HOW THE LEOPARD CHANGED HER SPOTS
Part IV
Minisinoo

The only way off the island is the X-plane -- or a police chopper -- so when the X-Team offers me a ride, I don't turn them down. I hadn't been planning to go back to my old life anyway, and now that the mission is over, the bitter ramifications strike. 'Jean Grey' will have to disappear, or my former teammates will come after me. Yet the only ones who saw me at the end were Xavier's people; maybe the Brotherhood can be convinced that Lucifer did throw me into the sea. Like a Phoenix -- or less poetically, a member of the Witness Protection Program -- I'll resurrect from the dead as a new person.

Delayed reaction is setting in, as well, and I spend half the return flight shivering, a blanket wrapped around me and another around the girl Ilyana in the plane's rear section. The semi-conscious lion man -- Sabretooth -- is stretched out on the other bench across from us. One minute, Ilyana speaks in her own small voice in a language I don't know, then she says something in German that sounds like Erik, or she growls like Sabretooth. It's . . . disconcerting, to say the least. I hadn't given much thought to how her own power works besides borrowing the gifts of others, but apparently she gets more than just powers. "It's going to be okay," I tell her, and the smile she returns is so like Erik's cynical sufferance that it chills me. How much of him lies now inside her? Should I fear her as I might fear him? Can she read my mind?

"Yes," she whispers, still smiling, and I'm not sure what the 'yes' is in response to, but I pull away from her and curl up in a far corner of the bench, watching. She takes the other corner and her expression slides from the cool of Lucifer to the fear of a child and she says something to me that I can't understand. Then she frowns and, to my surprise, speaks again in English -- accessing the knowledge of Erik and the cat man, but under the control of her own personality. "You saved me, didn't you?"

"I had help. But I stopped the machine and untied you, yes."

She nods. "Thank you." Then she looks off. "I won't let him hurt you."

I blink, unsure what I think of that. "How long . . . I mean, when you . . . absorb . . . someone, are they inside you forever?"

For a moment, I'm not sure if she's understood, but then she turns blue eyes back to me. Her voice is her own, but her enunciation is reminiscent of Erik. "I'm uncertain how it works. I didn't know -- didn't realize -- I could access knowledge without personality, such as English. I don't know if that will last, either, as the personality . . . fades." Then she stops and her chin tilts as she considers. "For the first few hours when I absorb someone, it's -- intense. Then it lessens. But it never goes away, not completely." I nod and we sit in silence for a while, still watching each other, until she asks, "Does it hurt? When you change?"

Shouldn't Erik know that? But I realize abruptly that he's never asked, while it was one of the first questions from Scott when I first revealed myself to him, and I consider the implications of the difference. "No," I tell her. "Not like you mean. It feels like stretching muscles. If I hold a form for too long, then yes, I get sore. Like a muscle cramp."

"It took a lot of practice, didn't it?"

"Yes and no, and it depends on the form." I pause; I have no idea how much she's been told. "Erik thinks it's partly instinct -- that we're born with the knowledge of how to use our powers, but we still have to train and perfect them. My first forms were simply variations on my own." And I shift, showing her my 'human' face. "This was my first change." Then I shift back to my natural form. "You see?"

"They're basically the same."

"Exactly. To make bigger shifts -- to change my size, for instance, that took time to learn. Mass doesn't change; I always weigh 142 pounds. It's distribution. If I were to mimic him" -- I gesture to Sabretooth who, I notice, is listening without being obvious about it -- "I'd have to . . . stretch myself. I don't know how I do it exactly, but I had to practice."

"Do you think I'll ever learn to control my power?" It's plaintive.

"I assume so, but yours is harder to work on." I glance at Sabretooth again, wondering if he's safe for her to use as a guinea pig, or if he'd even be willing. His eyes are fully open now and he's watching me. They're hazel, but with that overlarge pupil they appear black. And it's an odd expression he's wearing -- curiosity, yes, but also plain male appreciation and I'm not sure how I feel about that; men don't usually like me blue. Scott was the first. Even Dominic preferred me 'looking human,' and I wonder if the cat man is just considering the possibilities -- I could be any woman he desires.

I turn away and avoid his eyes for the rest of the trip. He makes no attempt to talk to me, and the girl has also grown quiet again; I'm happy for the silence. When we arrive at their mansion and the plane has settled into its hangar, McCoy gets Sabretooth off with Polaris's help, and I lead the girl. Stepping down onto the concrete floor, the blanket I've wrapped around myself trailing the floor, I spot two figures at a distance. One is a big kid whom the girl apparently knows because she explodes out from under my hands with a shout of "Piotr!" and races towards him. The other is Scott, my Uriel, who looks tense and worried. I'm not sure if he's guarding the gate to Eden or to hell, but at least he smiles as I approach. Are you okay? He signs.

"Yeah," I say aloud, and then I'm hugging him, or he's hugging me, I'm not sure who moved first. His fingers are in my hair and I just want to cry -- but master spies don't cry. "I love you," I say, though he can't hear. I need to say it. Over his shoulder, I can see both the kids staring, though the girl is smiling, too. I tap Scott's shoulder and he lets me go. I gesture to the kids. He glances from me to them, then pulls a pad from his breast pocket, scribbling something on it that's not just a different language, but a different script. He hands it to the boy. What language do they speak? I sign.

Russian, he finger spells.

Ah. Well, the girl can speak English now, too. He looks at me in surprise, and I explain, Residue of Erik. And your Sabretooth. What did you tell them about me?

That you're my girl. That's all?

He laughs, but eyes me. What else would you want me to say?

He has a point; the complexity of the situation might be a little hard to get across in a handful of sentences, but I shake my head. I don't know. I don't know who I am anymore.

You're my girl. How about if we start there and figure out the rest as we go?

I might have replied but Ilyana was speaking to the boy, Piotr, and now he reaches out to take my hand, gripping it with charming gentleness, his thanks clear without the need for words at all. Ilyana does the same, her gloves soft against my fingers, then they go upstairs together.

Scott and I follow, his arm around my waist atop the blanket and I think about what he said. His girl. It's sweet, in a high-school kind of way, yet I can never be just that, nor would I want to define myself by a relationship to someone else, even while this relationship remains central to me. I am Scott's girl, but that's only part of my life, and not even a part I could publicly admit to until recently. We're going to have to see who we are as a 'we' in the wake of this, not just who I am. So many questions remain to be addressed.

I remember, as we exit the hangar, that all I'm wearing is the blanket, and while I don't precisely look nude even when I am -- an oddity of physiology and scales -- I'm conscious of it nonetheless and start to shift -- but Scott shakes his head. Don't, he signs. You don't need to do that, here.

"But --"

Scott just shakes his head again. This school was created so no one has to hide who he or she is.

So earnest. And completely missing the point. I'm not trying to hide that I'm a mutant, Scott. But in case you didn't notice, all I've got on is a blanket that hangs open in front. I don't want to scandalize your students.

He blushes (so cutely) and glances down my body, mouths, "Oh." Then signs, Come on. I'll get you some clothes.

I follow, wondering where we're going. I know the mansion has an underground bunker where (among other things) they keep their plane. Erik's told me about it, and I've seen drawings based on his memories, but I've never been to Westchester, much less the mansion, so being admitted now to their inner sanctum had the spy in me delirious with excitement, despite everything. There's something obscene about my curiosity sometimes, and I wonder if I'll be cataloguing details at my mother's funeral. Probably.

Now, Scott leads me from the hangar into a nondescript hallway, all metal, and perhaps Polaris helped in the construction. Lighting is fluorescent and recessed and there are small plaques above or beside doors, identifying what lies beyond. I read 'medlab' and 'danger room' (what the hell is a 'danger room'?), but we stop in an area where the hall widens, showing uniforms behind glass. There are also stacks of what look to be sweat clothes, too, workout clothes, no doubt. Scott halts before a locker with a woman's uniform -- apparently Polaris'. Opening the door and reaching in, he retrieves gray sweats and tosses them to me. The pants might be a little short, he signs. I put them on, and the pants are, indeed, a little short, and there's no underwear. I notice a small "X" above the left breast and finger it. I won't wear these long, I think, though Scott seems pleased to see me in them. I may shift my form at need, but not my allegiances, and right now, I don't want to think too much about what I've done.

I should check on Sabretooth, Scott says, and I nod, following after him. He's my life raft in this place. When we enter the room marked 'medbay', the rest of the X-team is there and the big lion-man is flat on his back. It doesn't look as if he's eager to stay, but McCoy isn't letting him up, either, and Polaris is there to reinforce the doctor's orders. They all turn to look at us when we enter. Scott approaches the bed, though I remain by the door. Uncertainty and a desire not to intrude is only part of my reason; I want to watch their interaction. Reading people is what I do, and I've never seen Scott among his own. I'm under no illusions that my presence isn't noticed, but I'll still gain insight into Scott.

Positions say a lot about emotional alliances; Scott stands beside McCoy and across from Polaris, but he speaks (aloud) to Sabretooth. "How are you?"

"Feel like I got hit by a mack truck." The big man may not look smart, but he observes things, and he's aware. I remember his eyes in the plane. Now, he looks directly at Scott when he speaks and moves his mouth carefully to get past the problem of a beard that hampers lip-reading. It's a quiet sign of respect, and I remember how Sabretooth ripped off the girl's gloves and placed her hands on his own face so she could absorb his healing factor. Maybe I got her out of the machine, but Sabretooth actually saved her life. If he looks like an animal, his actions stand in stark contrast to Lucifer's.

"Did you talk to Warren?" McCoy is asking Scott. "Is there news about the professor?"

"Yes -- he came to a couple hours ago. The hospital wants to keep him overnight; he has a concussion, but otherwise, he didn't break anything in the crash. Apparently, his seatbelt came unlocked when the plane skidded, and dumped him on the floor. Everyone else is more or less okay -- bruised up, but okay."

I've been leaning into a wall, arms crossed, but now straighten up. This accident must be what Erik had referred to earlier. Polaris notices my movement. "What do you know about this?" she demands. McCoy and Scott turn to look at me.

"Not much," I reply, and approach. I've seen what I wanted to see. McCoy is Scott's friend, Sabretooth respects him, but Scott and Polaris are in opposition on some matters, even if they may agree in their devotion to Xavier. He told me she'd been his lover once, and I wonder if she's jealous.

Looking her in the eye, I sign as I speak, for Scott's convenience. "All I know is that, when your plane first arrived tonight at Liberty, Erik said to me -- who he thought was Lilith at the time -- hadn't I made sure that Xavier wouldn't arrive back in Westchester before the summit? So I'd say she's somehow responsible. It'd be easy for her to bypass security. She could teleport in from outside the airport grounds, as long as she knew where she was going. What exactly happened?"

One of the engines malfunctioned, Scott says. With me there, he chooses to sign, letting me do the speaking for him. The plane spun out of control on the runway. But wouldn't the pilot have checked them before taking off?

"Maybe. But she could have teleported right onto the wing and fouled up the engine once the plane was already in motion, then teleported away."

"Lucifer was trying to kill them," Polaris snaps.

I shake my head. "No. If he'd wanted them dead, they'd be dead. He wanted them held up."

"Funny way of showing his friendship for the professor," Polaris says, "to engineer an 'accident.'" She looks pointedly from me to Scott, and I understand the comparison she's making. I'm less horrified, perhaps, than I should be; it's a question I've had to consider before -- what would I do, to stop Scott from interfering in my plans? Fortunately, it was never a question I had to answer, but I'd like to think I wouldn't have endangered him physically.

In any case, there's another point here that needs to be made. "And you don't think your professor wouldn't order whatever it took to stop Erik?" I ask her.

"Lucifer was trying to kill people. The professor wasn't."

"Erik didn't know the change would kill people. And Xavier is still his friend."

"It's different."

"Enough!" Sabretooth rumbles from the bed. "Leave it for Charles and Erik to work through themselves, eh? Ain't you girls' business."

Polaris appears annoyed at both his interruption and his condescension, but Scott has stalked off from the table, standing with his back to us, arms crossed -- a silent gesture of frustration. Hank goes over to say something to him. The doctor can sign, too, I see, but it's rudimentary. He's telling Scott that he'll have to accept some suspicion of me on the part of the others.

Scott's frustration explodes. "In case you didn't notice," he replies aloud -- and loudly -- turning back towards the table, "Jean helped you tonight. She's here."

"For a while," Polaris answers, still looking at me instead of Scott, and it's clear she neither likes nor trusts me, but I do owe her. She saved my life earlier.

Crossing to Scott, I lay my hand on his upper arm, a calming gesture. "It's all right," I tell him, speaking where he can see. "Take me to get something to eat. I haven't eaten since lunch and it's almost midnight now."

Glaring at the other three, he puts an arm around me and ushers me out. In the hall beyond, he signs. I'm sorry for that.

Don't be. Your doctor friend is right. And so is Polaris. I'm here -- for a while.

He appears taken aback. You'd return to the Brotherhood after what Lucifer did?

No. But I'm not sure I can choose your side completely either, Scott. We've had this argument before. Several times. Nothing's changed except that Erik was willing to go further than I am.

So how far are you willing to go? I think the question scares him, but he's angry enough to ask it.

I don't know, I reply honestly. But I do think there's a place in between your professor and Erik.

Fence sitting. It's almost contemptuous.

I'd walk away and leave him there, if I had any idea where I was going in this big place. But I don't. My lips thin. Just get me something to eat, please.

Fine. And he turns, headed towards yet another door and leaving me to follow.

This isn't turning out to be quite the reunion I'd envisioned.

***

"This is my room," I say aloud, because she's not looking at me, she's casing the place restlessly, Thutmose on her heels. The cat adores her, and so do I, no matter how infuriating she can be. "Well, I guess I should say it's the one I usually stay in, when I'm back here."

Turning, she bends down to pick up Thutmose, scratching him absently under the chin. "Did it use to be yours?"

"No. My old room was down the hall a ways -- more in the middle of things. This is a guest room. Other people use it, too, sometimes."

She smiles. "What do they think of the vibrator alarm?"

I smile back, remembering the first time we'd actually slept a whole night through together. I'd had work the next day, and had brought my travel alarm to the motel. When it had gone off at 6 a.m., shaking the bed, she'd practically hit the ceiling in shock. I guess it's something you have to get used to. Now, gesturing to the clock, I say, "You can unplug the bed shaker." I think she ought to know that, after three years, but it's indicative of the strangeness of this affair that she doesn't, and we're talking about inconsequentials to avoid another fight. I wonder if it's entirely appropriate to want to rip off the clothes I'd just supplied her with, when I'm as irritated at her as I am -- but that's always been part of this relationship, too, that tension of disagreement fueling the passion. It was also part of my relationship with Ororo, and I wonder if I have to be arguing with somebody to feel intense desire for her -- and why that is? Or maybe it's just that Jean and I haven't seen each other for two weeks, and I'm horny.

In any case, either she's learned to read my mind or she just knows me that well, because her eyes have dropped down my body to my crotch, and she grins. It's not smug; it's a little shy, in fact, and I've always found her embarrassed pleasure at my interest charming. She dumps the cat on the floor, and I walk over to her so she can unbutton my shirt while I kiss her, and we don't talk for half an hour until we've gotten the need out of our systems. Thutmose has fun pouncing on our feet under the sheets, and afterwards, we lay still, her head on my chest, her fingers still playing with me, stroking the skin of my belly, chest, arms, thighs, and penis. After a while, she lifts her head. The room's light is on; the bedside clock says it's two in the morning. You know I love you, she signs, and the way that's phrased bothers me.

I know. I wonder if we're going to start fighting again, but she simply lays her head back down on my chest and closes her eyes. After a while, I realize she's weeping. Her tears fall hot on my skin and I don't know what to say, or even why she's crying exactly, so I just hold her close and stroke her hair, her head tucked under my chin. "I love you, too," I tell her. It makes her cry harder.

I'm not sure when we fall asleep, but I wake to her shaking me, signing that someone is knocking on the door, and the sun is up. I'm actually a bit surprised that she's still there; I think I expected her to steal away in the middle of the night -- but where would she go now? The clock says it's 7:13, and I grab a robe on the way to the door. Ro is on the other side; she tries to sneak a look past me without being obvious about it as she hands me a newspaper. I make no attempt to obstruct her view. "I thought you would be eager to see this," she says. I unfold it. The headlines are predictable -- about the summit of the night before and the arrest of Lucifer, but I wonder at her assumption. 'Eager,' yes, but it could've waited until Jean and I came downstairs for breakfast. Was Ro just seeking an excuse to find out where Jean had spent the night? She might be clever on a battlefield, but social subterfuge isn't anything she's good at.

Now, I fold the paper under my arm and say, "Thanks. We'll be down to breakfast in a while."

She blinks, but, faced by both the bluntness of the 'we' and the clear hint that we want to go back to bed, she nods and says, "I'll see you in a while then."

Jean's sitting up on the sheets and holds out a hand for the paper. I pass it over, signing that I'm going to shower. She nods, already perusing. I wish I knew how she felt about last night, but Jean's never been good at talking about her feelings, or not any that she considers 'weak' (which, once, included love, but I think she's decided that loving me may not be an Achilles' heel after all). I make my shower quick, mostly because I have this irrational (or not-so-irrational) fear that if I leave her alone for too long, she'll be gone.

But she's not. She's still reading when I emerge from the bathroom, and I pause in the doorway, enjoying the simple sight of her in this place where I never expected (but always dreamed) she'd be. She looks up, smiling at me. Hey, beautiful, I sign, and she rolls her eyes, but I do believe she's blushing. With her complexion, it's sometimes hard to tell. Then she gestures for me to come to the bed, and points out a line.

Three mutants were taken into custody after the incident. They were identified as Erik Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholm, and Dominic Petros. Instructions were given for their containment.

Who left the instructions? She signs. We were out of there in a hurry.

Ororo probably called it in. At her blank look, I explain, Ororo Munroe -- Polaris. Or Hank . . . Henry McCoy -- Beast.

They won't be able to hold Raven long, she replies, unless they keep her drugged. Or likely Erik, either, for the same reasons.

We know, I return.

Scott, I need to go back to Washington NOW. This may be my only chance.

Only chance?

To get anything from my apartment. Erik knew -- last night. He knew it was me. Raven . . . I knocked her out and stuck her in a closet. It won't take much for her to figure it out. Wolverine is still free, but he's not very smart that way. I doubt he's after me yet, but the others? This is my only chance, while they're still in custody. They'll kill me if they catch me.

I stare at her, suddenly realizing the full import of what she did to save that girl, and the diplomats, as well. It scares the shit out of me. You can stay here. We'll protect you.

Her expression is impatient. I can take care of myself. But what I need right now is a trip to Washington to fetch anything important from my place.

You've got it.

I'm going to have to 'die,' too -- do you understand? 'Jean Grey' has to die. Erik tried to kill me last night. Let them think he succeeded.

I just blink. What?

So she tells me the whole story, and I'm not sure if I'm more angry or more amazed. She finishes with, Jean Grey fell into the bay and died. Give her a funeral -- I don't care. But the only way they'll not look for me is if they think I'm dead.

Won't they suspect?

Maybe. But if Erik has a blind spot, it's his arrogance. He thinks he killed me; let him believe he succeeded.

I ponder this, wondering if I'm a good enough actor. But what if your apartment turns up empty?

Oh, it won't be empty. I'm just taking what I want to keep. My parents can have the rest.

Do you want me to tell them what happened?

No -- they have to believe I'm dead, Scott.

I blink again. Orphan that I am, I have a hard time with Jean's love-hate relationship with her parents. At least she has parents, and they did -- and do -- care for her. They don't deserve that.

Her expression is impatient. I'll tell them the truth eventually. But for a while, I need them to really believe I'm gone. You've lived with Xavier. You know how to block a telepath. They don't. If Erik shows up and scans them, I can't have them thinking anything but that I'm dead.

And it makes sense, but it's horrible, too, and this is where Jean and I are very different. She can contemplate cruel necessities of this type. Of the two of us, she's the pragmatic one, and I wonder if she'd leave me in the dark, as well, if she could. Probably. That's a hard truth to face. I'll do my best, I tell her.

Kneeling in front of me, she strokes my cheek. "Scott," she says aloud, "I wouldn't leave you to wonder. Really."

I press my forehead to hers. "But you'd leave your parents?"

"I told you why. You have some defense. They don't." She sits back on her heels. Will you break the news to them?

Jean, you're asking me to go to your parents in order to lie about the fact you died. I sigh, and add -- emphatically -- I don't know if I can do that!

I know it's asking a lot . . .

Yes, it is! I know what it feels like, to lose your family.

And she has the good grace to look embarrassed. All right. Let's talk about that later. I still need to go to Washington.

That's fine. I need to go, too. I need to see the professor.

She nods, and it's settled.

***

"You comin' back, Red?"

I jump and try to pretend that I didn't, that I heard him approaching from behind. Turning, hands on hips, I glare. I'm dressed in a shirt of Scott's and the same sweat pants, and we're readying a car to drive to Washington. The little Russian girl Ilyana seems to have retained her English for more than twenty-four hours and Scott feels comfortable enough to leave, but just now, he went back inside to fetch the cat and I'm loading the trunk when the lion-man appears. And I didn't hear. My ego is offended. "Why do you want to know?" I ask in response to his question.

"Kid likes you."

I roll my eyes. "Gee. I'd never have guessed. I don't suppose it occurred to you that I like him, too?"

His smile is genuine, and fierce. "Y'ain't comfortable here."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Yer angry, too."

Hands still on hips, I just glare. He's starting to get on my nerves.

"We ain't your enemies, kid. Even Ro."

My smile is wry. "I don't think she'll be sad to see the back of me."

"She's still carryin' a torch for Scott."

"I know." In truth, I hadn't known, not for sure, but I'd suspected. Or maybe I just can't imagine why anyone would willingly give him up when I've twisted myself and my loyalties into knots to keep him.

Sabretooth pulls over a stool and sits down on it; it squeaks beneath his weight. "So -- you comin' back?"

"I don't know," I tell him, honestly. "There are still things that need to be done." I've been giving some thought all morning to just what things. "I'm not sure they" -- I gesture vaguely to the house beyond the garage -- "would approve." I don't include him in the 'they.' I think he'd understand.

He nods, thoughtfully. "Maybe. Don't mean you can't come back here eventually." He shifts on the stool. "You got skills we could use, and experience. Even Ro said as much this mornin'. She's a good leader, has real talent, but she's green."

And I'm not; I follow his meaning. Yet I've been working on my own for a long time, even as part of the Brotherhood, and I wonder if I could work with a team, especially under Polaris. Sabretooth just made it clear that he might be inviting me to join them, but Polaris is and will remain the leader. Not that I'd want the responsibility.

I look down. "I'll think about it," I tell him.

"You do that." But he doesn't move. His eyes rove up and down me and I'm reminded again of the look he gave me in the plane, and whatever I told myself last night about not defining myself by my relationship to Scott, I suddenly want to hang a sign around my neck that says, 'Property of Scott Summers.' If I should come back, it might not be Polaris I'd have to worry about.

"Don't look at me like that."

His smile is lazy. "You don't like it?"

"I'm not up for grabs."

"Never thought you was, darlin'. Don't mean I can't appreciate."

"Appreciate what I am or what I could be?" I snarl.

"I ain't lookin' at what could be. I'm lookin' at what's in front of me. You're a pretty woman, Red." And I find it interesting that it's not my skin he picked out to coin a nickname. "I can see why he's crazy about'cha. I ain't gonna interfere with that."

I nod, glad we cleared that up. A door opens and we both turn to see Scott striding across the garage floor towards us, his cat in his arms. He frowns a little. "Logan," he says, aloud. So the big man is named Logan. I'd wondered.

"Scott," he replies, standing and backing away from Scott -- or more precisely, from the cat in Scott's arms who's laid his ears back. Sabretooth towers over us both but he's afraid of Thutmose? "Just keepin' the lady company. Tell Chuck we miss him." And he strolls away, coat flapping behind him.

Lips pursed, Scott looks at me, shifting the cat to sign, Was he bothering you?

Smiling, I shake my head, no, and when I look up again, find doubt on his face. I do believe he's jealous. Crossing to his side, I lay a hand on his forearm and kiss his cheek, then sign, I don't like my men that furry. I kiss him again, on the mouth, and he's the one smiling now as I take the keys from his fingers and walk around to the driver's side of the shiny red antique Corvette. He settles into the passenger seat and Thutmose takes up a position between his feet on the floorboard. We tear out of the garage, headed south. This is, I think, the first time we've ever taken a long trip together. Our lives suddenly seem full of firsts, and it's appropriate that, as we pass the school's gate, I shift into my new form for the first time, too. "What do you think? Can you live with this for the foreseeable future?"

He eyes me, taking in the change. It's completely different from most of my previous avatars. As long as you still go back to you when it's safe. When we stop at a gas station, it's a Japanese woman he holds the door for.


***

It's Warren who opens the hotel door, and he's got a big bruise on his cheekbone, but otherwise he looks okay. I give him a hug and he ushers us in, looking curiously at Jean in her new form -- and I still find myself glancing twice, too -- but he doesn't question it. I wonder if he knows who it is.
Xavier does. Dressed in pajamas and a robe, he's sitting up in his wheelchair. "Scott," he says, both aloud and in my head. "Ms. Grey." Jean starts. "Please have a seat." I sit down on the divan and Jean settles beside me. She's still wearing her new face, even if the clothes are (this time) real enough. "Please," the professor says, "you can relax here."

She glances at me, and then at Warren, who's making us something to drink. Go ahead, I sign.

Shrugging, she shifts, blurring and becoming blue. "Much better," Xavier says, smiling slightly. He turns his eyes to me. "It seems that I missed the excitement?"

I think you and Warren had some of your own.

"There is that," he replies, dryly.

Warren approaches to hand me a cup of coffee -- he knows what I want without asking -- then raises eyebrows at Jean in silent question, perfectly gracious and not a hint of surprise that she's here. But that's Warren. I recall his words from a few days ago and doubt he's suddenly decided to trust her -- whatever he sees or doesn't see of the future -- but he'd never be overtly rude. "Just water?" she requests, "If you have it?" He nods and fetches bottled water for her, then joins us.

How are you? I ask Xavier as Warren settles himself neatly, plucking at his dress slacks. Never a hair out of place or an inappropriate wrinkle. People who know him less well think him shallow.

"I'm well enough to come home, if my watchdog will permit it." Xavier shoots Warren an exasperated glance, and I hide a smile. He turns serious then, and addresses Jean. "Ms. Grey, let me thank you. Without your help, I doubt Erik could have been stopped. I know it wasn't an easy decision for you -- or an easy realization, what he was really up to."

Frowning, Jean looks down and doesn't respond. Xavier continues. "That wasn't an 'I told you so.' I also realize that this places you in a difficult position with regard to the future. "

She glances up and they lock gazes for a few moments. I get the impression they're having a conversation that I'm not privy to, and I look at Warren, but he's examining his nails. I sigh. Being deaf, I'm often cut out of things unintentionally, so when it's done on purpose by people who ought to know better, I'm annoyed. Even if I shouldn't be.

Jean's heard the sigh, and lays a hand on my knee even as Xavier turns and smoothly asks me about the mansion and the students. He's not going to apologize; some things are none of my business, I suppose. After that, there's not much more to say, and we need to get back to my place so I can feed the cat. We've already been to Jean's apartment. We went there first, though it took her hours of watching and casing in various forms, with me stuck waiting in the car, before she'd get anywhere near it. But now, she has her clothes and other necessities at my apartment.

Before we leave, I find a moment to take Warren aside. Jean's worried . . . I sign.

He nods. "She should be."

She's in danger?

"What do you think? All you need for that is common sense not prescience, Scott."

And he's right. I glance back to where Jean's talking to the professor again. Is she going to join us?

He shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

You're a lot of help.

His smile is wry.

Is the Registration Act going to pass now?

But he doesn't reply, just moves me towards the door where Jean is waiting, back in her new form. "I'll see you again," he tells her. She raises an eyebrow, and we leave.

You know he knows stuff, she signs in the elevator. Doesn't it creep you out?

I'm used to it. And he knows less that you think. He just likes to pretend. When we reach the car, she takes the keys from me, and I guess I should start getting used to that. I smile at the thought. I could get used to Jean chauffeuring me around.

And thus, I return to my normal life, or as normal as it can be with the vote on Registration due later that week and Jean living with me openly. For three days after our return to Washington, I wake up beside her, eat with her, spend the whole day with her. She merges almost seamlessly into my life, as if she were always meant to fill that space, and I'm deliriously happy. For three days.

My cynical side knows it won't last, and I wait for the other shoe to drop. Eventually it does. I wake late and lazy on the fourth morning, a Thursday, and I'm the only one in the bed. Jerking upright, I stare around. The clock says it's after ten in the morning, and at first, I think maybe she's up already, puttering about. But I know better. Being deaf, I've developed a sixth sense for the presence of others, and I can tell I'm alone.

Grabbing a robe, I go into the kitchen and find the note she left me taped to the coffee-maker -- fixed and ready to brew -- and I notice that her coffee mug is still there on the counter with mine. Note in hand, unopened, I dash around the place like a fool, checking. Most of her belongings are still in the apartment, too. Frustrated, upset, and angry -- but also relieved -- I collapse on my living room couch, tearing open the note.

I have to go for a while, love. All the usual disclaimers apply. Don't look for me, don't try to contact me. I'll get in touch with
you when I can. I've talked to your professor and he's going to speak with my parents, so you don't need to worry about that.
He says he can protect them from Erik. My mother will call you in a few days about a funeral, and you can bury Jean Grey.
Mystique is no more.

 Now and forever,
Your "Phoenix"

Thutmose has joined me and butts at the hand holding her letter. Sighing, I drop it onto the couch and pet the cat, who crawls into my lap. "It's just you and me again," I say aloud to him. I can feel his purr against my hand and I reach for the remote, turning on the TV, flipping channels. I have other things I could do, should do, but lack energy. So I sit on the couch all day, not even bothering to dress. Around five in the evening, the local news comes on, and the headlining story is the rally for mutant rights earlier that day down on the Mall. I should have been there, as the MRA will be voted on tomorrow, but I'd forgotten all about it and doubt I'd have been ready to face a crowd anyway. The reporter blathers on about who of the famous appeared, and who didn't (my name is mentioned), and I apathetically scan captions until one particular name catches my eye. Sitting up, dislodging Thutmose, I stare in shock at the face on the screen. An impossible face, and an impossible name.Senator Robert Kelly.He's saying something about being wrong and having changed his mind, but I can't quite follow the captions because I'm too busy staring at his face. Kelly is dead. And I'm debating getting up to message the professor when Kelly turns away, and a lightbulb flashes viridescent in his eyes. Anyone else would think it just an accidental effect. I know better.

Shutting off the television, I rise to pace around the dim room. Outside, the sun is setting and I put my face in my hands.

My girlfriend is masquerading as a U.S. Senator. Should I be horrified or relieved? Hers might be the swing vote that saves us all. Yet whatever else I feel, I'm not surprised, and I'd bet dollars to doughnuts, the professor knows all about it. How did my life get this complicated?

Rising, I rub my eyes. "Come on," I say to the cat and head for my office computer. I have a letter to write. Maybe she told me not to contact her, but she didn't tell me Dr. Summers couldn't set up an appointment with 'Senator Kelly.' We'd been on different sides for three years and I was sick and tired of it. If her underwear was in my drawer and her coffee mug on my counter, then she was stuck with me letting her know she wasn't alone in this, whatever reservations I might have about the morality of it.

http://kelly.senate.gov/index.cfm?c=email&which=Standard"

Prefix: Dr. (Ex: Mr. and Mrs.)
First name: Scott
Last name: Summers . . .

Please write your message. (fewer than 10,000 characters)

Dr. Summers requests an appointment with Senator Kelly at his earliest convenience Friday morning, if possible . . .

Afternotes: There are, of course, more swaps in this one, though not everyone's powers have altered. Ororo has Magneto's powers, Magneto has Jean's full power (different codename), Victor Creed and Logan are switched out -- taking away Logan's healing factor would alter his personality too much, but I decided to play on the namesakes. Wolverines are not pack animals. Piotr Rasputin's power is unchanged, but Ilyana has Rogue's, and yes, I'm aware that Rogue can absorb Piotr even in metal form, but as with Scott and Alex, I'm guessing that if they were related, it may make him partly immune. Hank's power is unchanged, Xavier's power is unchanged. Warren's power is Destiny's (or Frank's, if you prefer), and rather than Toad, I've used Dominic Petros, Avalanche -- here called Zeus, with Storm's powers. And yes, the image used for Dominic is John Stamos, Rebecca Romijn-Stamos' husband. I simply couldn't resist the joke, since he is Greek. Mystique has Kurt's powers (and appearance). Incidently, I'm assuming that Ororo is still at a beginning stage with her powers, so she can't yet do everything Magneto could in the film.

As for the Biblical references tossed about by Erik and Jean, the revolt of Absalom against his father King David has an all-too-often overlooked prelude ... David's eldest son Amnon raped his half-sister Tamar. When confronted by this fact, David didn't want to deal and refused to mete out justice. Absalom, Tamar's full brother (and David's third son), rebelled in frustration. And finally, the .gov URL at the end is, in fact, standard for contacting the a U.S. Senator by email, but "kelly.senate.gov" won't get you anywhere. :-)

Feedback always welcome (of course).

A seventh and final epilogue story was to wrap up the series, but so far, it doesn't seem that anyone is actually reading the story on ff.net, so I may not post the last part here, as it involves extra work creating an ff.net-friendly html version, which is pointless effort if no one's reading this venue. (E.g., if you are reading it here, you might want to let me know that.) ;