Thanks to Foreststar of WindClan, hippiechick2112, and HalfSquirrel for reviewing! I really do apologize for this chapter taking so long.
Ororo couldn't sleep. There was no good reason for it. The weather had turned; she didn't lie in bed fighting increasingly sweaty sheets. The heat in New York was even worse than the heat in Egypt. But sometimes in Egypt she tried to sleep while she was so hungry her stomach felt like it was turning itself inside-out; she learned to breathe through the pain to escape into sleep.
Finally, she slipped out of bed and crept two doors down. She knew better than to just go into Jean's bedroom, even with Scott out of town. She knocked.
"Jean!"
Footsteps, then the door opened.
"What's up?" Jean asked.
"I can't sleep. Wanna… hang out?"
"S'mores?"
"Huh?"
Jean laughed. "Come on."
They headed to the kitchen, where Jean pulled out graham crackers, marshmallows, and a chocolate bar.
"It's a camp thing," Jean explained. "You all sit around the camp fire and toast marshmallows." She snapped two graham crackers in half and laid a piece of chocolate on each, then turned on the stove. "We don't have a camp fire," she said, "but we'll make do."
Ororo didn't totally understand, but was willing to go along and give it a try. She watched as Jean waved a hand and both marshmallows positioned themselves over the stove, turning slowly.
"I know I was kind of cold to you for a while," Ororo began.
"No, I get it," Jean assured her. "Me and Scott should've been way more careful, I don't blame you."
Ororo had been thinking about Scott, actually—about how much she had made fun of him. Which she had, a lot, because it was how she knew to communicate. To argue. To stay on top. But Scott—she wasn't even on top of him, because usually he just wouldn't play and it made her feel like a jerk.
She had been thinking about how easy it was to be mad at someone you trusted, and the way he pulled her out of their ship home and what they must have looked like, walking along the rode, filthy with space-dust and wearing clothes from decades back.
"So, what is it you like about Scott?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is it like a physical thing?" Ororo asked. "Because he's the only boy around? Or do you really like him?"
"I like him."
"Why?"
"I thought Scott was your brother. Shouldn't you know what's to like about him?"
"I do know," Ororo said. "There's a lot of good in Scott, but playing around isn't his strongest suit, so if you're just playing with him, I want to know. Because you're cool and beautiful and he's totally crazy over you, and I don't want to see him get hurt if you don't really care."
Jean looked at her for a few seconds, then back to the marshmallows slowly twisting over the stovetop. They were puffing up now and starting to turn gently golden.
"Because he's not flashy," Jean said. "I've met flashy guys—a lot of flashy guys—but Scott just does what's right and looks after everyone else. He… he didn't hit on me."
Ororo couldn't hide her surprise. "Of course he didn't! Scott would never do that, he's the gentlest boy I've ever met."
"No, not—I mean flirting. He doesn't flirt. A lot of guys do that. They get in your face and try to make your decision for you, try to convince you how great they are, and it's… honestly a little flattering, but it's also really annoying. Scott doesn't do that. He doesn't try to make up your mind for you, just shows you what's what and lets you reason for yourself. Most guys won't just be themselves. I think the marshmallows are done."
Jean floated the marshmallows over to the half-made s'mores, setting one on either piece of chocolate and telekinetically topping it with the second graham cracker half. Let it sit for a while, she suggested, to soften up the chocolate some.
"I didn't realize," Jean said. "I mean, you and Scott… I've seen your nightmares, both of you, but nothing about the past few years. It's all from when you were young."
"Charles and Ruth wanted us to have a good life. They took care of us. It was a school, officially, so there were these other students, Doug and Laurie. Looking back, they must have had a difficult time. It was run more like a group home than a school, but Doug and Laurie had families. Real families."
"What happened to them?"
"Doug's mutation allowed him to understand all languages, even body language, so he went and became a lawyer. Charles still talks to him sometimes. Not so much Laurie, she always hated being a mutant—I'm not sure what she's doing now."
"I get that," Jean said. "Hating being a mutant."
"Do you?"
"I don't hate it, but I understand why someone would, especially after the other night. What I felt—what Scott was dreaming…" She shook her head. It must have been really awful. Ororo had never felt one of Scott's nightmares for herself, but she heard the way he cried. "The chocolate's probably melty by now," Jean changed the subject, picking up her s'more.
Ororo wasn't sure what the big deal was. They were okay—a little too much pure sugar, but not awful. Still, the snack wasn't bad and it gave her something to do in the meantime.
"So if you could, would you not be a mutant?" she asked.
Jean thought about it for a moment, and Ororo realized she probably would have answered differently during the day. It was sort of like the things she and Scott only shared at night. Night is the best time for secrets. You feel alone and unencumbered, like the time is all yours because you should be sleeping but since you're not, you have no responsibilities. Nothing to worry about. And no one will overhear.
During the day, Ororo thought, Jean would probably tell you she loved being a mutant.
"I don't know," she said, finally. "My mutation manifested when I was a little girl. I felt my best friend die. I felt her pain and her fear. That was the end of my childhood. You can't be a kid after that, you can barely be a person. But… it's not like I don't like my mutation at all. It's just hard sometimes. What about you?"
"Mine manifested just after I left Cairo. I was hitch-hiking to get to anywhere else, anywhere but Cairo. These men gave me a ride. They ripped my shirt. Then the lightning came. It went right through me but they fried. You know, it's funny," Ororo reflected thoughtfully, "I thought I could create rain, but actually had pulled it from the nearby areas. I made a drought, people died, and it still—it hurts. But I don't care about those men."
"Like they deserved to die," Jean said.
Ororo nodded. "If I weren't a mutant, I couldn't have protected myself. I don't know what I would be, but it's not this, it's not me. If I were even alive. Maybe some things I did were mistakes, big ones, but I wouldn't give up my mutation for anything. I'd have to give up my whole life along with it."
