Disclaimer: Not mine – again I say, see 'Marvel'.

Author's Notes: If you're still reading, thank you. If not, then you won't ever see this anyway, so I can belittle you as much as I like. But I choose not to, because I'd actually like to use this space to request reviews from those who are still reading – feedback is everyone's friend.

Scum of the Earth

Chapter Two

Every day, with traffic, it would take her an hour to get to work, and an hour to get home.

At home, Jean was a wreck. She let herself cry, rage and scream, but even then she had to exercise some degree of caution – she lived in an apartment; above her was an out-of-love elderly couple who complained if ever her TV was too loud, and below was a pretentious artist who demanded absolute silence for his work on his 'creations'. She didn't have to bother with either of them often, but they would always seem to present themselves when she wanted just to rant and vent…

But also there were her powers – if she flew off the handle, so did they. So there was always some degree of restraint.

That night, she was calmer than she had been for a long time. Almost in a trance, she made herself spaghetti, sat down in front of the TV and began eating, not even aware what the news presenter was telling her. She finished the bowl, did the dishes, and sat back in the lounge room, curling up on her soft sofa.

As always, in the quiet with only the television for company, her mind drifted towards the masses that were sleeping on hard bunks, shivering and waiting for morning, for Hell. Usually that would bring on her crying fits, or her raging fits, but not tonight…no. Now, she just felt afraid.

…Nice to see you all concerned…

Jean curled into a ball, pulling her knees into her chest. There was something in Logan's feral grin that didn't mean well for anyone working at that facility. What else would you expect, though? Jean bit her lips together. It's one of the prices of being the monster. She hoped that, when they reached safety, the Professor told them she wasn't the bad guy.

God, when would her work be done? She couldn't take much more of this, but she knew, at the same time, that she couldn't leave the compound alone as long as there were test subjects there.

…Nice to see you all concerned…

"Hello, Miss Gibson."

"Good morning, Doctor Macmillan."

Jean turned back to the computer screen again as the white-coated woman strode through the formidable gates. It was time to begin restocking the labs – she had an order form in front of her on the monitor. The army could deny all links until they were blue in the face, but this facility and more than likely all the others were still getting supplies directly from the same place as the armed forces. But the orders had to be placed before the hard winter set in…

She had chocolate instead of jellybeans today, which was her idea of tapering off – chocolate was harder to eat, surprisingly; she could only handle a little at a time. Her teeth hurt when she ate it too much; cavities, probably. Damn.

Morphine wasn't a necessity, the doctors would say, but it certainly helped. They were demanding a little more than usual with this new order – a merciful streak in them now, perhaps. Jean doubted it. Most of what they called for was surgical instruments and monitoring machinery. There was a slight decrease in the demand for bandages, though. Jean wondered what that meant.

"Miss Gibson."

Jean looked up, and immediately had to fight off the urge to cringe. Stryker, stoic as always, was towering over her reception window. "Hello, Colonel," she greeted amicably. "Uh…sorry I couldn't get much out of…" She shrugged, gesturing towards the door of the processing room. She was still mystified as to why he wanted to sit in on that interrogation.

He waved off her apologies, his features softening a little – he even managed a small, offhand smile. "Hardly your fault – it was only a vain hope, in any case. I don't need his particulars. I just wanted to see if you'd sent off the medical supplies request yet."

"Uh…no, not yet," she replied, looking back at the screen – still over half of the items to record down; so many chemicals with such long names. "It's almost ready, though…"

"Caught you just in the nick of time, then," he returned, smiling a little more. "Now…" He leaned over the window. "It's not exactly a medical expense, but I've called ahead on this…I need you to write off a little something for me here. A specially-made crucible, and four custom pressure-pumps."

"Do you have the…?"

"I have a list drawn up." He slid a bit of paper over the counter. "It's only a few simple things, but my superiors want it written off as a medical expense." He laughed a little. "I suppose they could only be that, really. Just make sure you get that list off in two days – I need them by next week." And, with that, he began to walk away.

Only once he was gone did Jean look down at the list – it held a few more things than he'd said; more compounds she couldn't recognize. She hadn't done too well at chemistry in high school…all the complicated names for things that were different by a handful of molecules, all the careful procedures never appealed to her. It probably would have been worth paying attention to, but how would she have known where she'd end up?

Well…she had orders…

With one last sweeping look at the list, she began to type the order in.

"Hey, Jeannie."

Jean flinched and spun around in her computer chair, wide eyed, only to face the all-American soldier, Duncan – gentle and lumbering as a puppy, as long as he didn't know about her mutant genes. She breathed a slight sigh of relief, and threw a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Only now would she be happy to hear her name contorted by him.

"Hello, Duncan."

"Are you alright?" he asked, leaning over the counter. He seemed genuinely concerned, seeing her so pale and jumpy. Jean smiled at him, almost wistfully – he was a nice guy; he always had time for a little talk and he could listen, too. She might've accepted his invitations out, if he weren't a mutant-hating bigot.

And an idiot.

"Just a little…peaky." No point in lying – she had violet rings under her eyes that no amount of pancake makeup could hide. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably every time she left them without something to write or type. She ate another bit of chocolate.

He grinned, watching this movement. "You must exercise a lot. Every time I see you, you're eating candy but you're still gorgeous."

"Fast metabolism," she told him with a smile. Fast metabolism, plus stress, plus sleepless nights pacing her living room… "Plus exercise."

"I don't know how you fit in a social life," he went on.

"I don't."

"You've gotta be kidding me! You don't go out?"

Jean almost smacked herself over the head – she knew where this was going to lead.

"Why don't you come out with me tonight, then?" he asked, leaning over the window a little more, smiling a little wider. "There's this restaurant…"

"What's that rule about co-workers, Duncan?" Jean asked, trying to sound playfully friendly, and nothing else.

"Hey, aren't rules meant to be broken?"

"I wonder how your commanding officers think of that philosophy."

Duncan's grin widened again. "So I don't share the opinion often…come on, Jeannie, you spend too much time running around for this place; spend a little time for yourself."

Jean shook her head. "I'm sorry…not tonight, at least, or anytime soon. I didn't sleep last night." Honesty again – she hadn't slept for any more than two hours last night.

Immediately, Duncan turned serious. "Oh, shit…I heard about that raving mutie they made you interview. You must be pretty shook up, huh?"

"That's a bit of an understatement," she told him, popping another piece of chocolate into her mouth. And it was, too. The moniker 'Jeannie' wouldn't be right coming from anyone for a long time, now. Not that anyone else besides Duncan used it…

"I don't get why Stryker made you do it…"

Jean shrugged. "It's partly my job," she replied. "And I have a degree in psychology. I'll be able to deal with it; I just need a little time. He was…" She waved a hand, shrugging.

"He's a feral freak," Duncan muttered, pulling out of the window and looking down the corridor. "Sixteen soldiers injured, did you know? He almost mauled Paul to death; he's not gonna be able to walk properly for two months…"

"Oh, God." Jean put her head in her hands, and Duncan immediately shut up. He muttered some apology and hurried out of sight, but Jean didn't really notice. She popped a handful of chocolate in her mouth, welcoming the pain in her cavities.

"Hey, Dad."

"Jean! How's everything in Canada?"

"Horrible." Jean's parents knew what she was in the midst of – they'd introduced her to the idea of helping the imprisoned mutants of the continent, but were reluctant to let her take on this project anyway. It almost gave whole new meaning to the term 'mother knows best', since her mother had been against this job more than her father – it felt kind of odd to have them supporting and deterring her at the same time. "I processed three more yesterday, and only managed to fill out transferal forms for two long-time residents. One of the newcomers killed a soldier and was demented, and another hospitalized sixteen…no fatalities from him, though."

There was a slight pause. "…So, how's your home-life?"

Jean smiled a little. "Non-existent," she replied honestly. All her time and energy went into her work. "Now I know how you get so caught up in your job."

Her father laughed a little. "Yes, but I don't save lives, I just make money."

"Hmm. The magical green substance; money." Jean herself had saved up quite a bit. She could go somewhere really relaxing next holidays, but… "I don't want to leave there at nights," she confessed. "I want to…do something, but I can't."

"Jean…" He paused. "You don't have to stay there. In fact, I know it would cause a lot less stress for both you and your mother…and me. Xavier can always find a replacement."

"I can't finish with it like that," she told him. "I'll be the bad guy."

"What? When were you ever the bad guy?"

"To the mutants I am. The newest one especially let me know just what he thought," Jean confessed. "The interrogation…" She shivered. "He was so angry, and covered in other people's blood…" She knew she wasn't making much sense, but she couldn't form the sentences properly.

There was a pause. "Jean…only you can decide what to do with yourself. There are other opportunities to help other people…opportunities that don't see you risking your life like this…"

"I know," she said quietly. She looked up at the clock on the wall. "It's almost eight, Dad. I'd better get going. Thank you."

"Take care of yourself, kiddo."

"You too. Give Mom my love."

"Have you sent off that supplies form, yet?" one of the doctors asked as he swept by with his ID.

"Just done before we shut up last night," Jean told him placidly, rubbing her eyes. She still had chocolate at the side of her computer. She should cut back on the sugar – she only got another two hours sleep last night. But the sugar wasn't the problem, anyway.

The doctor hurried out of sight. He was twenty minutes late. Mind you, he had a valid excuse; the snow had only started to come down heavy during peak hour, and the weather girl had been cheerily proclaiming a slight chill and nothing else all week. Jean glanced up at the ventilation system. It was only for show now, since the latest budget cut, so the place was as cold as a tomb.

"Huh. Ironic."

Bringing up a transferal form, Jean realized it was probably colder in the cells than it was in her office. And at least she had her sweater, and a warm scarf. Still, the mutants she was helping probably appreciated their freedom more than creature comforts.

Who next? She sighed as she repeated her 'choosing process'. The files were very comprehensive – the dates were all clearly marked. She just had to search the files; who had been there the longest? Skids or Morph? Starfire or Blackout? All it came down to was a random selection; she refused to read each one of the files and see which case was worse – it was hard enough to do this job. If only she were stronger and more determined…or more unfeeling and cold.

With a grimace and a handful of chocolate, she opened Blackout's files and began filling in his particulars.

"Hey, Mom."

"Jean, I want you to listen to me for just a minute…"

She smiled into the phone. "Uh oh…"

"Your father and I have been talking, and we both think it would be good if you could apply for a transfer. Somewhere closer to home. Canada must be a nightmare in winter…"

"There's nothing worse than a few feet of snow, after all…"

"…And Christmas is coming anyway, and I'll bet you haven't applied for time off to come down. You know we're having a family Christmas this year. I even managed to convince your Uncle Ray to come up from Florida…oh, but he's bringing this new girlfriend of his with him, the Cuban; his sons will be furious when they see her, of course…"

"Mom…"

"Oh, that reminds me, did I tell you that Peggy from across the street is pregnant? You remember her, don't you? She was a year or two above you in high school. Got married to that lovely boy from Washington…a stock broker, I think he is. I forget his name, though – he's not really the kind to stand out, after all, but he is hugely successful."

"Mom."

"Yes, it's her second," her mother continued, talking almost accusingly now. Jean smiled and closed her eyes. Her mother was always clamoring for grandchildren. "Her mother's so happy. She's given me an invite for you to the baby shower. Oh, and by the way, the Summers' are bringing their son down with them to the area. He's coming to the New Year dinner that Harold and Olivia Morris are throwing – I told them you'd be going, so you can meet him while you're here…"

"Mom."

"He's acting as a personal assistant to a marvelously rich man in New York, you know," she continued. "Masses of money. Single. The dinner is two days after New Year's Day, though, but I'm sure you can stay back a little later than usual just for once."

"Mom, please…"

Finally there was silence on the other end. Then a sigh. "I know you think I'm all fussy over you and the idea of grandchildren, Jean," she said, "but I…"

"…Don't want to talk about my job?"

"Well, no."

Jean's smile wilted. "I know." She paused. Her job was practically her life now; she had nothing else to talk about. "So, uh…how did you get Uncle Ray to come to the Christmas dinner? I thought him and Dad were still arguing…"

"I don't see what their problem is, either of them. All over that silly ding in the side of Ray's car. They just don't know how to listen to each other, that's all. They were like that all their life, your father says."

"Uh huh…"