After the Merge

Author: Jenskott

Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he kept accidentally any of the power?

Notes: Thanks very much for the reviews! Keep on them, please! This chapter deals with the Scott and Jean's pasts so like their feelings and their personalities. Marvel uses to give them sugary personalities, but I use darker pasts and angrier characterizations. They fit them better in my opinion.

Rating: PG-13 for some language, I suppose.

Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped.

Part Three. Master and Disciple-

A deep and stiff silence drowned the darkened room. The only sounds disrupted that atmosphere of strained calm were several faint, almost imperceptible, breaths, and the irritating and steady beep of the monitors.

She had come to loath and cherish that intermittent buzzing. She loathed it because it meant they went on sleeping. And she cherished it because it meant they kept still alive.

Shock-induced coma. Hank and Cecilia had given her very long-winded scientific explanations, but it boiled down to two things: Nathan had practically burnt to himself out, and the Scott's mind had been victim of a mental rape and battlefield of a terrible psychic fight, which practically tore apart it. Beast had recited likewise many statistics, graphics and figures. Cold ciphers to avoid facing what they stated, the fact neither Hank nor her nor someone would admit aloud: It was almost impossible they woke up.

Fuck that. As the Cecilia's silence was due to wariness and grieving respect, neither of her friends believed for one second they'd not come out of it. The Summerses were fighters, warriors never gave up. Throw them in the Hell and they crawled back to the surface. She'd lost count of how many times Scott had survived against all the odds. And Nathan was just so stubborn like his father to deceive the grim reaper. Madelyne, Apocalypse, the Canaanites, Stryfe, his own son... many had tried kill him since he was a toddler, and neither had succeeded. Yes, they'd wake up.

And she'd be there to watch it. She'd be there to greet them with a smile and a tear. Thus she remained between both beds, listening to the annoying and persistent humming of the life support systems. Leaned on one chair, with her hands entwined on her lap or clasping her knees, staring alternatively at each heap wrapped in white sheets. She rested on a third bed and ate the meals Ororo brought her. Alone in that med. lab, bathed with gaudy neon light or shrouded in dim shadows, day after day since Akkaba.

Oh, there had been others. Cecilia, the original X-Men, Ororo. Many had come to visit, pay their respects, check up on the sick ones or inquiring about her health state. Some to talk her into going up. She refused with kind words or stubborn negatives. And if they insisted, she threw them off mentally. Domino was other frequent company, staying by the Nathan's side as she dwelt relentlessly. On sorrowful, gloomy thoughts of chagrin, guilt and betrayal Jean would rather ignore. But Domino forgot shield her blaring thoughts and feelings, and they permeated through her flimsy barriers. Damn her fucking huge power.

Of course there was a last visitor. As steady and determined and pained as herself, but more reasonable. He used to listen to Hank when he pleaded him leave. But usually he was like now. Quiet, silent, watching from the other corner of the room, with his hands entwined above his knees.

She wouldn't speak him. And he wouldn't dare to come near from her. And so they remained in silent vigil. In a stalemate neither of them was willing breaking.

Jean came around with an abrupt start. She had unwillingly dozed. Her lips uttered a mild curse, and she nipped her backhand, using the hurt to keep awake. If Hank caught her slumbering, he was able to carry her to her own bed, sedate her and chain her.

The muffled noise of wheels rolling over tiles started her mildly. She tilted her head one fraction to see the Professor approaching slowly. Seemingly the dreaded confrontation would be postponed no longer.

He motored to her side and placed a hand on hers shoulder. The touch felt so gentle like when she was an innocent child, with a warm and kind professor taught her to silence the bad voices into her head.

"You fell asleep." He stated. "Perhaps you can be persuaded to rest now."

She rubbed fiercely her eyes and blinked. "I'll do later, sir. Thanks for your concern."

She kept quiet again. Xavier shook wearily his head. "Wear out your energies won't make any good, Jean, neither stir them out of the coma."

"I know, Charles" She mused plainly. Another pause began. A silence with too many issues unsaid and unresolved hanging. Charles Xavier bit his lip with regret. Since that accursed day, Jean talked him when he asked only. And never said further words that the strictly necessary. There was a wide chasm open in his father-daughter relationship, a moat neither of them dared to jump, a wound whose depth he was frightened of staring at. But it was imperative one of them tried leaping across the cliff to mend that scar.

He glanced hesitantly towards the biobed where one still figure lay in a deep dream, hooked to machines to keep the oxygen swelling his lungs and his heart beating. His very heart shrunk seeing him so beaten.

"You know" He mumbled awkwardly, fixated on his face. His skin had a translucent, sallow hue. "I can still recall when the agent Duncan helped me to meet a new mutant. A starving, slim and fretful young teen, who yearned for human warmth and love. An orphan, runaway, abused by Jack Winters-"

"Also nicknamed Jack O'Diamonds" Jean completed the phrase with a sneer not quite masked her loath. "Someone should have given his mother a pamphlet nine months earlier his birth. Son of bitch..."

Xavier nodded. "I agree full-heartily. Fred and I convinced to the judge that Scott shouldn't be tossed in damp and shady cell as a dangerous criminal, since he was only a confused and scared boy deserved a second chance. I don't know what she was thinking when she appointed me his guardian legal, but I was frightened. I ignored how be a father to Scott, let alone a good teacher."

She arched her thin brows. He smiled sadly. "I'm a respected doctor in psychology, licensed to teach in the New York State. Still have the capability of teaching and have the skill are different matters. I wanted instilling in you the same fervor to learn literature or sciences than you applied to my dream. Deal with real teenagers taught ME how tough and frustrating the chore can become. However it was what I really wished doing. Establish a school, no a training camp to super-heroes. Perhaps if I'd followed that plan-"

Jean looked away, actually imagining where he intended going. "Charles, stop. Please."

She had the same uncanny skill that her son did to feel sensitive subjects and dodge them as a plague. Xavier clasped one hand around hers and squeezed slightly. "I can't, Jean. We need talk about this."

Silence. "Please, only... tell me what you feel. Release your pent-up frustrations. We have hardly spoken since my evil side threatened with obliterating the planet."

Pregnant silence. Then... "Do you really want me venting?"

He nodded. "Yes. Please."

An itching on her lips warned her teeth were drawing blood. Clenching a trembling fist, she glanced sideways. There were few chances of her shouts stirred them awake, right? Her chest ascended, held on shakily, and lowered. She then lifted her chin up, tossed backwards her red hair, and glared.

"All right. I'm so... angry with you I can't even put it in words!" Her right fist slammed the stool violently. "He left his retirement for you! He gave up his chance... our chance of leading a normal life... a normal future, and you screwed it up! Scott relied on the team to handle that mess without us, but you insisted we stay on duty in spite of Apocalypse couldn't fulfill his plan without the whole crew! But it's always been like this, hasn't it? You order 'jump' and Scott must ask grudgingly 'how high' so the rest jump too. Do you know what that did him? Do you know what that did me?"

Xavier went on staring.

"You raised him to be the general of your merry mutant militia. You taught him his life consisted in waging an endless war. You made he felt worthy of something only if accomplished your dream. And what did that bring about? He tries so hard being a good leader and living up your impossible expectations he's unable to think selfishly, he's unable to lead a normal life. He returns always to you. And I've turned in a fucking kind of den mother to the entire X-clan. Every time I watched Scott getting worn out or stressed with this madhouse or someone whimpered to me about his or her depressing issues, expecting me resolve them matter-of-factly, I got so frustrated I wished pushing your wheelchair down the steps!"

Xavier went on staring.

"But of course, we must set an example! Scott fixes the school and leads the team, and I fix the Warren's depression about his wings, Hank's about his maturity, Bobby's about his immaturity, Rogue's about her powers... They think I exist to that! Always Marvel Girl, the X-Woman, or Jean Grey, the goddamned all's mom, never the plain and simple Jean. And Gambit has the gall of sneer and scorn and calling us 'the teacher's pets'! I'd like to see him in our place. Nobody bears the responsibilities we do, nobody takes the blame! They only see Tight-ass Leader and Miss Perfect. Ha! They don't know when their anal-retentive, boy-scout leader was twelve he picked pockets, broke into homes, lifted cars and was a... hustler. Or her little princess spent years committed in a ward... hearing the minds of the crazies who lived in there... without mentioning drug addicts, alcoholics, beaten wives, suicidal patients... without knowing who she was. The housewife of the 112-A room? Or the whore in rehabilitation of the 608-D? Or the epileptic boy of the 225-B? Or the schizophrenic widower of the 433-E? Or everyone at once?"

Xavier went on staring.

Her voice lowered gradually the volume till a glum whisper. And her eyes gazed darkly, eerily at the tiles. "They know nothing. They think we get the things easier and many despite us for it. Some are unable to assume we're so fucked like the rest, just we use better masks to pretend emotional stability." Her voice wavered for a moment, and then a very dark grin lit up her shadowed face. "And they're amazingly convinced we have a perfect father-children relationship. Ha! You know I backed Val when she came to fetch you in the wake of the battle against Onslaught. To this day I ignore if it was because I thought she was right, or because I couldn't deal with you then. Not even stay next to you. Not with the dark, little secrets Onslaught revealed me."

Her eyes swiveled back to him. With a heated, writhing glare. Her pupils usually sparkled as emeralds, but now they were obscure and hard as shards of black obsidian. "You never told me you held a fetish for underage redheads... Professor!"

Xavier blanched. "Jean-" He trailed off faintly.

With a crooked, sick grin, she arched back her head and laughed, cutting off his strangled voice. "So many tiny pieces fitted in suddenly. The times you made me stand out of the rest, the secrets you shared with me or kept from me, the time you required we had together... The way you distanced me from the boys troubled me often, but I was foolishly proud and self-satisfied... Scott was the team leader, but I was the teacher's favorite... which is one way of establishing a rivalry, by the way... and I prided on it, disregarding any nagging, pesky doubts. Surrogated daddy loved me more and that was all counted to the dumb, stupid, naive little girl I was. Well, I suppose the joke is on me, then."

"Jean-"

"Don't 'Jean' me, Charles!" She boomed suddenly. He winced at the meaningful tone she was using. Her eyes were two blazing green coals aimed on him. "Perhaps the fault was mine, by turning you in a saint, assuming you were free of the dark urges and evil perversions all human being stores in the black half of the heart. But you know what some orderlies made me in that godforsaken shithole when I was in my padded cell, strapped in a straitjacket and comatose with sedatives. How do you think I feel knowing my professor, mentor and second daddy leered at me just like those sick, pervert sons of bitches?"

The last words merged in a shout echoed along the room, and Xavier feared Hank or someone else came down, alerted by the ruckus. "Jean-"

"Tell me: the times you took me away the boys were due to this? Or the times you pushed so hard to Scott? It reminds that time I was hospitalized and he refused fly to Scotland to save the new X-men from the Juggernaut -and he'd not arrive in time anyway- while I wasn't out of danger. You nearly slapped him, rubbing on his face the 'I picked you from the streets, ungrateful kid' lecture. You weren't really angry of he left the new team fending for themselves, were you? You were jealous of he stayed with me!"

"Jean!"

"What did I mean to you, Charles?"

The inquisitive, demanding, poisoned question rendered him speechless.

"Was it love? Or mere lust? Or even greed?" She spat venomously.

Pause. The Professor lowered his head. Not even the faintest whisper disrupted the stiff, queasy silence, burdened with pain and betrayal. Then... "I... don't... know."

Jean locked an unreadable look on him, and then averted her eyes. Gingerly she observed her dry and worn-out hands. "It's the first truthful thing you have said me for a long while, Charles." She mumbled.

"Je-"

"I'm sick of hearing you repeating my name. This topic is closed, we'll NEVER talk about it again, and nobody will know anything about this ever. Is that clear, Professor?" She barked tartly.

Xavier nodded weakly. His eyesight wandered over the ceiling. He remembered when she was a reckless, mirthful child, brimming with life, following him everywhere, gazing at everything with a sense of wonder, and smiling him with an expression of absolute trust, unwavering belief and unquestionable loyalty. When he had met her she was bedridden, with her weak and thin body withering underneath a filthy sheet, her hair a red mop on her head, unblinking eyes frozen on the ceiling, and gaping mouth whispering weird murmurs. He had come into her mind and locked out the voices torturing her. She'd idolized him by it.

"Really I expected you mentioned when your death boosted your powers and I left the planet as you developed Multiple Person Disorder paired with schizophrenia." He mused thoughtfully.

Jean shot him an utterly venomous glare and ground her teeth with barely restrained fury. "Believe it or not, Charles, I wasn't intending going through the whole 'Past grievances and letdowns' list..."

She seemed being about of adding further, but he started to talk again. It was his turn to cut her off. "I've told you my real interest was a school to young mutants rather a craving for establishing a new super-heroic team. Perhaps I missed, deep down, the son a mental illness had taken away me. I couldn't or didn't know how meshing together his different personalities, and I felt such... failure."

Jean listened attentively.

"My own son, and my flaunted power was useless to aid him." He sighed. "Maybe I was looking for a substitute when Scott and you came. Yet I couldn't just be a father. Also I needed be your Professor, your guide. An authoritative figurehead. So I became cold, dispassionate, often distant. And the fight against the evil we were committed to was a complicated chess game with twisted maneuvers. So I kept many times secrets off yours, or acted behind your backs, hoping it was for your welfare. I know the five of you forgave me when I sent you to rescue Warren in the Magneto's asteroid without apparent backup, but you didn't it with the Z'Noxx mess. The subject was very thorny to me too, so I dodged it, merely expecting you thought coldly and rationally. Instead of talking to each one to explain my reasons. And telling what my 'death' -the Changeling's one- was an unplanned event."

His crestfallen eyes scrutinized the tiles as he spoke. "Jean, I assure you I take the blame for all. Including saddle you with duties, secrets and legacies you were too young to bear or carry on. And I've often regretted having not taught better to Scott to sense and love instead of think and rationalize, or let down your trust after practically beseeching it. But sometimes is so frustrating look up and go on! Sometimes I'm sat in my desk in the night, listening to the shades and ghosts of my mistakes, questioning my entire life. In all this time we haven't accomplished advancing one step in our goal, and I've floundered my efforts like mentor or even like surrogated father. Do you know what is like feel your life is a big, continued failure, that you've been a presumptuous fool wasted his time in charming delusions?"

Jean regarded him curiously. Abruptly she rose up and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move, but she forced him telekinetically to look up. "Nate Grey and you should put your differences aside and talk sometime, Professor. Then you'd know what the life had been like if you or your X-Men didn't exist." She stated seriously. She sat afterwards, and without looking at him, went on inexorable with her noncommittal tone. "You've done a difference, Charles. A big one. I can be pissed off on you, but I plead you NEVER forget that. Without you, this world would be a hellhole of death fated to the oblivion. Understood?"

She entwined her hands, folded her legs and her stern countenance swiveled to Scott. Her unyielding, stormy expression softened in a tender and loving gaze. The Professor knew as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.

Not knowing if they'd really progressed, but praying fervently they had rebuilt one bridge over the abyss, he wheeled back at his corner.

To be continued...