Disclaimer: If I owned any of them, you'd all know it.

Author's Note: This is a second disclaimer; To anyone who may be confused, wait for it. I think I might even know what I'm doing.

Oh, and early Merry Christmas everyone!!! (yes, that's right, I'm one of those annoying people who love Christmas; just deal)




Chapter Five
Perpetual Beauty



"I'll have another one, please," Bookie signaled to the slim waitress balancing a tray on her skinny forearm.

She turned at the sound of his voice. "You're black, extra sugar?" she said quickly, not pausing for him to answer before scurrying off to the counter. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of brew.

"Here you are, sir," she said in a pleasant tone, which completely betrayed her frayed appearance.

"What if I wasn't black, extra sugar?" Bookie asked absently, as he tore open one of the packets of the sweet white stuff.

"I'd ask you to get your own God-damn coffee, sir," she replied in one quick breath before bolting off yet again. Ah, how he loved not being on minimum wage anymore...He settled back into his chair and let his eyes wander over the people clustered at the tiny café tables.

People still believed that you could only have a really profound discussion in the middle of a coffee house, Bookie guessed silently as he noticed the intense look on many of the faces dotting the store's landscape. He even saw one lady, with bad hair and worse taste in clothes, near tears, sobbing only held by the constant comforting of her companion, a skinny, dark haired fellow who glanced nervously from the woman to the check, unpaid, on the table.

Man, what he wouldn't give to hear a couple of these conversations.

Bookie couldn't remember anymore if he was early or she was late. Coffee sent his brain out of whack, more or less dulling his senses rather than perking him up. A strange side effect indeed.

But, as he checked his watch, Bookie remembered. She was late.

If his last two interviews had taught him anything, it was that he should have spend a little more time researching. Sure, it was the worst part of the job, but it beat walking in and looking like an unsophisticated smuck off the bus from Wisconsin. And it was certainly better than not realizing that the big, hairy guy in all the papers looked a whole lot like the big, slightly less hairy guy siting in front of you in an interview. Yeah, Bookie was still a little ashamed of that one.

Hence, he'd followed Warren's advice and visited the first library he'd come across. At first, Bookie searched for any mention of what might have happened to a Robert Drake, but there was no mention. That was most disappointing.

Scott Summers, on the other hand, had the privilege of occupying a tiny square of the New York Times about five years back. It was, surprisingly enough, a short blurb about an upcoming trial and, Bookie guessed, only made it to the papers because of his association with Xavier. He was currently locked up in Attica State Prison in New York, carrying out a life sentence with chance of parole in ten years. No definite mention of what he being punished for.

Bookie took another gulp from his mug, the rim already tinted with the strong liquid. Normally, he enjoyed the bitter taste, but for some reason, he reached out and grabbed a cream, and poured it into his cup. The cloud swirled for a moment before becoming boringly uniform and usual.

Sadly, as much as he'd like to, Bookie could not call himself a patient man. And this Jean Grey (or Jean Evans, whatever she was calling herself these days) was testing the slim amount of forbearance within him.

"Is anyone using this chair?"

The voice interrupted him from his daze. He looked up to see who it had come from. A tall, cute brunette, pointing to the seat across from him.

He was about to shake his head nonchalantly when he stopped himself. "Yes! I mean, she'll be here soon." The girl just gave him a strange look and walked away.

Okay, that's it, he decided. Ten minutes, and I'm leaving.

Hell, I'll leave now! With new resolve, he tossed a five dollar bill on the table and angrily grabbed his coat off the chair behind him. He nodded for some reason to the waitress behind the counter and headed for the door.

And he would have left, too, had the bell not tinkled above the door, and had a woman not stepped in that blocked his path.

Although a portion of her face was shrouded by a pair of dark sunglasses, he was startled by the beauty standing in front of him. Bookie knew it had to be her. Maybe it was the soft loveliness of her features or just the red hair that gave her away, but besides that, Bookie sensed something about her that matched Warren's vague (yet accurate) descriptions.

She hesitated, then pulled off the big dark sunglasses perched on her nose, to reveal the greenest eyes he'd ever seen off a china doll.

She narrowed her eyes, then said with great certainty, "You're Mr. Johnson?"

He nodded, and after a few seconds of neither saying or doing anything, sheepishly offered his hand. "I assume you're Mrs. Evans?"

"Nowadays, anyway." She shook his hand. "And it's Jean. I'm sorry I'm so grossly late but-" She raised a hand and leaned out the door. "Darling, come in now. I'll get you a hot chocolate." Bookie simply stood next to her like a knob while she looked back and smiled.

"They're always a handful at this age, or so I'm told," she explained briefly.

Seconds later, a short little person pushed his way inside the shop. He grinned up at Jean, and glanced suspiciously at Bookie.

"Mr. Johnson, this is Aiden. Say hello, darling."

And up at Bookie gazed (rather suspiciously) two of the bluest eyes he'd ever encountered.

"Hello Mister Johnson," said the little guy, slowly inching behind his mother's legs.

Bookie laughed a little. "Hey kid. How old are you, huh?"

"Aiden will be five years old next month, won't you darling?" Forgetting his shyness for a few moments, the boy nodded proudly.

Bookie grinned down at the kid, but snapped his gaze upwards again. "Why don't we sit?"

"Wonderful idea." Jean rewarded him with a knee wobbling smile. "Lead the way."

Bookie was sure to hold her chair for her as she sat down, before bouncing over to his own spot. He choose a seat right across from her so he could take full advantage of the opportunity.

"Aiden will only be here for a few minutes. I told his nanny to come along a little later with his sister so we could go for a walk in the park."

"We saw a swan," Aiden said quietly from his seat. This comment made Jean beam with some kind of maternal pride.

Bookie was about to make some small talk when the boy spoke up again. "Mommy, can I get some candy?"

"I haven't got any change, darling. Besides, didn't you want a hot chocolate?"

Bookie reached into his pocket and pulled out the first drop of money he felt, which happened to be a five dollar bill. "Here, kid, get whatever you like. My treat."

As soon as the offer was made, the little guy had grabbed the money, shouted a 'thank you' and taken off in the general direction of the counter.

"Thanks," Jean declared with a laugh. "Now he'll be up half the night on a sugar high."

"Oh, well...I don't have any kids, so blame that."

"Aiden counts for at least three children, I'm sure. Thankfully, Isabelle can't even walk yet so..." She pushed back a lock of red hair. "We've got another year at least for her."

"We?" Bookie said after a pause. "You and your husband," he assumed.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Nicholas."

Bookie nodded, not sure what else he could say. He was anxious, as much as he enjoyed listening to her talk, to getting the reporting part over with.

As if reading his mind, Jean quickly spoke up. "I'll answer your questions after Aiden is gone. It should only be a few minutes, although my nanny is notorious for being late." She pushed out her chair and stood up. "If you'd excuse me, I'd think I'll find my son before he buys that pink chocolate bunny I suspect he's thinking about."

Soon enough a frazzled looking woman pushing (or rather, pulling) a baby carriage arrived, speaking rapidly to Jean and gesturing wildly. Jean said a few words and the woman was, a few moments later, ushering both the carriage and Aiden out the door.

Aiden paused just inside the door to wave briefly back to Bookie. He smiled and waved back.

"Cute kid," Bookie remarked as Jean sat back down, now with a coffee grasped in one hand. "He's got a pair of the bluest eyes I've ever seen."

Jean smiled slightly, the rim of her cup hovering in front of her mouth. "Yes, well...he gets that from his father."

Bookie had absolutely nothing to say to that, so he simply gestured to the waitress in hopes of getting more coffee.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jean said suddenly as her cup was placed back on the table. "I should have asked if you wanted anything."

"Nah, no biggie." Bookie felt around his jacket for his trusty recorder. Hmm, that was funny, he was sure he put it in his coat pocket....

"Check your left breast pocket,"Jean said swiftly, not looking up from her cup. When Bookie pulled out the object, a slight dumbfounded look on his face, she only smiled meekly. "Just a suggestion."

"Right." Bookie placed the little black recorder on the table, pressing the red record button as he did. "Shall we begin?"

"I don't see why not," she replied quickly, crossing her arms on the table in one fast gesture.
"But where to start?"

"Why not tell me about what happened...after?"

"After what?" Jean interjected. "After Charles was killed?"

"Well, now that you mention it, that is what I'm here about."

"I know, but...you'll understand, it's not an easy topic to talk about." She unfolded a napkin and placed it in front of her on the table. "I think I'll start the night he was killed."

"Good idea."

She took a deep breath, as if summoning some force to give her strength. "I wasn't there that night. I was invited, of course, but I didn't attend. It was father's birthday, and I'd gone home to visit." She sighed mournfully. "Now, of course, I really wish I hadn't. I wish I had gotten a chance to see Charles, just once more. The last thing I said to him was something about a booby trap Bobby had planted in Scott's car." She looked up to see Bookie smiling. "It's a long story."

"Nah, I understand. From what I've heard, Bobby sounds like a fun guy."

"Well, that's one word," she laughed breezily. "I'd heard a few more...colorful descriptions."

"Who was at the benefit with Charles?"

"Well, Hank was supposed to be, but he backed out at the last minute. Logan took his seat, I think, and Jubilee had insisted on taking my place at the table. Warren and Betsy went, together, if I'm not mistaken. And Scott went because Charles had asked him to especially.

"The next day Scott called me. He'd been up all night, and he was a mess. Everyone was. He didn't tell me what had happened, not in so many words, but just that Charles was hurt, and in the hospital. I found out later that he was already long dead at this point. Yet, I rushed right home, ready to stand at his bedside until he recovered." She recoiled in her chair, and closed her eyes. "When I was told the news, I didn't believe it. It took one glance at the death certificate to convince me. This was...real. It wasn't made up, or temporary. This time it was going to last forever. And I made such a commotion the nurse had to give me a sedative and order someone to take me home."

"How did your friends react?"

"In their own ways. Hank retreated to his study, for one thing. Some of the younger ones seemed to take turns consoling each other. Logan began to disappear for literally months at a time, even longer than he used to. Ororo walked around in this trance like state, which must have been heaven compared to what the rest of us were enduring."

"And your husband?"

"Scott took his death harder than anyone else, I think. Charles had been his second father; his only father, in a lot of ways. He couldn't bear that another person he loved had been ripped away from him."

"I know this is hard for you but..." Bookie felt a little guilty asking the questions, and interrupting her speech. "Why is he in jail?"

"He killed a man named Eric Magnus. I should have seen it coming, I suppose. He was just so consumed with finding out why Charles had died. When Scott didn't find anything, not one shred of evidence, he changed a little."

"So why this guy?"

"Scott assumed that it was Eric who did it. Charles and Eric had always had a strange relationship, rivals who held the upmost respect for each other. But around the time Charles was killed, things were different. The world was changing. It was a month after we buried Charles that Scott...he killed Eric from behind with one of Charles's rifles. A little ironic, actually."

"And got caught."

"Please. Scott never got caught. He turned himself in. I stayed with him, all through the trial; I offered to testify. All our friends were with him...he refused us all. Said that he would take whatever punishment he was given. He had always been a proud man."

"He's serving time, now?"

"Yes. And it was about three months into his sentence that I got the letter from his lawyers...asking for a divorce. I signed it and sent it back right away, before my mind had a chance to catch up with what the rest of me was doing."

"How long was his sentence?"

"Life, with a chance for parole after ten years. Not that it matters. He won't try for parole. He's staying where he is until his term is up, or he dies. Whatever comes first."

"You don't talk at all, then?"

"No. No, I don't. No one does. Scott refuses to see anyone but his lawyers. He was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had done. And what he hadn't done. Ashamed that he failed us all."

"What happened to your X-Men?"

"Well, after Scott was convicted, no one was the same. Remy took over as leader, but his heart wasn't there. He and Rogue left for Europe soon enough. Ro was second choice, but she visited Africa and never came back. We were thinning out. I knew the end was coming even before it did."

"When was the end, Jean?"

"I'm getting to it," she said lightly, teasingly. "Logan became the new leader. They weren't many left with us by this time. Jubes stayed, bless her heart, and Kurt. Warren and Betsy came to me one day and told me they were leaving, to get married. But I told them to leave. Run away from the X-Men and never look back. They did, and Logan was so furious he didn't bother to realize it was my fault they were gone.

"Bobby was still with us, then, and Hank. Last time we fought, there was only six of us. Six. Almost like it was in the beginning. That last great fight...it should have been a easy victory. It was against the FOH. We always seemed to fighting with that crowd, in the end."

Bookie recognized the reference. Friends of Humanity. Learned about them in college. Still wasn't sure he thought of them.

"I'll tell you this now, I was pregnant. Yes, with Aiden. Logan would barely let me eat for myself, so he refused to put me to in harm's way. No one else was eager to drag along a poor pregnant lady into battle. I was stuck behind in the Blackbird-"

"The...what?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot how ridiculous this stuff can sound sometimes to a beginner." She searched for an explanation. "The Blackbird was our transportation. It was a jet. A really big jet. With lots of...gizmos and other silly things like that we needed for some reason. I don't know, it was a guy thing."

"Oh, I get it now. So, you're stuck in the Black...thing..."

Jean smiled. "Blackbird. Right. And I was scared out of my head, which at the time didn't make any sense. I mean, I'd been stuck behind thousands of times before, and it barely bothered me. Maybe being pregnant was messing with my mind, but I was going stir crazy sitting in that dark little jet with no company except for the fuzzy radio link I had with the guys out on the field."
"How close were you to the fighting?"

"Very. A few hundreds yards, by my guess. I could be wrong."

"Okay. I was just wondering."

"Well, I opened the door, just to get a little fresh air. But it was a very warm night, unseasonably warm, and it lured me out. I figured everyone would be finished before I got back."

She shifted her weight and looked down. "Jubes hit a gasoline tank, or so I'm told, and that's what blew up the jet. Huge explosion. Tossed everyone into tomorrow. I tried to run back, but the smoke, it was so thick, it took me ten minutes to safely find my way around."

The memory seemed to be slightly painful for her. "I made it back to where I thought the others would be waiting, but it was just a barren field. Hank and I found each other, and Jubes was sending up fireworks from where she was trapped under a fallen tree. We were completely lost when it came to the rest of our team. We had to leave, and get Jubes some serious treatment. The house was empty when we got there."

She ran two hands through her hair, letting it sift through her fingers to finally fall around her shoulders. "Bobby showed up a week later wearing a bandage around one side of head. I can't tell you how it felt to see him walking up the driveway again. A few days after that, Kurt pulled up in a taxi with a busted image inducer. Suddenly, the mansion didn't seem so depressing and empty, since hope seemed to be renewing itself. There was only one person left to come home...I spent more than one afternoon glancing futilely out the window. "

But she paused, trying to swallow the waver in her voice. "Eventually, when he didn't turn up, and sent us no word, we had to assume the worst. Assume the unthinkable."

"That Logan was dead," Bookie finished for her. She nodded.

"No one accepted it at first, since we all brushed it off as so impossible...Logan had lived through much worse than mere explosions. But then Bobby came home to us with a rumor he'd heard through the proverbial grapevine....about the FOH and a captive they'd been playing with for a few months. It wasn't unusual for this kind of news to pop up, but it was usually met with a certain detachment. And now, everything had changed."

"Was it true?" Bookie stumbled over the words. "The rumor, I mean."

"Well, we didn't know. Nonetheless, we immediately dove into a grand plan to get Logan back, our precious fallen hero. We even went so far as to get our hands on blueprints of a few FOH buildings. We were actually going to go through with it, even without any established leader or any sense of direction."

"But something changed your minds."

"But something changed our minds," she echoed slowly. "It was an offhand comment from Bobby really began what you could call the end. It was at one of our daily little meetings, and it almost came out of nowhere. Hank had been pointing out a possible clause in a security system we might be up against, when Bobby spoke out during a natural pause in the conversation."

She strained, as if remembering something that hadn't crossed her mind in a very long time. "He looked up, at no one in particular, and said some thing like, 'what if he's not with them?' Everyone thought what he was saying was absolutely ridiculous, and told him so. No one could believe his audacity, especially in front of delicate little me. I cleared my throat and directly spat my reasoning right at him, that he would indefinitely contact us, even if it was just a postcard, a phone call."

Jean made a sad little noise. "Bobby didn't flinch, though. 'Think about it, Jeannie. If you could leave all this, would you?' At the time, I yelled at him a bit about the fact Logan had a few more moral convictions than that, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

"Deep down inside, I knew my own answer. I WOULD leave, in a second, if I could have. That's what we were planning to, me and-" she cut herself off, and slowly began again in a smaller voice. "I started to get scared." She fingered a fat emerald on her finger. "And what scared me most was that I agreed with Bobby. Oh God, how I wanted to hate him for saying those things about Logan. But I couldn't bring myself to, because I was too afraid Bobby must just be right."

She swallowed the last remnants of her cup. "I just got so tired of fighting. Charles' beautiful dream had been raped time after time by the world it was meant to help. And now we, his only remaining children, were stupid enough to not only consider sacrificing everything on an unfounded rumor, but we were planning on going out in one, magnificant sweep, believing we'd remain unscarred. Because we the good guys. Whatever it was the X-Men had started out as, it had died somewhere along the way to leave us with a skeleton of what it had been."

"So...what did you do?"

"Well, I called a meeting that day and officially disbanded the X-Men, and sent everyone home the very next day. Scott and I had inherited the mansion when Charles died, so I wrote off a quick letter to his lawyers stating my intention to sell the house and divide any profits between the remaining 'students'. I received a formal agreement a week later, with Scott's signature on the appropriate documents. And just like that, I knew it was over for real this time. There was no turning back anymore."

Bookie, who had sat mesmerized a few moments earlier, snapped into reality at the silence. "What happened afterwards, to you?"

"I moved back with my mother, mainly because I didn't know where else to go. For the first time, I had nothing holding me down. No X-Men, no husband, no great love, no great dream. Just me. And Aiden."

Jean paused to order yet another cappuccino. After the waitress stalked away, she continued. "After awhile, though, things changed. It was hard raising a child whose father might be dead." Bookie raised an eyebrow at this one, but let her continue without interruption. "I married Nick a year and a half after Aiden was born. It was something I needed. And I thought that would be it. Just me, Nick, Aiden and any other children that might come along."

The waitress returned and unceremoniously placed Jean's cup in front of her. "I had decided against getting a job, since Nick made so much we didn't need another income. Instead, I just slipped right into where I figured I'd have been if the X-Men hadn't existed. I held garden parties. Invited friends for tea. Just became a neat little socialite, clean and clear with no actual purpose. Blissful. But..." Bookie had felt a 'but' coming along. "One day Jubilee sent me a letter. She had moved out to LA to become either an actress, or a singer, I can't remember which." She furrowed her brow for a moment as she tried to remember. "Anyway, she just wanted to talk again. I suppose she missed her old life, as...difficult as it could be sometimes."

"I suppose that made you want to talk to the others...?"

"Precisely. And besides Warren and Bets, whose house Nick and I always visit, I hadn't seen or heard from any of them in what felt like lifetimes. Enough time had passed. They were my friends, and I missed them."

She ticked off her fingers as she recalled each of them. "Some were easier to track down than others. Kurt is in Germany, married to a nice young girl from Austria, and I think their current count children-wise is about three. Hank, as you know, co-founded his own research facility in Ohio, and was almost married at least once. Ororo only came back to the States twice as far as I know, and I've seen her each time. She's a little more secretive about her new life than I thought she would be. We used to share everything, you see.

"But time can be a terrible disease, sometimes. A very old friend of mine, Moira MacTaggert, died of cancer last year. It got back to me that Remy and Rogue, the ones who ran off to Europe, were both killed. I couldn't find out precisely how, and I'm actually a little fearful of finding out the truth."

"What about..." Bookie checked his notes again. "Bobby? You haven't mentioned him yet."

Jean's eyes glance down the table. "This has to be off the record."

Bookie was caught off guard. "Okay."

"No, really. I need your word."

"I swear that this stays between you and me, and the guy two tables back who's probably listening in anyway."

Jean smiled. "He's not. I know these things." She leaned in closer. "Okay. Since you gave your solemn word...He's under government protection. Essentially, in hiding. Bobby did some bad things after we parted, and drugs was one of them. Officially, he doesn't exist anymore. Which, if it wasn't so terrible, would amuse Bobby greatly."

"So, you don't hear from him a lot, then?"

"Well, it's been about six months now. He's not supposed to even think about contacting someone like me, and Bobby knows it's a serious risk. But he sends letters anyway, at no particular order of time. One for me, and two more for Warren and Hank, for me to deliver. He used to send one for Scott too, but gave up on that when he caught on Scott never read them."

Bookie "And you never heard from Logan?"

"As far as I'm concerned, he died many years ago, Mr Johnson." She smoothed out the tension in her voice and tried something else. "Is that your real name?"

"Huh? What?"

"Bookie. Is that the name your mother gave you?" She said this with a small smile.

Bookie found himself grinning like an oaf. "Er, no. That's the name I picked up in college, and it stuck."

"It must come from your great love of books, I assume," she offered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you must know, he began with a wry smile, "I was well known for my...talent with numbers, if you follow."

Jean narrowed her eyes, and stared at him. Then a moment later her eyes widened and a hand raised to her mouth. "You staged cock fights?" She almost shrieked, causing a few heads to turn in their general direction.

"Hey, keep it down," Bookie urged. "That was a great guess, by the way."

"I'm sorry, but...isn't that a strange hobby?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "But a very profitable one."

"So what is it?" She brushed some sugar off the table. "Your real name, I mean?"

He hesitated."Milo."

"Oh. I like Milo. It almost suits you." She leaned back in her chair and stretched one arm behind her head. "Oh, and in case you're wondering, Nick knows nothing about what I used to be. He wonders, of course, what I was doing all that time away from home, but he's gotten quite used to not knowing. Which leads me to my next request."

Jean placed one of her perfectly manicured hands on top of Bookie's. "I've built a wonderful life for myself here, a very happy one. I have a husband that loves me a great deal, two beautiful children, and a bright, blissfully normal future to look forward to." She was looking deep into his eyes. "I'm sure the others have asked this too, but please Mr. Johnson....Milo," she added quickly, "I'd appreciate if you kept my name out of this piece. Use my alter ego all you like, whether it be Marvel Girl or Phoenix or whatever. Plaster my faded grainy newspaper photos on the front page. But just...no Jean Grey. She almost doesn't even exist anymore."

Bookie paused, tempted to deny her request. But his damned moral code (and those big green eyes) won out again. "I understand completely, Mrs. Evans. Jean Grey won't appear in my story, nor, if I can prevent, any others pertaining to this subject." He smiled briefly. "I can't guarantee that last part, though, okay?"

Jean rewarded him with a brilliant flash of teeth. "I should really be going...it's getting dark out." She slid her chair out and stood up. Immediately Bookie jumped to his feet.

"Let me walk you out," he offered, holding out his arm. She obliged, linking her own through his.
He insisted on footing the bill, and was soon hailing down a taxi to see her safely home.

Jean paused at the open cab door. "Thanks so much, for everything. Including your silence."

Bookie shook off the gesture. "I should be thanking you, Mrs. Evans. All this information and all I had to pay for was a couple cups of coffee."

Jean was about to slide inside the car when inspiration struck. She stepped up onto the sidewalk where Bookie stood and grabbed his hand for a hasty shake. She then leaned up on her toes to plant a soft, all too brief kiss on his left cheek.

"I'll be watching for that story, Milo," she stated lightly, before turning and hopping into the cab.

Milo Johnson simply stood on the curb a few extra seconds, sending off one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met.

He lifted his palm, however, suddenly aware of a distinct scratchiness inside his hand. It was a tiny piece of paper, actually a napkin from inside the coffee shop torn in half. Bewildered, he stared after the taxi, which had long disappeared into the gorge of traffic. His eyes scanned over the now crumpled writing. Along the top was a phone number (long distance, of course). Then following, in elegant cursive, five words:

Jubilation Lee, Los Angeles, CA




Me Once More: Who wants to play a game? It's called REVIEW TIME! It's lots of fun and everyone seems to be playing it...