Crown Of Thorns

Chapter Four: Welcome To The Jungle

   Manhattan is quiet on this Wednesday morning, with only a few people walking the streets, going about their daily business with the usual kind of resigned boredom that routine creates (and I should know –the exercise programme Hank has designed for me is about as exciting as one of Bobby's comedy routines). Jean and I are sat at the window of a coffee shop, eating pastries and having a quiet coffee. Jean has a copy of the latest issue of Newsweek on her lap, and has it thumbed open at a particular story she's interested in, but she hasn't dipped her head to look at it once, instead keeping her eyes on me almost all the time. I suppose I should have expected that – now I've just started my second trimester, all of the team (apart from Bishop and Emma, I guess… but then again, they both hated Mum's pregnancy, so that's nothing new) are both excited and concerned about me – but Jean and Scott are especially worried. This is effectively Scott's first grandchild, after all, so I suppose it's understandable that they'd be inclined to look out for me just as much as Mum and Dad have been – although they haven't been busy buying me a whole wardrobe's worth of baby clothes, just because they thought it would be a good idea. For that, I'm going to be forever grateful.

   Putting her magazine aside, Jean sets her coffee cup down onto the glass table in front of our seat, and says "So this is all that Hank's letting me do for you, huh?"

   "It seems that way," I say, stretching a little and feeling the muscles in my back protest quietly. "He's very protective of me. Couldn't you tell?"

   Jean laughs. "Oh, that's Hank all right. He's very fond of you, you know."

   "Yes, he is," I agree, sipping some of my own coffee and eating some more of my apricot pastry. "I still don't think he should have used that as an excuse to stop me from playing softball, though."

   "Well, you know, Rebecca… softball can be a very violent sport," Jean chuckles. "You haven't seen Scott and Alex play each other, have you? It's not very pretty."

   That surprises me, just a little. "Really? What do they do?"

   "Oh, you don't want to know, Rebecca," Jean says. "Just think of a couple of angry two-year-olds in men's bodies, and you'll have some idea of how the two of them act." She laughs. "After seeing that, I can understand why Hank wanted to keep you as far away from a softball bat as he could." Then she takes a sip of her coffee and sits forward, her eyes almost lighting up as she does so. "So anyway… how's the baby?"

   "Fine, I suppose," I begin quietly, one hand brushing my stomach absently. "I haven't had any real problems for a while now, actually – it's been pretty cool not to have to worry about anything. I mean, aside from morning sickness and all the other little problems. I'm really not looking forward to later on. Swollen ankles and backache really don't sound like being all that much fun, you know?" I take a bite out of my Danish pastry, enjoying the rich flavour of the apricot filling, and then continue "Sam's been really great, though – I don't think I could have got through this without him."

   Jean smiles, and nods appreciatively. "I'm not surprised. Sam's a good guy, Rebecca – I couldn't think of anybody else I'd want to be the father of your baby." She pauses, before a mischievous expression crosses her face for a second or two, and she says "Well, except Brad Pitt, but I think he's busy right now, don't you?"

   I make a face. "Brad Pitt? No thanks – he's far too pretty for me. I prefer guys who don't wax their face three times a day. Russell Crowe, on the other hand… now there's a man I could definitely snuggle up to."

   "Why, Rebecca Braddock… I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it from your own lips," Jean says, putting a hand to her chest as if she's been shocked out of her seat. "They grow up so fast…" She chuckles. "What would Sam say if he knew?"

   "Sam? Oh, he knows. He guessed it when we watched Gladiator, I think. He kept asking me to call him Maximus for the rest of the evening."

   "And did you?" Jean asks, leaning forward in her seat with a gleam of interest shining in her eyes.

   "No, Jean, I didn't. I didn't want him to start thinking he could go around in a toga and sandals. As nice as that visual is, I didn't really want him doing it right in front of me."

   "Well, I can understand that, I guess," Jean says, raising her eyebrows a little. "But I bet Sam has a great pair of legs… wouldn't you want him to show them off?"

   I'm taking a sip of my coffee just then, and it takes a really big effort for me not to snort it out of my nose. Coughing a little while I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin, I blink some tears out of my eyes and give Jean a disbelieving look (well, as much as I can with most of my coffee having gone down the wrong way). "Does Scott know you think about things like that?"

   "Of course he does. We've got a psychic rapport, remember?" Jean laughs dirtily then, which seems totally at odds with how I've got to know her so far. "Don't think he hasn't taken advantage of it at least once."

   I can feel myself going green. "Jean… that's way too much information."

   "Sorry, sweetie," Jean replies, sounding apologetic almost instantly. "Guess I won't tell you about the time he tied me up and spanked me like the bad, bad girl I am, then…"

   I hit her with a cushion then, knocking her Danish into her lap and spraying sticky crumbs everywhere, and she shuts up. "Don't you ever put images like that in my head again – or I swear I'll charge the therapy bills to you and Scott's Platinum card…"

   Jean doesn't reply, instead holding up her hand and tilting her head a little, as if she's listening to a sound only she can hear. "Odd…" she says absently. "Can you feel that, honey?" She gestures to her left with one outstretched hand, and tips her head to the side again, as if she's trying to make certain of what she's sensing. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my mind, trying to pick up on what she's obviously had pushed into her brain. Jean's powers are far more finely-tuned than mine, simply because she's had so much more practice, so it's no surprise that she can sense things far more quickly than I can. It only takes a moment, though, before I find what she's trying to point out to me. It's a small, simple mind, surrounded by a massively powerful confidence in its own destructive abilities.

   "Is that… the Hulk?" I whisper, a little awed. Jean shakes her head.

   "No," she says. "The Hulk's mind feels a lot less… nasty. This is different, somehow." She pauses, gathering her handbag and purse and throwing a few coins and a ten-dollar bill into the plate our waitress left us. "We'd better get going, sweetie – I don't want to put you or the baby in danger." She pushes open the coffee house's door, letting the fresh morning air flow gently into the entrance as she does so, and then steps out into the street, looking around carefully to see if whatever we both can sense is any closer than it should be. Suddenly, the pavement erupts upwards, boiling like a geyser about five hundred metres away from us, and a huge grey shape leaps high into the air, shaking the ground as it lands – so much so that I almost fall flat on my face. The shape turns in our direction, and as it does, I can see that it has fat bags of money clutched in each hand, and it has two blunt horns on its brow. Even from here, I can see that its eyes are filled with a stinging anger, and it looks ready to tear a hole in whatever gets in its way. Jean sees the creature at the same time I do, and she tightens her grip on my hand. "Damn it," she mutters, one of her fists clenching tightly. "That's the Rhino. We need to get out of here, quickly." She grabs my hand quickly, and starts leading me away from the monster down the street. Pulling my hand out of her grip, I shake my head.

   "Wait, Jean," I say, trying to sound as resolute as I can. "Surely we should try to do something to stop that thing? I mean, we're the only –"

   "Absolutely not," Jean snaps, shaking her head twice rapidly. "You're four months pregnant, Rebecca. Don't be stupid." Behind us, the monster starts to charge down the street, the ground shaking gently with its every footstep. I can feel its thoughts collecting into one thick, solid sludge as it surges closer to us, its brain clanking noisily away behind its eyes. Jean risks a glance back at it, and then hisses "Run."

   At this stage in my pregnancy I'm still able to move at something close to a quick pace, so I manage to move down the street pretty fast, pushing past other people who've got the same idea. There isn't a big rush yet – I can even sense that some people are sticking around so that they can get a photo of Spider-Man – but it's still a tight squeeze, even on the wide pavement. I can sense Jean lagging behind me a little, her powers starting to fire up. Apparently she's going to try and hold the Rhino up so that the civilians can get away safely. Jean, I say, a little worried, you're not going to fight that freak by yourself, are you?

   Why not? Jean asks me bluntly. I've eaten worse things than this guy for breakfast. She clenches her fists and levitates herself off the ground, a pink-purple sheath of energy surrounding her as she does so. She hovers about two metres off the ground, and I can feel her throwing a telekinetic bubble around the Rhino as he runs towards her – making sure to separate him from the bags of money he was carrying. Lifting him off the ground, Jean floats closer to him and holds him still while she starts to talk. "Good morning," she says cheerfully, as the giant in front of her thrashes angrily against the force field surrounding him. "I hope we haven't caught you at a bad time – only I was hoping to ask you a few questions about what you were going to spend all that money on." In response, the Rhino growls something under his breath, and punches the air once or twice as he tries to break Jean's grip – without much success. Jean cocks her head a little, curiously. "I'm sorry," she exclaims, and I can sense a faint smile crossing her lips, "I didn't quite catch that. Did you say something?"

   The Rhino gives her a searing glare and snarls "I said I don't believe this is happenin' to me. I ain't ever gonna live this one down." He throws his hands up, exasperated. "Beaten by a dame… this ain't fair…"

   "Life's not fair," Jean replies flatly, folding her arms and coming back down to the ground. She turns back towards me and says "Rebecca, honey? Do you know if anyone's called the police yet?"

   Walking towards where Jean is standing, I scan the crowd around us quickly, and find that at least ten people have dialled 911 in the last five minutes alone. "Yes – they should be here any minute now," I tell Jean in a hurried tone of voice, feeling my baby kicking a little as I do so. Normally, I'd be really excited about that, but right now I'm too preoccupied with the giant grey beast floating in mid-air in front of me. He looks far worse close-up than he did from a distance, his grey outer hide looking wrinkled and mottled and a thin, jagged line of spittle streaking his chin.

   He notices me then, and squints down his nose at me. Even trapped in Jean's force field, he still manages to look threatening, his giant bulk easily making him twice my size and about four times my weight. "What you lookin' at, kid?" he rumbles, still trying to sound scary and powerful, even though he's floating five feet off the ground and can't actually do anything to me.

   I shrug, keeping my fear on the inside where he can't see it. It's not the kind of fear that would make me want to turn and run in the opposite direction as fast as I can, but it's not exactly helpful, either. "Oh, nothing… I'm just wondering how Spider-Man doesn't wet himself laughing every time he sees you, that's all."

   That does it. The big man thrashes angrily inside Jean's force field, reaching out for me with one giant hand. "Shut up!" he screams, pounding the insides of his prison with his other limbs. Jean doesn't even flinch, instead just mentally strengthening her telekinetic bubble in the blink of an eye. "Don't you laugh at me!"

   "Why not?" I say, acidly. "You always manage to get caught by Spider-Man, and now you've got yourself caught by a woman and her pregnant niece. Why shouldn't I laugh at you? You're a loser, Rhino. You're a loser, and that's all you'll ever be. Now go to sleep." A crackling psi-bolt explodes from between my eyes then, and just before it hits, I can see the Rhino's own eyes widening in horror, as he realises just what's going to happen to him next. Then the bolt impacts on the roughened skin above his brow and burrows right into his brain like a diamond-tipped drill, instantly knocking him out cold and making his huge muscular frame go limp in Jean's telekinetic grip. When she sees that she doesn't need to hold him up any longer, Jean walks closer to the floating body of the Rhino, lets his massive body drop gently to the surface of the pavement, and then turns to face me, one eyebrow raised and a thumb aimed at the quietly snoring heap behind her.

   "Mind telling me why you knocked him out?" she asks. "I had everything completely under control, you know."

   "I know that," I say, "but he was starting to bore me. Besides, isn't he less trouble this way?"

   Jean is about to say something then, but before she can do so, a man in skin-tight red and blue spandex lands agilely about five metres away from where the two of us are standing, his wiry body making no noise as it hits the ground. He turns, and I find myself looking into the oversized eye-pieces of Spider-Man's mask. "Ladies," he says politely, saluting us by putting two fingers to his brow. "Looks like you two saved me a job, doesn't it? That's what I get for using public transport, I guess…" He tilts his head then as he sees my pregnant belly. "Say," he says thoughtfully, "if you can do that to the Rhino in your condition, I hope your kid's father knows what he's getting himself into." Turning towards the Rhino's muscular bulk, Spider-Man sprays a thick layer of webbing over the gently-rising torso and makes sure to do the same to the huge hands and feet. "Just a precaution," he says when he's finished. "You never know what this guy's going to do next – he's dangerous that way." He pauses, scratching his masked chin. "Of course, he's also dangerous because he's got all the smarts of a cheese sandwich, but that's beside the point. I'll take care of this from here if you like – thanks again. You ladies saved me an awful lot of hard work."

   "Don't mention it," Jean replies, looking very flattered as she does so. "Any time you need us, give us a call." She extends her right hand and takes Spider-Man's own spindly, long-fingered right hand in a brief handshake, before walking off with me in tow.

   When we're far enough away from Spider-Man so that he can't hear us, I give Jean a questioning look with my right eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "You were so flirting with him," I say, my arms folded across my chest. Jean rolls her eyes.

   "I was not flirting with him – I'm a happily married woman. Besides, I don't even know the man outside of the times we've fought bad guys together; why would I flirt with him?"

   I purse my lips. "Oh, come on, Jean – 'any time you need us, give us a call'? You might as well have given him your phone number and told him you weren't wearing any underwear…"

   "I'm not," Jean replies, and grins as I gawp stupidly at her, completely shocked into silence. "Gotcha." She paints an invisible line in the air with one fingertip, and continues "Score one for me, don't you think?" Then she glances briefly at her watch, raising her eyebrows and thumbing towards the spot down the street where we'd parked. "It's nearly mid-day – Hank will be wondering where you got to. Better not disappoint him, right?"

   And as she walks away down the street, I'm left to wonder just how much else of Jean Grey I've still not seen so far….

*

   I knock on the door of the med-lab and find Hank hunched over a microscope, examining some kind of sample he's cut from somewhere. As I enter the lab, he turns and waves to me, smoothing out his pure white lab coat and sticking some pens back into its top pocket as he skirts round the lab's central table so that he can come and greet me. "Good afternoon, Rebecca," he says cheerfully, a broad smile falling across his face. "How are you today?"

   "Fine, I guess," I reply, walking over to the chair where Hank usually conducts his examinations and hopping up into its red leather seat. "Just a bit confused about something."

   "Confused?" Hank looks intrigued. "Whatever about?"

   "Aunt Jean," I say simply. "What's she like with you?"

   Hank raises both eyebrows, as if he's trying to think of something appropriate to respond with (which for Hank is pretty unusual). "Jean is… Jean is… well, I suppose I would say that Jean is everything good about life given human form." He shrugs. "But then again, I guess I'm obligated to say that, because she's one of my oldest friends. Jean has one of the sharpest senses of humour I've ever encountered, and one of the most engaging personalities I have ever come across. I liked her the moment I saw her – and not just because I was a teenage boy who hadn't been kissed for months, either. She's just… a really lovely person. Why do you ask?"

   "Oh… she was telling me how Scott likes to spank her this morning, that's all," I tell him. Strangely, Hank doesn't even flinch.

   "That old chestnut, hmm?" he says, picking up his medical scanner. "We all heard that one years ago, Rebecca. Don't worry – it doesn't get any worse than that unless Jean's really feeling naughty."

   "You mean like 'no-underwear' naughty?" I ask, bluntly. "She said she wasn't wearing any this morning. I mean, she said it like it was a joke, but I wasn't about to check –"

   "You didn't know Jean likes to go commando?" Hank says, sounding surprised for the first time. "It's not like she doesn't advertise it enough…" Then he winks at me as I feel my jaw dropping open stupidly. "Relax, Rebecca. You have to learn to take Jean's sense of humour as it comes. She might look like an all-American apple-pie sort of girl, but she likes jokes that could make a sailor blush. Must be why Logan likes her so much, I suppose…" He chuckles. "Besides, you saw her table-dancing in nothing but her underwear at Warren's birthday party. Surely that should have given you a clue as to what kind of girl she really is?"

   I shrug. "Well, I guess so… but she was drunk then. I thought that was supposed to count for something?"

   Hank's grin widens. "My dear girl, alcohol merely removes the inhibitions we ourselves put on our own behaviour while sober. I'm sure if Jean hadn't been drunk, she'd have stopped short of dancing the Macarena in her bra and panties, but after all that peach schnapps, she just couldn't help herself. Besides, I don't think she really minded all the adulation she received for the whole of the following week… or the numerous bunches of flowers she kept getting from the male members of the team. Although I do recall that she slapped Bobby for asking her to 'shake her money-maker' in his face like she did before… not hard, mind you, but just firmly enough to let him know there was no chance of that ever happening again."

   "Oh my," I say, unable to believe what I'm hearing. "Guess I have a lot to learn about Aunt Jean, don't I?"

   "You certainly do, Rebecca," Hank laughs. "Now then, how about we start that check-up? Your baby won't wait forever, you know…"