity, they had assumed and mourned my death.

It had been strange to call up my parents and hear their shock and surprise at the fact that I'd survived. Although they'd been more worried about the fact that they would have to return what few assets I'd left them in my will, they had seemed reasonably relieved to learn of my survival.

My grandmother, to her credit, had taken it all in stride. She'd taken to visiting the Institute from her condo in Manhattan quite often. Although it had been a bit disconcerting to learn that she and Xavier spent a great deal of time together, it had been a relief to see how simple it was to explain to her that I hadn't perished.

She, along with everyone else, had been horrified to learn what I'd endured.

What was more, however, was the shock that Jean's appearance had over the entire Institute.

Xavier had wept until he was ragged, apologizing profusely as he'd clung to our hands in the Medical Lab. He'd confessed that he'd once thought, immediately after the terrible events at Alkali Lake, that he'd sensed Jean's mental signature. But, he'd simply blamed it on stress and grief when it had been but a brief and fleeting whisper. The Professor had assumed, along with everyone else, that I had died. It was only during a routine visit with Cerebro that he'd picked up our mental distress.

In fact, if the X-Men hadn't already been nearby, the chances of our being rescued would have been closer to zero. A man by the name of Jonathon Silvercloud, who preferred to be called Forge, had contacted Xavier and asked for assistance regarding a failing group home for ailing mutants. The X-Men, having had nothing better to do, had taken the opportunity to get away from New York for awhile.

Hank had assured me that he, for one, had thought the trip to northern Nevada would have helped clear his head. Their vacation in the dry and warm desert had been cut short when a desperate call from Xavier had prompted them to hurriedly load up the Blackbird and head south.

I got the impression that no one had ever thought they'd actually find anything worthwhile.

"Is your shoulder healing up okay?"

The sling I wore on my left arm was a little uncomfortable, but it wasn't too bad. "It's healing," I murmured, shifting my shoulder experimentally. It was stiff and quite sore, but the burning sensation had faded. I didn't like taking the pain medication that Hank tried to shove down my throat at every opportunity, so I'd switched to ibuprofen - it helped to keep some of the pain at bay. "Where's Scott?"

"Getting coffee," she responded easily as she bundled herself ever tighter into the dark gray sweatshirt she wore. "Hank?"

"Same."

There was a moment of quiet, a comfortable moment of quiet, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief that the awkwardness seemed to be gone between us. We'd spent nearly four months together, four months wherein we'd been alone against the world. We had argued, physically fought, cried together, and - and we'd somehow worked over our differences.

I stared at her in amazement, wondering how I'd once loathed the woman in front of me. I'd thought her careless and resentful of her abilities and her thoughts, had considered it to be weak and wasteful of her powers. But, I'd realized that she was just fragile - not weak. She was strong and resilient, intelligent and wise.

We weren't so different after all.

"We thought we'd find you two out here," a familiar voice called from behind me, causing me to glance over my shoulder at the patio door. Hank and Scott ambled toward us side by side; Hank was already dressed in slacks and boots and wore a heavy black sweater; Scott wore jeans and boots and a leather jacket. They couldn't have looked more different if they'd tried. "Here's the coffee," Scott murmured as he sidled up, handing Jean her mug and engulfing her in his arms from behind.

I smiled in spite of myself as Hank slipped his arm around me from the right and hugged me against his side, sliding my own mug of coffee into my good hand. It felt right, perfect even, to snuggle against his side on a cold morning.

The nightmares would, no doubt, continue for quite some time. Emma claimed that both Jean and I suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I tended to agree. But, with time and sufficient sessions with the Professor, I knew that we would both overcome our issues. Sinister had not been found and the DOD refused to acknowledge his existence or the fact that he'd been working in one of its bases. I knew, deep down, that he was out there somewhere, that he was lurking and waiting for the right moment.

It felt strange knowing that the man that had caused me such turmoil, such mental and physical anguish, was still out there and that I could do nothing about it. To seek him out would have been a sign of insanity, but to forget and ignore would have been a sign of weakness.

"A penny for your thoughts, pet?"

I blinked a few times and cleared away the hazy cobwebs that had found their way into my brain. "They're not worth that much," I assured him as I gazed up at him thoughtfully. It was still hard to accept that that I was free, that I was able to look at him, speak to him, touch him whenever it pleased me. "My shoulder is healing well."

"Though I am not as good a physician as you, my dear, I can assure you that I took the utmost care." He smiled broadly, his eyes alight with laughter. I found myself trapped within his gaze, unable to look away for even the slightest second for fear that he would disappear and that I would be trapped, lost again. Hank seemed to sense that part of me as he tightened his hold around me slightly, warming me with his own body heat. "I do hope you haven't seen the paper this morning."

"The Daily Bugle is carrying on about the two of you," Scott supplied, his voice warmer than it had been during the time Jean had been dead. "Jameson wrote an editorial that took up the entire second page. He's claiming that it was all a publicity stunt, a way to make the supporters of the MRA look bad and to gain support for those against it."

"That's preposterous." Jean sounded both annoyed and amused and I couldn't help but smile slightly. She was alive and had slipped back into her life so flawlessly that it seemed completely effortless. "As if we wanted to spend all that time –"

"Let's not discuss that," Hank interrupted, clearing his throat loudly. "The Professor chatted with President McKenna last night, and I met with the Secretary of Defense a few days ago. I was, once again, offered my position as Secretary of Mutant Affairs." I stared up at him in surprise, wondering why he hadn't told me. He smiled slightly, a crooked half-smile that made him look years younger. "I declined, of course."

"The MRA has been halted while your cases are being investigated," Scott added. "Good Morning America keeps calling, I'm told."

"And they can keep calling."

"I concur," I agreed with Jean, snuggling a bit more into Hank's embrace. "Scott, do you think there's a chance you could fly us back to Nevada next week?"

I felt the tension in the air and smiled to myself when I felt Jean chuckle through our rapport. Amused, I glanced over Hank's burly arm and simply stared at the picturesque couple for a moment. They looked like the Homecoming King and Queen, and I supposed they always would. Unlike Hank and I, they didn't look like a pair of misfits.

"Why?"

"Well," I murmured, sighing as Hank tightened his grip around me, "I can't help but think how fun it might be to get married by one of those Elvis impersonators. Imagine, Henry, one day telling our children that the King himself sang us down the aisle."

The man next to me stiffened dramatically before he pulled the mug of coffee out of my hands and tossed it to the ground. A startled gasp escaped my lips as he swung me slightly, swinging me so that I stood in front of him and his hands were braced on my hips. I couldn't stop smiling at his confused and somewhat terrified expression.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not wasting any time. I know, all too well, that there is no time like the present. Henry Philip McCoy," I braced my good hand on his forearm, enjoying the feel of his hard and coiled muscles under my fingers. "Will you do me the honor of marrying me? I'm an heiress to an impressive fortune, I'll know instantly should you ever even contemplate cheating on me, and I have a tendency to snuggle."

"Why, I thought you'd never ask, dearest. Words seem to be failing me, so I will borrow some from a very wise Chilean poet. 'I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you'," he paused and lifted my good hand and pressed it against his chest so that I could feel his heart thudding gently. "'So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close'."

A woman lucky enough to hear those words would be a fool to ever let the man escape.

I smiled as Hank cupped my face between his hands and lowered my lips to his. It was warm and familiar and so soft that I lost myself in the moment, sighing when he deepened the kiss. As always, it sent a hint of fire to my stomach and enveloped me in a smooth and warm feeling of love and, I wasn't ashamed to admit to myself, a bit of lust. When he pulled away, slowly, I found myself aching to dig the fingers of my good hand into his sweater and drag him back down for more.

"I would be most honored to marry you, Mackenzie. In fact, I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my days with no other woman in this known world. You are charming, beautiful, unbelievably intelligent, warm and inviting, and so utterly irresistible." He paused, smiling so broadly that he might have been a Cheshire cat. "If you'll have me, I will honor and cherish you for the rest of our lives."

God, I couldn't be luckier, I sent through the rapport as I grinned, nodding cheekily. "We'll be sure that my parents aren't invited to any of our gatherings," I assured him, thinking of how my parents would treat him. "I'm sorry for – well, for the fact that you had to mourn my death. I promise to never put you through that again."

He knew, as well as I, that it was a promise I had no control over. It wasn't as if I had launched myself into my former predicament purposely; but, I would be more careful than ever before. Still locked in his arms, the sun started to slowly rise, bringing with it the dawn of a new beginning.

You helped give us this, Mackenzie. You helped bring us back to those that would love and cherish us. I'll never doubt my love for Scott again – and I have you to thank for that.

You give me too much credit, I assured her, smiling in spite of myself. Don't forget that I expect you to stand in as my Maid of Honor. You'll look terrible in the orange gown I've envisioned.

She laughed through the rapport, the sound warm and familiar. The warmth of feelings she sent made my stomach clench, and I found myself wondering if she'd gotten any closer to forgetting than I had.

This is no time for such talk, but the words must be said and acknowledged. What happened will never be talked about, will never be shared. There are some things prisoners, such as ourselves, cannot explain.

I wanted to pull away from Hank slightly so that I could meet her gaze, but I fought down the urge. Not so long ago, I wanted to hate you, Jean. I wanted to hate how much they wanted us to be the same, how much they wanted me to take your place. And now – now I realize that while we are too different, too varied, for it to ever be true, we are also not so different from one another.

Times of great struggle and distress brought us closer than I ever thought possible, and I will never forget it. You gave me back my life – Scott. For that, I can never repay you. More warm feelings trickled through the rapport and I sighed against Hank's sweater. But you know that we cannot –

I know, I interrupted, agreeing. On the count of three.

This is only the beginning.

A moment later, there was a feeling of emptiness as the psychic link was destroyed. I couldn't feel her thoughts, her memories, her feelings. Instead of reaching out mentally and assuring myself that she was still there, I simply burrowed against Hank.

It had taken me years, half a lifetime, to realize that the girl from my teen years was a friend and not an enemy, nor my competition.

We'd led parallel lives since birth and would, no doubt, lead parallel and constantly intersecting lives until death. I no longer loathed the thought of being compared to the perfect Jean Grey. In fact, I realized that I thought even the mildest comparison sounded much like a compliment.

We weren't so different after all.

A/N: It's so hard to believe that my interesting journey with Mackenzie Benton has come to an end. I'm sure that quite a few people will have been surprised by the events the last half dozen or so chapters. I do apologize if people think that the story got off track. The point of writing this story was to explore the idea of a woman trying to take Jean Grey's place after the tragic events in X2. Looking back, I think I handled that task well enough. I think that the exploration of personal qualities, friendship, and relationships were properly handled. I hope that you have all enjoyed the journey as much as I have. (: Thank you all so much for reading and leaving thoughtful reviews. You're the best.