DISCLAIMER: After many death threats and stalking, Stan Lee still refuses to give me sole ownership of the X-men. I promise to keep trying. He promised to slap a lawsuit on me. We'll just see who wins, Mr. Lee. Until then, the X-men are yours. But you'll never have my twinkies!


"Wake up, wake up," Scott chanted at her. Jean was laying so still, so pale. Her shoulder had been bandaged where Mystique had shot her. Scott had woken up a few minutes ago, and feigned that he was still unconscious while Mystique was still in the room. She had been talking to someone else, someone in the cell next to them. Now he held Jean's head in his lap, kneeling beside her, slapping her cheek gently.

She mumbled something, turning her face against his palm, and he knelt closer to hear it. "You're on," she gasped, "my hand."

"Oh!" he stood up, freeing her arm. She moved it stiffly and struggled to sit up. Scott placed a hand behind her shoulders and helped. Her head was swimming and she rubbed her eyes against the harsh light.

"What happened?" she managed. Her lips were white and her eyes huge against her face. He stared at her. Something was different. Something was off…

Her eyes were beautiful. The green was so light, the like he couldn't even imagine. It was startling contrast against her rich hair, the color of bronze. And it shined. He reached out a hand to touch it to see if it were real.

She swatted it away. "What's wrong with you? Are you still on drugs?'

He rubbed his eyes. "I'm not wearing my glasses."

She stared at him a moment, head cocked so her hair fell about her shoulders appealingly, then leaned closer. "Brown. Huh." She waved a hand in front of his eyes. "My mother always said brown eyes mean you are full of shit."

"Stop that," he growled, grabbing her arm. "We need to get serious." As if he hadn't been ogling her just a minute ago. She wisely remained silent, "So here's the situation. We're being held underground, by someone that Mystique is working for. You were shot in the shoulder; I was shot in the thigh. And we have no powers."

Jean had her eyes shut and her forehead crinkled. She strained, he could see a vein running down her forehead to her right eye. He had the urge to rub it down with his thumb. He wondered how soft her skin would be. Then she relaxed and her eyes snapped open, catching him watching her with more than curiosity.

"I can't hear anything." Why was she calm? Was this what came before hysteria?

"Ja. Zere are power dampeners." The voice seemed tinny, convoluted as it came to them, as if over a great distance. .

"Who's there?" Jean demanded. She stood and spotted a window, small and high, and went to it. The cell next to them was dark, but she saw the shadowed outline sitting facing their window. Yellow eyes gleamed from the darkness.

"Vagner. Kurt Vagner. But outside ze Munich circus I vas known as ze Amazing Nightcrawler!" the voice replied, in heavily accented German.

"Do you know where we are, Kurt?" Scott asked coming to stand by Jean and peering through the window. He had forgotten there were so many colors.

"Magneto's Citadel," he replied.

"Magneto?" Jean gasped. "Why are we here?" she said to herself.

"How long have you been here?" Scott asked, louder. There was silence.

"I do not know. I can't vemember vhen it vas I came, nor can I tell time here," he replied.

"How'd you get here?" Scott continued.

"I vas performing and zey where in my caravan vhen I finished."

"Magneto?"

"No, some hairy man and a man zat looks like a frog."

"Sabretooth and Toad." Jean and Scott said, simultaneously. Their eyes connected and shied away. Jean cleared her throat.

"What would they want with you?" Jean asked.

Silence again. "I…do not know."

"Do you know why they'd want us?" Scott tried.

"Zey don't vant you. Zey vant her. You vere just a mistake."

"Jean?"

"Me?" They said at the same time. This time their eyes caught and held. Scott stomach felt weird.

"Ja. Zat is all Mystique vould tell me."

Scott paced the small confines of their cell, wishing he could put more distance between himself and Jean. But, it wasn't a cell like a prison cell, but rather, a white room with three uniform walls of white padding, one with a small window to the next cell, and one wall with a metal door. The light was bright and hurt his eyes, sensitive as they were from constantly being hidden by his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. If they managed to escape, especiallly the power dampeners, he'd be a liability. The room was small and he desperately wanted to stretch his legs. But he'd manage.

"Are you a mutant?" Jean was continuing the conversation with Nightcrawler. There was a quiet chuckle.

"Ja. I am a teleporter, I'd guess you'd say."

"Well, Kurt the teleporter," did she have to sound like this were a normal conversation of tea and cucumber sandwiches? "I'm Jean Grey and this is Scott Summers. We're part of the X-men."

"Oh ja! Mystique has spoken of you before. And a girl called Rogue."

Scott turned on his heel. "What has she said of Rogue?" he couldn't keep the heat from his voice. "Is she here?"Jean watched his face, the controlled anger, and felt something bitter in her throat.

"No, and not much, just zat she raised ze girl to be her successor and now she vas vith ze X-men."

"Why is she telling you all this?" Scott wanted to know. Jean made a noise at him but he held up his hand. The first line of business was determining if this were really a friend or foe.

"Because," he said, walking closer. Scott's head was blocking the light filtering through the rooms and Jean pushed him till he moved. She gasped as the light fell across Kurt's face, illuminating blue skin, "I am her son."


Jean had fallen into a fitful sleep. Her shoulder was bothering her, it was apparent. She was sweating and moaning, and Scott worried she might be getting a fever. They had spent some more time talking with Kurt, and as he had said it had been impossible to tell the passage of time. He, apparently, had books and cards and a bed to sleep on, which he had a while ago. Scott was propped against the wall beneath the window, and Jean had rested her head in his lap, careful to avoid his wounded thigh. Without his knowledge, his hand had crept to her hair and twined itself in her thick, silky strands. She was snoring a bit.

He couldn't go to sleep. He kept running scenarios through his head of their escape, but he was worried because of his powers. There also didn't seem to be anyway to break through the doors, and no one had come to see them since their capture. His stomach rumbled in agreement.

His mind tuned out of their present situation and instead focused on Jean's face. She was a bit of an enigma to him, all class and breeding and smarts, but she had spent time talking and joking with Kurt as if she hadn't been shot in the shoulder and forced into a small, white padded room. He ran a finger over the bridge of her nose. She snorted and scratched it, and Scott smiled. She really did annoy him. But she was so cute when she slept. Even if she did snore.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked sleepily. There was a puddle of drool on his pants, but she chose to ignore it.

"How to get us out of here."

"Oh."

Did she sound disappointed?

"I was thinking of sex."

"Excuse me?" he said.

"You know, if the X-factor expresses itself differently to male and female anatomy. We call the 'mutation' gene X-factor, when really the X gene is shared by all male and females. I think we should have called it…the M gene or something."

"Or the Jean gene?" he recovered. His mind had been completely absorbed in another mental image.

"Funny."

"But they couldn't name a gene after you, unless it were Grey gene." Or Summers. Where in the hell had that come from? He was seventeen! He didn't even want to date this woman, let alone marry her. He didn't even like her! Or know her that well. So that was a silly, random thought. Could Magneto be putting it in his head? Yes, that was likely. That was where it came from.

"I'm more interested in finding medicines to cure diseases in mutants than mapping the genome. Of humans or mutants." She was fully awake now, rolling over on her back, but she hadn't sat up. Or said anything about his hand in her hair. Her hands were active as she spoke, but came to rest on her stomach. One crept out to rest on his hand, the one that wasn't in his hair.

She told herself it was because she was scared, and needed reassurance. Her shoulder hurt. His leg must hurt and they needed to share pain. Not because his skin was surprising soft, and his hand surprisingly strong. It felt like a man's hand. The knuckles were scarred. She ran her thumb over them, wishing away his hurts. He seemed so old for someone so young. She wondered what had done it to him.

"Still thinking about sex?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, genetic variations in male and females."

"Oh yeah. That's what I was thinking." Very Naughty genetic variations. And how his variation would compliment her variation and-no-the humerus is connected to the ulna. The ulna's connected to the radius, the radius is connected to carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, and boy does he have nice phalanges and no! She snatched her hand away like it had been burnt. Scott had been watching the play of emotions march across her features with a bit of amusement. He wondered what she had been thinking. His mind had wrapped itself in a Very Nice fantasy. With chocolate and champagne-and no, how he should be getting out of here and what he would do without his visor. Wonder what she looked like naked. This would be the only time he'd get to see her without shades of red. His hand crept towards her…

And he snatched it away, jarring her in the process. She let out a yelp as her shoulder was tweaked. She sat up, rubbing it gingerly, giving him a cross look. Anger was good. When she was angry he didn't think Very Nice thoughts of her. Only Very Nice Angry Makeup thoughts. He wondered if this happened to all people in stressful situations. She sighed and twisted so she was sitting next to him, her good shoulder agianst his bad leg.

"So you're graduating in a few months?" remember he was a young boy. And you're in Magneto's citadel. And they are probably watching you. She made a face, just in case they were.

"Yeah. And what are you gonna do in two years when you graduate?" Get married, have two-point-five kids, get a job and grow up. Which he didn't plan on doing anytime soon. So there.

"I don't know." She said. "Are you going to go to college?"

"Maybe. I already have a license to fly, so it depends if I want to fly commercially or not. Or if I even want to leave the X-men. We're just getting started doing good things, you know? Being heroes. Before it was just, we're mutants helping. Now we're becoming something. I mean, we were shot and dragged to Magneto's dungeons. That has to mean we're doing something right." He smiled. He had a nice smile. Nice with his eyes. He really did have beautiful eyes, it was a shame they had to be covered up all the time.

"Heroes or martyrs?"

Scott hadn't heard the door open. She really did have beautiful eyes, when they weren't an eerie version of pink. His head shot up, breaking the connection. Magneto roughly shoved a figure at them. She dropped to the ground, coughing viciously. She smelled like rank garbage.

She shot them a look. Scott was stunned. Jean made a noise. Then she rose and threw herself at Magneto with a roar.

"Ah want t'see Mystique!"

"In due time, child," Magneto said, his voice condescending.

"Why are you doin' this? Ah'm on your side!"

He grabbed her hair forcing her head back. "I want to see just what Mystique has planned before I allow her to have you." He jerked her head back. She shot out a hand to touch his face. And waited. He laughed and thrust her off of him.

"Ah need to see a doctor!" she whined. "Sinister did somethin' to me! Ah need to see Momma! Lance said she was here, now I demand to see her!"

This got his attention. Scott slowly got to his feet, wondering if they could somehow take Magneto and run for freedom. Jean stood with him.

"Don't," he said, turning to them, a pistol in his hand. "even think about it. I have more important matters to attend to." Without a word he swept out of the room, slamming the lock shut behind him.


Ingrid: hopes this satisfies you!

Wen1: Well, I'm glad you are enjoying it, I actually wasn't a fan of Scott and Jean particularly until I found out they broke them up, so I'm glad I can keep Jott fans happy! And the for the sake of this story Rogue is a red-head, that makes the two!

ishandahalf: I promise more Remy in the future :)