Chapter Three: Little Liza Jean
Jean Grey wasn't afraid. Mutants or mutate, you always had something or someone to fear. There were the normal people of the world, who go about their days, living their life...and there were her kind of people. Those who took action. Who refused to be a pawn. Jean Grey was no one's piece.
You had to look at life like a chess game, with all your players lined up in order. You can make strategies, and plot every movement, or you can play by the seat of your pants and hope for the best.
Jean plotted. She didn't plod through life hoping for the best. She used every inch of her abilities to make sure any situation played in her favor. Rogue didn't understand that. Rogue was impulsive, careless. Jean Grey knew of her plans, of her plots, and knew instinctively exactly what she could do to interrupt them. She wasn't going to, however. It was helpful to her own plans for the future to allow Rogue and Shadowcat their little hopes and dreams.
Jean settled in beside Scott in bed and chuckled lightly as her impulses and inner dialogue slowly slipped into dreams of fire and destruction. Her plans were concrete. Much like Rogue and Shadowcat, there would be no turning from her path.
Avalon. In Celtic mythology, it was an island paradise and the final resting place of King Arthur. In reality, it's a sub-orbital mutant haven. Recent events have left it the only one open to mutant populace. Three years ago, a lull in anti-mutant violence had most of said mutant populace thinking that normal people had begun to accept them...it had been a false hope. Less than two and a half years ago, a huge outbreak in violence, led by the anti-mutant group Friends of Humanity, had completely decimated the mutant population. How, you ask? With a handy little genetically altered virus called Legacy. In a single week, over five thousand mutants died. One month later the toll was at five million mutants...and one human. It was then that the governments started to actually fund and help. Imagine that? One human dead, and suddenly all the governments in the world are anxious to help...whoever said that mutant equality wasn't here was lying...
Back on topic, Avalon, home of the mutants, home of X-Force, the only remaining all mutant group dedicated to helping and protecting both mutants and "humans". At least some of the members stuck to that, and remained good and wholesome in their intentions; while others preferred to...reinterpret the mission goals...
As the X-Force Javelin landed in the hangar, five of its interchangeable yet constant members prepared for a long night of questions and explanations. They'd failed in their mission, something that rarely happened and would automatically require extensive excuses. Xavier didn't believe in failure; not anymore.
Storm sighed as she sat back from the steering module and cracked her weary back as she stretched. It took three hours of constant concentration and path correction to get to Avalon, but the safety the satellite afforded them was worth it. Storm smiled, for maybe she was just getting old, that's all. What else could explain her little vision earlier? Of course it hadn't been Kitty she'd seen. Kitty was dead.
Behind her Jubilee and Sam were conversing in low tones, their heads close in obvious friendship, if not something more. Three years ago, their best friends and confidantes had all disappeared. It was no surprise that since then the two had become like glue to one another, or so Logan reasoned. In truth, fraternization between X-Force members was looked down upon. No one reported any dalliances unless they started to cause problems. This deep in space, Logan figured, you had to take comfort where it came.
Storm looked up as Logan laid a hand on her shoulder, covering his with her own hand, she smiled. "Everybody out! Report to medlab for decompression check, and then onto reports!" Storm was used to the groans and moans that accompanied that. While Jubilee and Sam bemoaned it, but left anyways, Gambit remained to argue.
"Can Remy jus' type it in de morning?"
"No."
"Why not? Ain' no difference! Not'ing happened!"
Storm chuckled but it was bitter and Logan's hand automatically tightened in warning. Storm showing emotion in any way, shape, or form was always bad. "We failed our mission. We did not prevent the theft, nor did we apprehend anyone. Magneto and Xavier will want to know everything that happened."
"And? Remy can do dat better after seven hours sleep, dan after none!"
"Gambit...no arguments," Storm said sternly as she rose, smiling only a little at the sulky look on the young mutant's face. He may only be ten years younger than she (twenty five to her...well, you get the picture), but sometimes it seemed like a larger difference. Sometimes, she felt ancient, much like the goddess she was worshipped as in Africa.
A thought of home, and sickness rushed over her. She hadn't been home in over a year. She missed it. Missed the brush of dry heat on her skin as she woke in the morning to the call of lions on the hunt. She missed the wonder of a sunrise on the Serengeti, the awe of watching a thundercloud wash over the mountains, and the surprise of finding a small lion cub hidden in the underbrush. She missed Africa.
The satellite crackled with energy, and Logan grabbed Storm's hand in warning. Immediately, she knew what she'd done. She'd unconsciously tapped into the solar winds, much like she'd have done with the jet streams planet-side. The difference was that the jet streams allowed her to fly; the solar winds could knock the satellite off course and into the deep of space. Living in space had its drawbacks. On the plus side, being so far from the Earth meant that Storm wasn't as likely to tap into the weather and wreak havoc she didn't mean to. The down side...it was extremely enclosed, and her claustrophobia didn't like it.
Storm came back to herself, calling her flowing abilities back and closing them in a small box inside. She gave a tense smile for Logan and started to follow her teammates off the Javelin, only to be stopped by Logan.
"You didn't imagine it."
Storm didn't turn. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't see half-pint, but I sure as hell smelled her. She was all over that office."
She turned then and stepped close. "You mean it? I was not imagining it?"
Logan grinned. "'Ro? Would I lie to you? About this?"
"We must tell the Pro-...Xavier and Magneto. We must inform them!" Storm said excitedly. She'd been convincing herself that she hadn't seen...she'd been convinced that she was imagining...but she never could have imagined that after all these years...
"I already told them...they're in Cerebra right now..."
Storm was already gone.
Jean was awake to watch the sunrise, so she felt the disturbance. There was a reason why so many of the telepaths remained in the Citadel at all times. The Leader disliked the outside world prying, and that included meddling mutants. Jean would have ignored the tickle, and returned to a sleeping Cyclops in bed, but she recognized that slick touch of power.
It was Professor Xavier; he was searching, and searching hard by the head ache he left in his wake. He'd never have done that years ago, but in recent times his searches had taken on a harsher tone. Jean knew, cause for three years she'd felt and effectively blocked every mental search he'd made with his silly little machine.
Jean wrapped her hands around the bed post and studied her sleeping partner's face, and considered allowing the lesser mutates to handle it, but so close to the fulmination she couldn't risk it. Jean opened her mind and all her defenses. She shed her physical body and acquiesced to the call of the psychic realm. As usual, the amount of telepaths in building cluttered the space, so Jean had to struggle above it all, to where Xavier had cast out his net in search of something, probably a mutant.
Xavier burned bright blue in this realm, but Jean couldn't see him that clearly. It appeared that he was very high in orbit, probably on Avalon or Atlantis, the only two habitable satellites. Something about the color of his psyche was familiar to Jean, urgently familiar, but she brushed it off. She had a job to do.
Jean burned, bright and white-hot, as only the Phoenix could be. The flames spread, covering the entire realm below her, and all the ghostly signatures of the telepaths below her. With the ease of practice, she blanketed the entire island on which the mutate nation existed. Genosha. Home.
Professor Xavier is home.
Jean grinned and it was evil. No, he's not, she told that tiny voice in her mind, he's the enemy.
Suddenly, her aura wasn't flaming any more; it was solid, black, and deadly. When another wave of Xavier's psychic aura flashed out and rebounded against it, she knew that a serious jolt of pain had been sent to his mind. He'd know that a powerful psychic was here, but he would know who. On the off chance that he'd send someone to investigate, there were security measures already in place. Jean wasn't allowed to deal with security anymore. The last time someone had dared to come investigate while she ran security, had ended up dead. Poor Spyke. Never knew when to mind his own business. He really should never have left the Morlocks. As of two years ago, he'd never return.
Death delighted Jean, made her happy. Part of it was Phoenix, who while being elementally good, was also curious for new sensations, which had been it's weakness in the first place. Had the Phoenix been completely in control of what it wanted, Jean would never have been able to trap it inside and merge with it. Weakness tended to make one vulnerable, something Jean never intended to be.
Jean was strong. Phoenix was strong. Jean was Phoenix. And there was nothing the universal elemental being could do about it.
Xavier reared back and nearly fell from his seat. Pain reverberated in his head and he felt dizzy waves recede as the pain sharpened everything to pin-point clearness. Behind him, Magneto waited, poised to catch Xavier if he fell, but not too close lest he interfere.
"The block again?"
Xavier started to nod, before changing his mind about moving. "Just as strong as ever. I don't know who the telepath projecting it is, but they're memorable. And extremely strong-willed. Not very attuned to nuances."
Magneto smiled. "All brawn and no brains?"
Xavier scowled. "No. All brawn and all brain, but no touch for detail. She's so preoccupied with creating the strongest shield possible, that she's not feeling the smaller probes I send."
"Are you detecting anything?"
Once again, Xavier scowled. "No, only that when she's not projecting, then a dozen and a half other telepaths are projecting smaller but equally strong shields. I couldn't get in there with killing at least some of them."
Magneto straightened and thought. "Have you tried?"
Setting down Cerebra's cortical helmet, Xavier turned and started to wheel out of the room, forcing Magneto to take to the air so that he could. "I have crossed many lines for you, Erik. That one I will not."
"You crossed the lines yourself, I didn't force you."
Xavier sighed, and continued out of Cerebra. "I know. I'm just...melancholy tonight."
Any further conversation was stalled when Storm "stormed" down the hallway. "What did you find?" She demanded, her blue eyes sparking with energy (read lightning).
"Nothing. As usual. Whoever you saw, and Wolverine smelled is gone."
"That's not possible! She's somewhere!" Storm argued, wringing her hands in confusion.
Xavier sighed, knowing that the conversation was about to happen again, the same one they had every time Ororo thought there was a chance. "I haven't found any trace of her, Storm. I haven't found any trace of them in three years and that hasn't changed in the last two hours. If they've hidden themselves, for whatever reason, they still are." Abruptly, Xavier changed the topic. "Have you been to see Hank?"
Storm looked sheepish. "No."
"You know how important it is that everyone who makes the trip from planet to satellite be checked out. We don't need another Jay Guthrie," Xavier lectured, referring to Sam's younger brother who'd come down with Decompression Sickness and was spending the next month in an iron lung because of it.
"I know..."
"And you're to set an example. We may no longer cater to the younger mutants, but we still need to make sure everyone does what they're supposed to."
"I know!" Storm yelled, causing the lights to flicker and a strange odorless cold wind to shift up and blow her hair about.
"Calm down, Storm. It's easily rectified. Go now," Magneto explained, laying his hand on her arm. Immediately, the wind died and she wilted.
Storm latched onto Magneto's hand, a plead in her eyes. "Please...I just wanted to know..."
"I know, my dear. Go on, get checked out."
Magneto and Xavier watched as Storm left them, her shoulders hunched and pain on her face. Both knew the reason for her anxiety.
"She thinks that Evan is with the X-Men," Xavier said, though it wasn't necessary. Magneto knew as much as he, yet they talked of it just the same. Human beings tend to discuss things to death, even when they cannot change them.
"It's not likely. He disappeared a full year after they did. He's most likely dead."
Xavier sighed. "I know, and you know that. Hope lives for her."
Magneto sighed as well. "Hope died for me, when my son died."
Xavier nodded, and for a few minutes, the two stared into space silently. For Xavier, hope never died...it'd just gotten lost somewhere.