Chapter 2, finally up and loaded :) Thank you for my very first reviews, they were much appreciated. I suppose this could be considered AU; in my mind's eye, this story takes place in season 2, before the whole Kurt/Amanda thing. I'm trying to keep things mostly in character, so feel free to let me know when I screw up ;)
If I owned the X-men, I wouldn't be working two jobs to put myself through school.
Chapter Two: Breakfast as Usual?
Gratefully taking a stack of pancakes from Ororo Munroe, Rogue made her way through the chattering crowd of mutants still referred to as the 'new recruits', despite the fact that the majority of them had been living at the mansion for a few months. Stumbling a bit with exhaustion, Rogue took her seat in the dining room with a yawn before snatching the bottle of syrup off of the table in front of her. Much as her roommate annoyed her at times, she wasn't used to sleeping alone anymore, and the unnatural silence had made it difficult to sleep the previous evening. Won't be havin' such trouble tonight, it looks lahke, she thought, as Kitty danced into the dining room with her plate, clearly having recovered from her scare in the danger room. Pushing her syrupy pancake mess around her plate, Rogue allowed her thoughts to drift, only collecting herself a moment later when she realized, with a bit of a jolt, that she had been openly staring at Scott, who was seated directly across the table from her. Luckily for her, the insanity of a meal at the mansion meant that nobody was paying her enough attention to notice her gaze. And Scott himself was busy watching Kitty, No doubt making sure that gettin' bumped on her behind don't mess up any training simulations today, she mused. Rogue sighed. She was not a morning person, that was certain, but she was not normally this bitter, no matter what the other students might think. Really, she was annoyed with herself for not keeping a better guard up, sleep or no sleep. It's not as though she really still liked Scott anyhow. Well, not the way she had. So there might be some residual affection still lingering. Old habits die hard, after all. That could hardly be helped.
The object of Rogue's denial watched with amusement as Kitty Pryde ate her breakfast. Or rather, as she ignored the pancakes she had practically drowned in syrup in favor of her preferred beverage. Chocolate milk mixed with melted peanut butter. Through a straw. Scott had figured the absurd combination was merely a phase, like the two months when Jean had insisted on drinking everything out of a wine glass—coffee, juice, whatever—for whatever bizarre reason that passed for logic in the brain of a fourteen year old girl. But half a year later, Kitty was still slurping down her odd concoction, through the ever present twisty straw, with almost indecent enthusiasm. He watched her grimace as Hank McCoy placed a plateful of bacon near her—Kitty was a straight up vegetarian, and not shy about preaching her gospel. He shuddered, recalling the hour-long lecture they were all forced to endure the previous weekend when Evan had pointed out that her beloved milk had originally come from an animal. Nobody in the mansion would ever again be in any doubt about the difference between vegetarianism and veganism—"which is a little extreme, but is like, so totally better than being a carnivorous baby animal killer!"
Satisfied that Kitty was back to normal, Scott's turned his scrutiny to his bagel. Though he told himself that he didn't care what Logan would think about his breakfast choice, he still glanced furtively around the room to ensure that his teacher had not yet arrived before quickly smoothing the strawberry cream cheese over his cinnamon raisin bagel. Breakfast is not gender specific, Scott assured himself, and besides, Jean almost took off Logan's head the last time he called this a 'chick bagel'. Feeling more secure in his manhood, Scott took a healthy bite of his bagel, only to choke on it when a large, fuzzy blue figure appeared in his lap.
"Kurt," Scott sputtered out through his coughing, "Watch where you're porting!" Kurt thumped him on the back a few times. "I am sorry, miss," he replied, a devilish twinkle present in his yellow eye as he scrambled out of Scott's lap and into his own chair. "Miss? What do you mean, miss?" Scott demanded, taking a sip of water to soothe his throat. "Vell," Kurt shrugged, "If ze pink shirt fits…"
Scott glanced down in dismay. It was true, his formerly tan shirt was now streaked with pink cream cheese. "Ah, Kurt," Scott sighed with irritation. He dabbed a napkin into his water and began blotting at the stain as he stood up and headed towards the door, only to run into the very last person he wanted to run into while annoyed, damp, and liberally marked with pink: Jean Grey.
If Scott didn't believe in love at first sight, it was because he had fallen for Jean long before his ruby quartz lenses had allowed him to lay eyes on her. The first two students at Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, they had quickly bonded over cookies snuck in the wee hours of the morning, hours of physical training with Logan, and a shared fondness for Saturday morning cartoons. He had taught her how to read braille and pitch a tent; she'd taught him how to dance to music of any tempo and how make brownies that didn't crumble when you cut them. But more than that, they had grown up together, connecting not only by choice, but by the necessity that came with being the only children either of them had known capable of understanding one another. For no other children could be trusted with the knowledge that they were mutants, and as much as they loved the professor, and Ororo and Hank, and even Logan on his fiercest days, they were adults, consequently removed from the knowledge of what its like to be so young. Even after other students began slowly moving into the mansion, Scott and Jean maintained a special friendship, untouched by the depths of others, forged from spending years with the hyper-awareness of each other that comes from having a single true friend.
Both students jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding a collision on Jean's side of the doorframe. "Sorry Jean, my fault," Scott apologized, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. Jean shook her head. "Nah, I wasn't paying attention," she told him with a grin. "Oh, what happened to you?" she asked, lightly running a finger over the stain on Scott's shirt. "Let me guess: Everyone's favorite teleporter missed his chair again." Scott laughed, desperately willing himself not to tremble under her touch. How terribly cliché, he thought, not without amusement. "Something like that," he admitted. "Any hints on how to remove cream cheese smears from cotton?" Jean raised an eyebrow and ran a hand through her hair in thought. "Hot water and detergent should take care of it," she diagnosed. "Try pre-treating it a bit in the sink. But dab at it, don't rub it, or you'll drive the stain in further and it'll never come out," she warned. "Great, thanks," Scott smiled.
Jean watched him go, stripping his shirt off as he climbed the stairs, mumbling her instructions over and over again under his breath like a holy mantra. Boys are hopeless, she thought with a smirk as she entered the dining room. Filling a glass with orange juice, she slid easily into Scott's vacated chair, internally debating whether stealing his bagel would piss him off unreasonably. Danger Room session at 12:30, she remembered. Better not risk it. Sighing, she reached for the toast and jam.
Her hand stopped in midair, however, as the buzzing sound of whispers filled the back of her head once more. Screwing her eyes shut in concentration, she once again mentally willed the voices to cease. The whispering grew softer, but continued relentlessly. No. I don't know what you are, but get out of my head! she demanded, concentrating harder.
"Hey, what gives?" a female voice drawled. "Jean, are you all right?" A hand on Jean's shoulder startled her. As her concentration broke and her eyes flew open, all of the plates, glasses and silverware landed back on the table. Nothing broke, they had only been levitating a few inches, but orange juice flowed out of Jean's overturned glass, slowly spreading around the various plates closest to it. "Oh!" Jean gasped, as surprised as the rest of the students at the turn of events. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't realize…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say. The hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly, both comforting her and restraining her as she tried to stand. "Easy, Jean," Hank told her gently. "I've got this one."
Rogue watched silently as Dr McCoy quickly cleaned the spill off of the table, his napkin weaving deftly among the dishes in his surprisingly graceful hands. The rest of the students went back to talking and eating as quickly as they had started, but Rogue had lost her appetite. Jean rarely lost control of her powers; she was too busy being freakin' perfect for that. But the one time that she had been completely overwhelmed, the damage had been—considerable. And the two days leading up to the catastrophe had been marked with little incidents such as this—a loss of concentration here, a telekinetic spasm there. Rogue didn't like to think that Jean's powers could explode like that again, but the possibility was there. And if the amount of mental force she wielded had been expanding as rapidly as the professor seemed to believe, she wasn't sure that they could survive another loss of control.
Rogue did not have time to dwell on this disturbing thought, as her musings were interrupted by a familiar, warming presence whose mental signature she'd recognize anywhere. 'Good morning students,' Professor Xavier addressed the room telepathically. 'There will be a brief meeting in the living room this evening after supper. Please arrange your schedules accordingly. Thank you.' Eyebrows were raised as the students looked at each other. They had lived at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters long enough to know that meetings usually meant something serious, something dangerous, or both.