Disclaimer: I don't own the characters portrayed herein, unless you never heard of them before. Then I made them up to help the story along.
Jean Grey shoved a strand of hair behind her ear as she peered into the microscope and adjusted the lens slightly. Examining the DNA of mutants had been fascinating, but sadly it didn't shed any new light on a big problem. The sudden resurgence of Pow-R-8 had the mutants of America in an uproar, especially since the news that a number of frightened citizens had taken to carrying the stuff in spray bottles and were using it on the mutant population as a form of mace. It was poisonous even through skin contact and a number of mutants had been outed because of it. The students at her old school, Bayville High, had been spraying each other to ensure that their friends were human, according to the Professor. Many of the students at the Institute were becoming afraid to attend school and four had already been hurt. In some places the substance had been banned, but with Robert Kelly as Mayor it was unlikely to happen in Bayville. He had been elected on an anti-mutant stance and was staunchly insisting that it was the right of the 'normal' humans to protect themselves. In the meantime, mutants were being poisoned.
What was really needed was a level of tolerance for those in society whose genes set them apart from others. With that option being unlikely, the next best thing was an antidote to or a preventative for the toxic eliminators that were harmless to most and possibly lethal to mutants.
Jean was struggling to find one.
Her first-class degree in genetics was being put to good use. She had earned a place studying the mutant gene in a lab, where her mutation was known about and accepted. The founder of the lab was deeply interested in any news about the mutant gene and how much further DNA may mutate. He had been ever since his only son had grown wings and joined the X-Men. If Angel was about to experience any problems in the future due to his advanced evolution, Warren Worthington II wanted to know what to expect. Money was no object.
She applied the latest serum she had formulated to the blood sample, hoping that this would be the breakthrough she'd been searching for. Eagerly she watched as the serum was absorbed by the affected blood sample – then groaned in dismay as the serum seemed to actually speed up the absorption rate and the blood was overwhelmed by Pow-R-8.
"Damn." She straightened up and glared at the serum. Another failure. She rubbed her temples briefly, then looked up at the television mounted in the corner. There was no one else in the lab; they'd all gone home. It was late and only she remained behind, still looking for the elusive cure. The other scientists working there were dedicated, but they weren't mutants. They didn't have to walk down the streets wondering if they were about to have poison sprayed in their faces. Even if they did, Pow-R-8 was harmless to humans. All that would happen to them would be sticky skin. And she was a well-known mutant, having been seen fighting a giant robot on the news while she was still in high school, then later on battling another mutant with plans for turning all humans into mutants. If even one person recognised her…
Not liking where the thoughts were leading, she used her telekinesis to turn on the TV. She found the news channel and left it there, hoping that there would be some information about the Pow-R-8 debate. There had been a petition delivered to the President calling for a nationwide ban on the substance. The President had seemed dubious about outlawing what amounted to a fizzy drink.
The broadcaster was discussing the weather and Jean took the opportunity to go down to the small kitchen and make herself a coffee. She took it back into the lab with her. No one was supposed to have food or drink near the samples, but the possibility of contamination was the last thing on her mind.
"…This just in." The Broadcaster looked down at his papers, which Jean was willing to bet were blank. His eyes kept twitching to the right, the sure sign of some one reading from the autocue. "An explosion at a church in Bayville has left one dead and several people injured. It is thought that the blast was the result of a bomb attack. The church has been petitioned by protesters after allowing an ordained mutant to preach to the congregation…"
Jean gasped as the picture came on screen. She recognised the church as the place where only the week before, Kurt had spoken before a big crowd. She would never have thought that the joker of the Institute would decide to devote his life to God, but he had always been religious and they'd been proud to witness his sermon. Especially as he'd appeared without his image inducer. There had been an outcry from some of the parishioners, but others had been moved by his sincerity and his words about loving ones fellow man. It had been the first time that Jean had set foot in the church for a long time…
…And what if he was still helping out at the church?
Closing her eyes, Jean concentrated on reaching the Professor telepathically. It was only seconds before she received a reply.
…are you all right Jean…
…I'm fine, but Kurt…
…he was at the Institute at the time, he's uninjured…
…does he know…
…yes, a team went out to see if they could help…
…I'm worried Professor…
…as am I. I wish you would return to the Institute…
…I can't. My home's here now and I won't be chased out of it…
…your research…
…no breakthrough. I'll phone…
Jean tuned out of the conversation. All she needed to know was that Kurt was safe. Although she no longer considered herself an X-Man, she kept in close contact with the Institute and the people she called her friends. But they no longer needed her as they had done when mutants had first been exposed and in spite of her goal of helping other mutants, she wanted to do so on her own terms, which meant leading her own life and leaving the Institute. If she ran back there every time there was a vague threat, she would never learn to cope alone.
She looked back at the television, wondering who the dead person was. Righteousness was a poor replacement for a loved one. Knowing one was true to a belief did not bring home the dead. It was the steadily rising numbers of victims in an undeclared war that made Jean nervous. She doubted that it would be too long before there was real trouble and then she might have to return to the mansion and begin fighting alongside the X-Men again. In spite of her desire to lead a normal life, she was unwilling to do so at the expense of her beliefs.
"…In other news, a boy suspected of being a mutant was beaten into a coma earlier today as he walked home from school. It is thought that he was exposed to the controversial Pow-R-8, which causes a strong allergic reaction in mutants, alerting his classmates to his powers…"
Strong allergic reaction thought Jean bitterly. Like anthrax. Who's kidding who?
Gazing at the news wasn't helping her. She knew she ought to continue with her research, but she'd bee at the lab since 7am and now it was dark. What she really wanted was to grab something to eat, then return to her apartment and have a long soak in the tub. She was no closer to the cure than she had been that morning and at least she would be refreshed to begin her research anew tomorrow.
With that in mind, she hung her lab jacket on the peg and locked the lab behind her. It was situated in an industrial block and she waved goodbye to a few people no her way out, grinning at the doorman as he opened the door for her. The café at the end of the block was open late and made a fantastic Cesar salad. A plate of that and a cup of coffee and she would return home and phone the Institute, see how badly morale had been hit by this latest incident.
The heat from the grills and the smells of cooking hit her as she opened the door to the café. Joel, the proprietor, looked up and grinned at her as he took money from another customer. "Jean! Sit, I'll bring you over a coffee."
"Thanks," she called over, taking a chair at her usual table. She ate here far too often these days. If she went straight home, she was either too tired to prepare a meal or else she would find herself trying to find something that hadn't passed its expiry date. Her apartment was for sleeping in only theses days, in spite of her original desire to turn it into a haven from the craziness of the Institute and the lab.
But that was when Scott used to come over.
She closed off that train of thought hurriedly. When she was tired, thoughts of Scott would often creep into her mind. She wasn't sorry that it was over between them – not often anyway – but she did wish that there were something more for her to look forward to than her work and her empty apartment. The apartment was the worst. When she was trying to unwind, the silence would get to her, especially after living in the Institute with the others. The other X-Men came over and visited often, but all to often they were caught up in some crisis or other.
Joel brought over a steaming cup of coffee and put it down in front of her. "How are you this evening?"
"Not good to be honest." Jean took no notice of the proprietor's odd appearance, which often put people off staying. Joel was completely normal save for his eyes, which were almost three times the size of other peoples. He had no powers he'd explained to her, he just looked odd. It hurt his business at first, but as his condition became known among the mutant population they had unofficially adopted his café as a friendly meeting place.
"Problems at the office?" Joel looked sympathetic.
"Oh, y'know. I just wonder if I'll ever work this problem out." Jean didn't tell Joel what she did for a living and he didn't ask, although she suspected he already knew. But she was bound to secrecy not just by contract, but also by the urge not to raise false hopes. If anyone found out she was working on the Pow-R-8 problem, she'd never be left alone. Mutants would be asking her how it was going; trying to be supportive, but their real reason for caring would be fear. Now was not a good time to be a mutant.
She lifted her coffee and took a sip as Joel smiled sympathetically at her. "Jean. You are a bright young woman and I'm sure that whatever this problem is, given time you can…"
Joel trailed off and Jean glanced up at him curiously, noting that he wasn't looking at her at all. His gaze was focused on the plate glass window that took up most of the front of the shop. She turned her head in that direction and saw lights, growing brighter and brighter, approaching the window…
"Everybody down!"
Jean's shout cut through the chatter in the room and the people turned to the window, not realising the danger they were in. Jean tried desperately to employ her telekinesis, realising it was going to be too little, too late.
The car crashed through the windows, ploughing a path through tables as the crowd scattered. Glass flew; several lethal shards slicing in to the skin of those who only seconds previously had been enjoying a meal. People threw themselves out of the way as Jean focused on slowing the car, only partially succeeding. She had been taken by surprise and the vehicle had been moving too fast. It hit the counter at speed, severing a gas line and smashing into the wall before stopping, crushed. The gas leak hit a grill and the café exploded.
Jean found herself flying backwards.
In front of her she saw others screaming, caught in the path of the blast, catching fire. None of it seemed real. The only thing she could think about was her coffee. She hadn't even drunk half of the cup and if she'd left the lab a half hour earlier she could have enjoyed her drink without the reality that was this terrible sight, without the knowledge that many of the people she'd been sitting amongst were going to die…
Then she hit the ground and she knew nothing more for a long time.