Jean lay alone in her huge bed, and shivered. It wasn't cold, and she had already closed the windows. It was a general, unexplainable shiver.

She rolled onto her side, reminding herself once again that Scott would not be there.

Will he ever be there again?

She banished the disturbing thought, and closed her eyes, but still found sleep unreachable. Impossible.

She needed to keep herself occupied. Keep her mind busy, distracted. She needed to do something productive.

She rose from the covers, many possibilities running through her troubled mind; she could go to the lab to do some more research, but she could do with a little rest from the world of science. She could go see Logan, but knew it would make him even more saddened then he already was, and they could all do without a temper tantrum from Wolverine. Enhancing her telekinetic abilities was another option, but it was a natural ability and didn't need any more development at the moment.

But her psychic development was another matter entirely. That could be developed further and would be advantageous.

A sudden thought flashed through her mind.

Cerebro.

* * *

The door slid open with a quiet hiss to reveal the metallic walkway to Cerebro. Jean walked down it, her sneakers making almost no noise on the path. The last thing she wanted was any noise disturbance that would alert anyone nearby to her presence.

The Professor had been unsuccessful, but maybe her connection with Scott would raise her chances of finding something. She just hoped that the adjustments to Cerebro had worked, and that she would emerge from her ordeal unharmed.

She had already set the controls to locate Scott's brainwaves, and was moving towards the interface. When she reached the main panel, she kneeled to the correct height and took hold of the headpiece.

Jean placed the instrument onto her head, and concentrated hard.

The room around her seemed to expand, and the walkway extended toward the centre of the large, round room.

Images of confusion flashed through her, urging her to increase her efforts. The images became less confused and more focused, but still no Scott.

She tried harder, knowing deep down that she could damage herself. She didn't care. If it could help in their search, then she had to try harder.

Something familiar to a surge of electricity flowed through her body, making her gasp, but she held her concentration as best she could.

A sudden sharp pain stabbed into her shoulder, confusing and disorientating her. But still, she held on.

Pain flowed into her right leg, her ankles, her arms, back, hands and chest.

She cried out as the pain increased in intensity, when there was a sudden flash.

Scott. Manacled to waist height posts, in unbearable pain.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

Logan closed his tired eyes, and rubbed them with one hand. The lab bed he sat on was even less comfortable than a lecture with Xavier. But, someone had to keep an eye on Jean, who lay on another bed, unconscious.

Why had she done what she had? It was understandable that Jean wanted desperately to find Scott, but brain damage didn't seem like a good exchange for some clarity on Scott's whereabouts. He didn't get why she couldn't just let Chuck handle the Cerebro issue. He had a better chance at making the machine work.

But Jean hadn't waited, and had hurt herself. She would recover easily, but it hadn't been worth it, obviously. If Cerebro had worked, then Jean wouldn't have passed out. Nothing had gone right lately, nothing at all. Everything was going to hell, and they were all going to get sucked in eventually. The past few events had had to be an omen of some sorts, a message.

Maybe this time, good was destined to lose the battle to evil.

Logan shook his head, dismissing the incorrect thought, trying to replace it with a positive one.

We will find Scott, Jean will wake up and we will kick Magneto's bony, old ass. There, that was better. He felt a little less useless.

A sudden sound from the medical bed made him turn his head violently, making the pain in his neck return for a short while.

Jean was moving slightly. That's a start, Logan thought as he shot up from the bed that he had been seated on and jogged over to her. Just as he reached her, she opened her eyes, wincing at the bright light. Logan placed his hand on her shoulder and she edged away from his touch. She looked up at him, surprised, and then touched her shoulder gently.

"Are you okay?" Logan asked, worried that her brain may have been fried and that she'd end up being really... simple, or just so different she wouldn't be the Jean he knew and loved. He hoped not.

Jean touched her shoulder again, more confident this time, and replied, "Yeah." Then she corrected, "No, I'm not." She rose from her bed, wincing again and rubbing her obviously sore head.

Logan moved to push her back down, but she gazed at him, warningly.

"I need to see Professor Xavier," she groaned, still rubbing her head, making an even worse mess of her hair. She clearly didn't care about her physical appearance at the moment; she had something else on her mind.

"Well," Logan said in response, "I don't think Chuck is a happy little camper at the moment."

Jean stood, wavering slightly, and then steadying. "I don't care," she stated blankly. Logan was taken back.

"Pardon me?" he exclaimed, feeling the surprised look cross his face. He was unable to hold it back.

Jean moved over to a small monitor showing her progress, and nodded, approving of the display. She picked up the sweater she had been wearing at the time of her ordeal, and put it on. She seemed more comfortable in her clothing, than in what she had been wearing. She ran a conveniently placed brush through her knotty hair.

"Turn around," she ordered him, taking hold of her jeans and sneakers. Logan did as he was told, hearing her change quickly.

"Okay," she said. He turned. The clothes suited her well, even though he had seen her more in a smart outfit of some kind. But she still looked as beautiful as ever.

With a newfound confidence, she moved past him, grabbing his jacket, and headed for the door.

"Where are we going?" Logan asked, allowing himself to be tugged along like a little cart.

She stopped and turned, her long brown hair falling about her shoulders like a discoloured waterfall. She kept her firm hold of his black, red-striped jacket, and explained calmly, "We're going to see the Professor. I need to tell him what I saw."

She released his clothing and continued down the corridor.

It took Logan a while to take in what she had said to him. "Saw?" he asked, stunned. "You saw something?"

She slowed, allowing Logan time to catch up. He matched her pace and turned his head to her, awaiting her explanation. He didn't have to wait long.

"Yes. I saw something," she said, but her posture described her need to say something further.

"And?" Logan demanded gently, stepping in front of the doctor, stopping her dead in her tracks.

She sighed, reluctantly explaining, "Well, I also felt something."

"What?" Logan persisted, needing clarification to put him at ease.

She moved around him, making him turn and follow on her heels, "I'll explain everything when we get to Professor Xavier's office."

"You know," Logan huffed, "it would be a whole lot easier if you just called him Chuck."

* * *

Jean laid her head against the cold tiles of the shower cubicle in her room, staring down at her feet. Her knees felt weak, and she laid one slender hand on the wall to steady herself. The most mundane of things, showering, eating, breathing seemed difficult with Scott... gone. She could feel herself trying to cry, but there were no tears left. The longing was unbearable, wanting to feel his arms around her, his breath on her neck. Her knees buckled.

* * *

The rack of 'implements' laid on the pallet gleaming; save for where the filthy man's blood was smeared on points, edges and hooks. A finger ran down the side of a scalpel, mostly clean. It wasn't used much, only as a key to the tenderness underneath the skin. Feet patted down the path, accompanied by a faint rustling. The door swished closed behind.

He had told her to stop! She couldn't believe it. She had only just started. She could have really made him scream. A blue hand touched a button, a door slid open, blue legs walked through, followed by the rest of Mystique.

A full-length mirror stood out as the only piece of personal furniture in an ulitarian room. Mystique walked to it and thought of something.

Kneeling in front of it, the fish-like scales on her head and neck, colouring from their usual royal blue and moving to form a very obviously masculine head with short brown hair. To say that the man's head on the nubile woman's frankly naked body looked odd would be a huge understatement. Mystique threw back her head with a mocking wail of pain.

"No, no!" Her insidious laughter filled her room as she revelled in the remembered pain of Cyclops. The fact that he was a man only made 'teaching' him better.

Standing, and changing back to the usual blue skin, orange hair and golden eyes, she looked down in the mirror at herself.

Men. She hated them ever since she was fifteen at the New Year's Eve party, when Greg Harlow had put his hands on her, and had, and had. Her fists clenched and unclenched, her brow creased and she remembered that which she most wanted to forget. She remembered when he did it she had wished, wished more than anything that she was someone else, someone else like Helen Harlow, a girl she could only admire, who was right then dancing the night away. She had felt it, all over her. Greg Harlow had evidently felt it too, because he had opened his eyes and was looking down at her.

She could still see the look in his eyes when he realised what he was doing to the girl he thought he saw as his daughter. She took some small satisfaction when she heard the police had found his body, the revolver still clutched in his deathly white hand. She had never told anyone save for one person. She had just left.

She felt the need to hurt someone and as she strode toward the room where her hobby was shackled, she saw the one person in the corridor, the one man she had truly liked, to whom she served.

"No more," warned Magneto, "he is too weak."

Mystique pouted coyly and returned to her room.

* * *

Bobby turned his aching head toward the door as it swung open gently to reveal Storm. She looked tired, and there were dark circles under her kind eyes. She looked around the class as she entered, a white sweater tied securely around her slim waist. Her long white hair was tied back in a tidy, but rushed ponytail, and it bobbed up and down as she moved.

She came to a halt at the front of the room and whirled, facing her pupils, opening her mouth to speak, but changing her mind and writing on the blackboard instead. The chalk squeaked slightly, but no one protested.

Everyone was on edge, paranoid even. Waiting for a big bad evil to pop up and attack them. But, Bobby knew it was an unnecessary to worry. They were in Xavier's school, and nothing bad had ever happened to them here. They were safe.

For now.

He moved his head to speak with Rogue, who seemed more troubled than any of the others. Bobby couldn't blame her. Magneto had gotten to her before, and she knew what he was like, how sadistically evil he could be. But, she was only a teenager, and Scott was a man. Magneto would be firmer, more... persuasive.

Stop that! Positive thoughts Bobby, positive! No more negativity for you, no sir. Idiot. With that, he tried to smile, to appear more at ease. But, he knew he had failed in that attempt. He could still feel the presence of his frown, copying the looks of the other pupils.

The door clicked open behind them, and all the heads turned with one, fluidic movement. Some were shocked at who stood before them. Others were not. Rogue lowered her gaze and then glanced toward Storm, who still stood at the front of the classroom. She nodded to the person at the doorway, who then entered and perched themselves on a table near to Rogue. The table squeaked abruptly, making some students jump.

"Sorry," came his voice, hushed, as if afraid he would further disturb the already disturbed class. Storm simply nodded to Logan who smiled weakly in reply. Storm continued to write on the board. Many children continued taking their rough notes, others sat in silence.

Bobby listened intently to Logan and Rogue's conversation, knowing somewhere deep down that it was wrong.

"Any word?" asked Rogue, her voice a whisper.

Logan exhaled. "Not exactly."

Bobby reluctantly turned his head, calling unwanted attention to himself from Logan and Rogue.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," Logan eased quietly.

Rogue persisted with interest, "What do you mean 'not exactly'? Did the Professor find something with Cerebro?"

"Not exactly." Logan shook his head, frowning more and more by the minute.

"There you go again! Specifics, Logan, specifics!" Rogue blurted, a little too loud.

Storm didn't seem to mind, only shrugged. "I think it would be a better idea to end it there for the day. You can all study in your own time. I'm sure our concentration is far from here. You're dismissed." She placed the small piece of white chalk down and motioned for the children to leave.

None hesitated, but Rogue and Bobby remained behind, waiting by Logan to continue their conversation.

Storm nodded to Logan as she followed the students out of the room. Bobby watched her walk slowly out of the room, and gave himself a mental slap. Stop it. He turned to look at the others and found them staring at him.

"What? I was just... just-"

"This is sort of a private conversation, Bobby," Logan replied, "you can 'speak' to Rogue later, we have things to discuss."

As Bobby shut the door behind him he heard Rogue speak.

"Tactful, Logan, real tactful."

* * *

Logan looked into Rogue's eyes and thought; Can I really tell her this? This sweet little girl, already touched by evil, this little girl who has a childish crush on me? He steeled his resolve and opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry about your boyfriend."

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends," she replied.

"Sure, whatever."

"Look, did you come to tell me something, or just to annoy me?"

Logan could see she was getting anxious underneath the exterior moodiness, and so adopted a serious expression.

"No, I have to tell you something serious, something about Cyclops, I mean Scott..."

"He's dead, isn't he? No, he can't be, he's not-"

"Marie!"

Rogue froze at hearing her real name from him. So far as he could remember, it was the first time he had said it since Rogue had told him it in his camper that first day. It seemed so long ago.

"He's not dead." Logan could see tears of relief in her green eyes, rolling down her round cheeks. "Jean used Cerebro, a kind of psychic thinking cap, and saw him. He's not dead, but it wasn't a pretty sight."

"Does she know were he is?" she asked worriedly

"No, but there's hope."

"Yes, that's good- there..." Logan wiped a tear from her cheek with the ball of his thumb as she spoke.

"It's okay, Rogue, we'll find him, now run along and find your boyfriend."

Rogue managed a small smile and smacked his arm lightly with the back of her hand. Logan watched her leave the room, and decided to have a word with a certain young man he knew some time in the near future.