Disclaimer: X-men still belongs to Marvel. Damn you Stan Lee!
So that was the infamous meeting of Jean Grey and Scott Summers. He found her stuffy, she found him clumsy and pert. Scott required ten stitches, but they did not have to shave his hair, thankfully. He also needed a new shirt, as he had just happened to been wearing his favorite one. So he sat in bed, nursing a ginger ale and watching Ghostbusters cartoons, wearing only pajama pants. He had worked himself into a foul mood, and to top it off, his head was aching.
And all the Professor seemed to care about was Jean. Scott had heard endlessly about her. She was the first mutant he saved. He had not gone into details, but she was a strong telepath and a telekinetic. For some reasons, he had blocked the telepathy from her, allowing her only small bits until she was strong enough. He often remarked that one day, her power would far surpass his own. She was currently in her second year of residency, and a few months away from her doctorate.
Hank seemed utterly smitten with her. They sat and talked for hours about medical jargon and scientific gobbledygook, that just managed to make his head ache all the worse. They had lived in the mansion together, both being in their mid-twenties, and had often performed experiments under the Professor's tutelage, Hank preferring science, Jean medicine.
Warren was the worst of all. He was such a ladies man, and Jean was no exception to his baby blues and fluffy blonde hair and white wings. They flirted to no end, always playful, never serious. Warren had come to the school in Jean's last year, so they knew each other fairly well.
Only he and Bobby had never met her. Bobby had a deep interest, as she was, after all a leggy redhead. She found his jokes "cute". Bobby seemed to worship the very ground she walked on, and hung off her every word. But that was Bobby, prone to find something to completely consume his interest until the next thing.
Scott, on the other hand, despised her. No one had come to visit him to see how he was doing, except Hank who had made him lunch. Bologna sandwich and a bag of Lays. No one seemed to care that he was suffering from the worst headache in his life, which was pretty intense considering the fact he frequently suffered them from his powers. He briefly considered going to the Danger Room to work out steam, but the world still slid crazily around under his feet every time he stood up. So instead he watched Ghostbusters.
There was a knock on the door. He barked, "What?" and the door cracked open. Jean peered through, smiling slightly. She opened the door fully.
"How's the head?"
"Terrible." He said.
She came over and sat on the bed. She had pulled her long hair back in a ponytail, and it drew attention to her finely crafted features. She had changed her bulky sweater for a small black shirt and jeans that clung to slightly curved hips. She looked young and vibrant. But she was treating him as if he were five.
She on the other hand, was very impressed with Scott's physique. She had never seen a man so finely crafted on someone so slim. He had a ripped stomach, and arms that were heavily chiseled despite their lack of size. Muscles rippled with every small movement. His face was angry, and he had a slight bruise spreading from his temple. His skin, she noted, was pale and fine, and his features were very appealing, making him more beautiful than handsome, as Warren was.
"Anything I can do?"
He opened his mouth to say, "leave" but he couldn't get the words past his tongue. He shook his head and looked at the pillow in his hands.
"Alright then, I'll be going. Sorry we met the way we did, but I fear you'll be seeing a lot more of me as soon as I'm done residency. I plan to move back here. I forgot how much I love it."
"Yeah, well, I don't plan on being here much longer. In August I leave for Stanford."
"Oh," she tried to disguise the brief hurt that flared in her eyes at his curt tone, but he caught it. She stood, and patted his bed, pausing as if she were going to say something else, then leaving. The door slammed shut behind her causing Scott to cringe. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He made her think Very Naughty thoughts, and he was at least seven years her junior. He was not even out of high school yet, but he had a maturity around him that surprised her. And a heavenly body. And full, pouty lips that begged her to kiss them, and caress his chiseled jaw and feel if his skin was as smooth as it looked. She wanted to tousle his perfect brown hair till it fell in disarray. He's illegal, Jean! She scolded herself. But the Very Naughty thoughts prevailed. She thought there had been a connection, a brief moment of contact. Which was silly. He was a baby. And he obviously didn't feel it.
She was shocked at her thoughts. She had never been a ravishing beauty, being too tall, too skinny, with too much hair, and glasses. She had never had the chance to date as normal kids did, being comatose when she was twelve, waking up at fourteen and being institutionalized for two and a half years, until the Professor was her salvation. She was naïve, and had never really looked at the opposite sex as something to do with just that….sex. She slapped a hand over her mouth as though she had spoken the word aloud. Of course she had seen it, and dreamed it, but never had she actually imagined it. Or desired it. She'd been kissed and groped by kind men but never felt a stirring of passion as she did when she looked at the bare chest of a teenager.
"Are you okay?" Warren asked. This was more a man for her, with the same economic background, and with a smile that melted hearts, and not only the wings of an angel, but the heart of one too. But…she didn't. They'd kissed and fumbled back when she first arrived, but it had never progressed to more than that. Warren was an uncontrollable flirt, and Jean was just too naïve.
"Yeah," she said, her voice a little squeaky. "Just….hot!" she piped up, fanning herself and giving him a desperate smile. Warren looked at her questioningly, then just shrugged, and offered her his arm to walk down the hall.
Scott stared stonily at the television, wondering why he so desperately wished he could see the color of her eyes and hair and lips. He had never desired to see colors as badly as he did when she sat next to him, smelling faintly of roses and cinnamon. He could feel the heat emanating from her body. But he also felt that she could be a cold bitch, but she had extended him a polite hand of friendship that he seemed inclined to spit on. He lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't get the smell of cinnamon and roses out of his head.
"Someone new is coming."
"Huh?" Scott looked up from his bowl of cheerios, spoon halfway to his mouth. Bobby looked mischievous as always, as he whispered to him from behind a box of applejacks.
"Yeah, I heard Hank and Warren talking about it. A girl. Well, she's seventeen. They say she's southern, and they won't talk about her powers. All mysterious like."
Scott shrugged. Lately his thoughts had skittered around like a waterbug on a lake, never settling. He felt…anxious. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that he couldn't identify. He had only seen Jean once since she had come to his room, but she had been engrossed in a stack of papers and he was scurrying off because he was late for school, again.
"I wonder if she'll be pretty." Bobby said, dreamily. He got a far off look in his light blue eyes, and ran a hand through his curly blonde locks. For all he was fifteen, he looked like a little cherub, who was only twelve. His cheeks were ruddy, his skin pale, he was average height and average build.
Scott paused to consider this a moment. A pretty girl, around his age, would certainly take his mind off a woman seven years older than him, who seemed to care more about penicillin than whether her socks matched. Which, as she stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed, her hair unbrushed and knotted down her back, they didn't.
