Chapter 3: What Can't Be Helped

If not for close proximity and teamwork (nothing like a battle with a reality-warping terrorist to bring people closer), Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe would never have been able to carry on a conversation, much less become friends. Jean had been enrolled in a snooty private school before the voices in her head had landed her in a mental hospital; Ororo had learned the intricacies of the English language from the movies she watched. Jean was easy to get along with and had a killer sense of humor in most situations; Ororo smoldered beneath her ultra-cool exterior.

And, as they discovered today, Jean had always been better at becoming involved in relationships… and staying in them.

"I don't get it," Ororo complained as they sat outside eating lunch. Jean had just shared the news of the kiss she and Scott had shared at the hospital. "First Logan, now Scott. Try telling me you're not controlling their minds. Look me in the eye and say it."

"Logan didn't count," Jean said evasively. "We slept together, and it was great until I found out about his ulterior motives, but it wasn't a relationship. It was just two people in a fancy hotel room trying to postpone doomsday." She caught the look on the other girl's face and grinned. "I know, you're probably wondering why I say it like it's a bad thing. What are you complaining about, anyway? Are you and Henry fighting?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Just that," Ororo said impatiently. "I came downstairs last night and he was still working at the computer. We got to talking about Bobby, and he got all pissy at me."

"Well, you upset him," Jean reasoned. "It's obvious."

"I know how tight he and Bobby were. We're all worried."

"The team's not the same without him."

"Right. But that's not what we were fighting about."

"Then what were you fighting about?" Jean wanted to know. "Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to pick it from your mind?"

Now it was Ororo's turn to be evasive. "He was getting paranoid. I called him on it."

"Oh." Jean knew there must be more to it than that, but refused to pursue it further… or to pry.

"Henry's the first guy I've ever been crazy about," Ororo said after she'd finished chewing. "I grew up in a tribal village, right? That means arranged marriages. And even when I came to the States, the car-theft business doesn't make for lasting relationships of any kind. You know what? You and Scott give me hope."

"Hope for what?"

"Hope that even with all the craziness that comes with all of this" — she waved her arm, encompassing the school grounds — "we can still do normal things like fall in love."

"Glad I could help. But you guys were talking about leaving, right?"

"Not leaving for good," Ororo said hastily. "Just not living here all the time. I talked to the professor about it, and he said" — she put on a passable imitation of Xavier — "'We would all miss you, Storm, but if you stayed within emergency range, I don't see how it would cause harm for you and Beast to carry on the pretense of a normal life.'"

"Okay, I have known him a lot longer than you have, and he does not sound like that."

"But if we break up, it doesn't really matter."

"Whoa!" Jean held up her hands. "So, after one fight-that-might-not-have-been-a-fight, you're talking about breaking up?"

"I don't know," Ororo sighed. "But if we did live together…"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be just a pretense?"

**

When the phone rang, Scott was in the kitchen, concentrating equally on the making of his own lunch, and on Jean.

Only the fact that it would be a strict violation of character (under no circumstances did Cyclops question the difference between reality and dreams), he would have been forced to pinch himself. When he had watched from the window, what felt like a lifetime and a half ago, and felt anger seething up inside him at her and Wolverine locked in an embrace, it hadn't even occurred to him that it was jealousy that he was feeling. Just suspicion, he had assured himself firmly. I don't trust that guy. Cyclops didn't let emotions get in the way of judgment, either.

He put down the knife and mustard jar and went to answer the shrilling phone.

"I'm going to ask you this once," the caller snarled. "And you'd better be honest with me, you ass-kissing lapdog. What did he do to Magneto?"