May 8, 2006: Please see Chapter One, Part One for the full statement regarding this story.

I will repeat that I have taken a few liberties with the Marvel Universe - not unlike Marvel ;) - but that it should still be recognizable. I do not own these characters and make no monies from writing about them. This is just for fun, folks. :)

I will also point out that this has not been Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault. Sentences with the "" bracketing it are spoken in a language other than English. I believe in this chapter, that's Japanese only.

My thanks to those who have read and those who have taken the time to review. It is greatly appreciated. J My apologies if I left anyone hanging by not posting the second part of this chapter on the weekend after posting the first part. Not trying to confuse you, folks. Honest. :)

Excelsior!

Smashing Through the Looking Glass

Chapter Three: Part Two

Waking Nightmare

The air is cool and comfortable. It takes me a moment to realize I'm lying down. A blanket is covering me and I move my legs slightly, feel the cotton against my skin. There is something heavy and damp on my forehead: an ice pack, wrapped in what appears to be a kitchen dishtowel. It smells of soap. Wherever I am, it is very quiet.

"Kitty?"

A man is speaking. He's young and strong. I'm not sure if I want to respond to him. He has a nice voice and I recognize it but can't put a name to it. My body feels light and unburdened and if I speak to the voice…

He clears his throat. "Katya?"

I shift my legs again and frown. Why won't he leave me alone?

"I think she's waking up," the voice says, and someone else comes to stand beside me.

"Kitty?" It's a woman's voice, melodic, soothing. A gentle breeze stirs over me and I sigh. I stop frowning. I feel warm skin as someone reaches under the blanket and takes one of my hands. "If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand." It's an effort, but I squeeze. "She can hear me," the woman's voice says, full of relief. There is a collective murmur in the room and some whispering that I can't discern. Discern. Ooo, I think giddily, Hank would like that word -

"Hey, babe." Another voice, female, younger, with an undercurrent of tangible fear. "You gave us a bit of a scare. Don't do that again, a'right?"

"Is she gonna be okay?" Hmm, same gender and about the same age, with an accent that reminds me of heat and magnolias.

"Here." Another man this time, rougher, older. I hear the rustle of clothing and a change in the movement of air around me as all but the first woman step back to let him through. A hand goes under my head, lifting it slightly, and a glass is put to my lips. Water. I swallow a few sips and find it refreshing. "Thata girl," he says. My head is lowered and he removes the ice pack. "Bobby?" he says to someone behind him. A few seconds later, a fresh, cold pack is on my forehead. It feels incredible. "Is that better, darlin'?"

I squeeze the woman's hand.

"She says 'yes'," the melodic voice announces.

"Kitty?" Yet another man, uncertain, familiar, longing. Scott?

"Do you remember what happened, Kitty?" This man is further away from me. He has an accent which is soothing to the ears. He is a man of many experiences - and, I somehow know, unable to use his legs. I focus on his voice. It would be relaxing to listen to him read the telephone book…

What is a telephone book?

Get out of my head!

Why?

Leave me alone!

Why?

You're not Dr. Grey!

Oh, but I am, and so much more. Please, call me Jean…

I scream.

Strong hands hold me down as my body arches up, like a jolt of electricity is coursing through me. I am numb.

I am burning.

I open my eyes and it takes a minute to focus on the face inches from mine.

It's Logan.

"Maybe…" That took effort to say. Is that my voice? It's no more than a whisper. He gives me some more water. I try again. "Maybe… I'm not alone… in my head… anymore."

Logan stares at me as if he's trying to decide something then leans back, silent, staying in a crouch near my feet. Ms. Munroe smiles down at me. Her face is a mixture of concern and confusion. I try to smile back, not wanting her to worry.

"It's good to see you again," she says.

"Looks like… I didn't go far," I respond, noting I'm still in the study. In fact, I'm lying on the chaise, which is situated near the window that faces the back garden. It hurts to move my head but I tilt it a little to the right and strain my eyes so I can see everyone in the room. It's pretty crowded. I clear my throat. "What're you doing in here?" At least I can form a sentence now, even if I sound weak as a kitten. Kitten. Kitty. I sigh. Why do I keep punning? I must be alright, though, if I can notice stuff like that at a time like this.

"I felt it was necessary." The Professor steers his chair closer to the chaise, so I don't have to strain to look at him. "The magician has just arrived so the timing is excellent. Hank and Kurt are sorting out the hanging of the piñata and Sam has recruited Dani and Xi'an to organize a 'Getting to Know You' game." He smiles and I feel the warmth of his love for all his students tingle around me. "Ostensibly, we're inside to bring out a jungle gym I'd forgotten to have assembled for the party." He chuckles. It's a wonderful sound, comforting, like a hot chocolate on a chilly day. "Which wouldn't be so bad, really, if I actually had a jungle gym to set up, but we'll figure something out, I'm sure."

"How many people does it take to carry a jungle gym?" Bobby grins at his posed joke. Rogue elbows him in the side, but he keeps grinning, regardless.

"Eight, it would appear." I include the Professor in the count, even though he probably wouldn't have carried anything. My mind is still a bit fuzzy and I find myself thinking about the strangest things, all with a rather skewed sense of priority. "We could use the training bars."

"Pardon?" The Professor is so polite. I love him like mad, more than my own father, I think.

"The training bars in the gym," I clarify. "Not the danger room stuff but the uneven bars and the parallel bars - oh! And the scrambler! That'd be perfect." The scrambler is an intricate, metal knot of climbing ladders that twists around itself and takes up an area about the size of the average two-car garage. It always reminds me of an illustration by Escher. "Wait, maybe we could just use the scrambler."

"That's a good idea," Ms. Munroe says. "How long would it take to dismantle and reassemble?"

"Too long," Mr. Summers says.

The Professor sighs. "If everyone here decides we should maintain the pretence of this equipment, I could ask Kurt if he can teleport it."

Ms. Munroe frowns. "I don't know if he can transport something that size." She's concerned, naturally, as we all would be, but I know she particularly likes him and has assumed responsibility for making him feel at home here. If there's anything more than friendship between them, I don't know about it. The grapevine is pretty reliable and it's hard to hide that kind of thing, especially when the mansion is full of mutants. Mr. Wagner still gives me the heebie-jeebies sometimes, though he's done nothing to cause any sort of alarm.

"He says he is willing to try," the Professor announces, always multi-tasking. How does he do that? I feel more like myself, though now I know I'm not going crazy, the real reason for my waking nightmares, such as I understand it, isn't much better.

"Could someone get my Caesar salad and Cokes from the kitchen, please?"

Ms. Munroe looks at Jubilee, who winks at me and leaves the study.

"We'll organize everyone around the magician and have the scrambler teleported behind the trees, near the woods on the east side." The Professor sounds confident that Mr. Wagner can do this as he glances around the room and makes a decision. "It would be helpful if some of you could be present for its arrival and actually carry it into the garden."

"I am a logical choice, then," Peter says. He steps beside the chaise and reaches out to grip my shoulder. It isn't a bear hug, but it'll do. "I'll see you later." It's a statement, not a question. I couldn't have better friends, you know. He leaves the room, smiling back at me.

"We'll give him a hand." Rogue tugs on Bobby's arm. He obviously doesn't want to go but then resigns himself to his fate, rolling his eyes as he's coaxed into the hallway. Jubilee returns with the rest of my dinner once they're through the door.

"Chinet rules," she says, hefting my salad. The plate is holding without any apparent strain. The same can't be said of me as I try to sit up. The Professor takes one of my arms and steadies me. I smile, not knowing how successful I am at conveying my thanks. With Ms. Munroe's help, I wriggle backwards until I'm against the rise of the chaise and pull my knees up. I hold out my hand and accept the plate. Suddenly, I'm ravenous and I stuff my face with Caesar like it's going to be taken away from me at any moment.

"Thanks," I mumble around the lettuce.

"No problem."

Ms. Munroe smoothly takes the cans of Coke from her. "Jubilee, could you go to the woods on the east side on the mansion and help with the scrambler?"

"That's a pretty heavy thing."

"Peter will take most of the weight," the Professor says. "He'll transform long enough to set it down on the other side of the trees then you'll all have a bit of a struggle to carry it a few inches for the sake of the caterers, at any rate. It will appear more convincing if several people seem to be required."

Jubilee turns to me. "Are you okay, babe?"

I pause in my chewing, my cheeks full and nod. I probably look like a chipmunk, gathering too many nuts for winter at one time.

She sighs dramatically. "I know when I'm not want-ed," she sing-songs and exits the room with a flourish, as if she were doing the tango or something. God, either she needs to get out more or I do. And though Batman rocks, the Robin motif in her wardrobe has gotta go. Mr. Summers follows and closes the door behind her.

Ms. Munroe places my cans on a side table, ignoring what they might do to the wood finish. She hesitates.

"Professor, perhaps I should supervise this… event. I could use the wind to assist Peter with the scrambler."

"Excellent idea." Our mentor smiles at her and gives a nod of thanks and dismissal. Sometimes I forget how quickly she can move when she really needs to get somewhere fast. We know she wants to help but also be there for Mr. Wagner. She knows that we know, but it isn't directly addressed. I get another warm fuzzy feeling.

Mr. Summers quietly lifts a magazine from the desk, removes the Cokes with his other hand, rubs the condensation off the wood table with the sleeve of his denim jacket, and puts down the magazine. The Cokes are now sitting on the latest news from the folks at Time-Life.

I keep chewing, trying to make the food in my mouth small enough to comfortably swallow so I can eat more. I need help. I sigh, not an easy thing to accomplish when you're only using your nose to breath. Boy, do I need help…

"Kitty?" I give the Professor a nod so he knows I'm listening. His wheelchair is still beside the top end of the chaise. Mr. Summers is standing next to him, further to the top, near the table. One of his hands is resting on the Professor's chair. Logan hasn't moved from his crouch at my feet. I feel like Camille.

"She's eatin', Chuck."

"She can listen," Mr. Summers counters, and they glare at one another.

I huff and swallow sufficiently to say, "Oh, stop that."

They both look at me and I suddenly find something fascinating in my salad.

The Professor smiles. I swallow some more. At this moment, it's the most amazing food I've ever eaten.

"Sometimes the testosterone level gets a little high, you know?" I say shyly.

"Indeed."

"About Dr. Grey -"

I recall the voice in my head. Please, call me Jean…

"About… Jean." That gets their attention. I risk a glance from my salad to know they're all waiting for me to say something, anything, about their cherished missing X-Man. "She… she isn't inside my head, really, is she?"

"As near as I can tell, there are traces of her in you from your years at the school." The Professor sighs, again. I feel sorry for him. He really didn't know, but then, I didn't understand it either. A fine Sherlock Holmes I'd be. "Between your sessions with her for academic studies and training of your mutant ability, you established a bond. Please understand that she has become very powerful. Somehow, wherever Jean is right now, she can recognize these traces and make…"

"A connection?" I offer, seeing he's having difficulty putting it into words. An interesting predicament for someone so eloquent, but then Dr. Grey was - is - very special to him.

"Yes, Kitty, a connection." He frowns, and I know the Lecture: Part One is about to begin. "If she has been in your dreams and haunting you, as you put it, in the mirror when you're awake, why haven't you told me?"

"You've had a lot of stuff on your mind," I say, pushing the last crouton around my plate. "Especially with Dr. McTaggart and Mr. Braddock wanting you to take on some new students and all." I nail the crouton with my fork and triumphantly place it in my mouth. These things are so good. "Besides, I thought I was just grieving, like everybody else, like who wouldn't be? She just didn't go away and I got busy with assignments and stuff." Hmmm, that sounds lame, Pryde. Must be your day for it.

"You should have said something," Mr. Summers admonishes.

"Well, I didn't," I say, a bit sharply. "Let's move on, shall we?" Before anyone can respond to my attitude, I add, "What I really want to know is, if Jean really is alive somewhere and using her telepathic abilities to directly attempt some form of communication with someone: why me?"

"I don't know, Kitty."

"She's taught lots of students here," I continue, reaching for one of the Cokes and snapping the tab. "She's known some longer than she's known me. Never mind the students, what about Mr. Summers? Or you? Or Dr. McCoy? She's known you guys for how long? Ever? I don't get it." I tilt my head back and guzzle the Coke like I've been in the desert for days.

"I don't have the answers, Kitty," the Professor says distractedly as I finish the can, crush it and grace them with a loud belch. I feel myself blushing.

"Um, sorry. I was thirsty."

Logan chuckles. "Don't worry on my account, darlin'."

"I assure you, Kitty, it is no reflection on your character."

Reflection…

"Mirrors!" I leap to my feet, throwing plate, blanket and can to the floor. "Have you warned him about the mirror?"

"Jack? Yes. While you were unconscious, Ororo and Scott went to get the others and took the opportunity to draw him aside and tell him not to use the mirror in Scott's office." The Professor leans back in his wheelchair. "So, you remember that part?"

I blink and sit down on the edge of the chaise. "Shouldn't I?"

"Jean gave us the warning," Mr. Summers says quietly. He hesitates. "When you looked at me -"

"When you looked at us," Logan corrects him.

"Your eyes were -"

"Hers."

Oh.

Oh, my.

I clear my throat. It's dry. I reach for my other Coke and Logan is already handing it to me, opened. When did he move?

"That's why my voice sounded funny," I muse aloud, and take the Coke, too dazed to do more than nod thanks. Logan decides to sit beside me and places an arm around my shoulders. It's heavy. He's generating enough personal body heat to instantly melt snow.

"We have a lot of unanswered questions." Mr. Summers states the obvious but I know why he says it. He's hoping someone in the room will contradict him and free him from his personal Hell without Jean. I'm thinking of her as 'Jean'.

It's alright, Kitty. Trust Charles Xavier to be reassuring.

Should I be concerned that I seem to be able to communicate with you more easily than usual like this?

I don't think so, Kitty. I just means some barriers have been removed and smoothed the path, so to speak.

As long as I don't turn into a telepath. No offence, Professor.

None taken. I think you're safe from that fate, my dear…

"I doubt there is anything we can do right now to get those answers, Scott," he says aloud. "We'll discuss the circumstances surrounding Dr. Grey and inquire about the mirror in Scott's office at another time. Do you feel well enough to join us, Kitty?"

I check. "Actually, yeah, I do."

"Then let's focus on this evening, and the fine barbeque we have organized for the latest arrivals at the school." He pauses and smiles. "Speaking of which, Mr. Wagner has successfully teleported the scrambler. I think we should make an appearance and do our best to enjoy ourselves. Shall we join the others at the east side of the mansion?"

I finish my second Coke in record time, maybe faster than the last. I crush the can and belch.

"Excuse me," I say daintily, and pick up the other can and my plate. Logan gets the blanket and folds it with military precision: creases of identical size and nice, sharp corners. He tosses it onto the bottom of the chaise, notices me watching him and smiles. It's blinding.

I start for the door, slowly at first so I don't fall over. Naturally, I stop before the fireplace and look into the mirror, leaning on the mantelpiece.

Dr. Grey stares back at me.

"Is she…?"

"Yes." I turn to Mr. Summers. "Touch the glass." He raises his hand then stops. I wish I could see his eyes. "It's safe," I add, though how I know this is beyond me. His hand continues to move toward the mirror. He can't see her, of course, and isn't sure where to put his fingers. "To the left," I whisper. He touches the image of Dr. Grey's - Jean's - cheek. I gasp when she closes her eyes and smiles.

"Incredible." The Professor's voice is so quiet I nearly didn't hear him. Of course, he can see what I see. I wish Scott could…

"Don't move," I tell Mr. Summers, and sure enough, the image of Jean, red hair billowing behind her in a sudden gust of wind that isn't in the room, has raised her hand and places it over Scott's, where it still rests on her cheek. I wish… "Professor…?"

I guess if the world's most powerful telepath can't do it, no one can. He doesn't let them down, however, as the expression on Scott's face tells me. The Professor is able to successfully place the image that he sees, through me, into Scott's mind. A single tear escapes the ruby-quartz glasses.

"Jean," he breathes. "I love you."

"I love you too, Scott." Who said that? "I miss you."

Jean's lips are moving, but it's my voice - yet not my voice - providing the audio.

It's almost funny. I'm trapped in a dubbing booth, living the moment vicariously through somebody else. My voice is almost in synch with her lips. Reminds me why I didn't see 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' in any other format than with subtitles.

We stand like that for almost a minute. Mr. Summers breaks contact with the mirror and Dr. Grey lowers her arm. I'm gripping the mantle very tightly. To love someone so much that even evolution can't keep you apart. Wow.

"That was… surreal," I manage.

He swallows. "Thank you, Kitty, Charles." He doesn't call the Professor by his first name very often in front of others. I can count on one hand the number of times I've witnessed it.

"She doesn't look so sad anymore," I tell him, in my own voice, I'm relieved to hear. "Just so you know."

For the second time today, Mr. Summers pulls me into a hug. I hug back, despite being burdened with two crushed cans of Coke and a plate with remnants of dressing on it. With a pat on my shoulder, he pulls away and straightens his jacket. We share a smile and I head for the door again. I open it and step aside so the Professor can lead the way. Mr. Summers follows and I wait for Logan's booted feet to move. They don't, so I look up at him, one hand on the doorknob, the other loaded with garbage and my mind suddenly set on having more food.

His eyes stop me. They're dark and dangerous, and I know that sounds corny and very Mike Hammer, but that's the best I can do. Dangerous and so alone. Anguish. Longing. He reaches out slowly to touch my ponytail, just like he did earlier in the kitchen.

"Red," he says softly.

I know, mostly through the grapevine, that Logan was interested in Dr. Grey when he first came to Xavier's, but she was devoted to Mr. Summers and would never do anything to encourage him. It looks like he still has feelings for her, however, stoked at the back of the fire like hot coals, ready to burn. All you need is someone to place logs on it to start it blazing again.

I don't know what to say or do, so I look back at him and try not to make any sudden movements. That's what you do when you encounter a wild animal, right?

"Are you scared of me, Pryde?" His voice has an edge to it. It reminds me of Nick Fury's voice, the one he always seems to have when some on-the-scene reporter gets in his face as he tries to do S.H.I.E.L.D. business. CNN should get new staff before Fury sends them back to the station - in a box.

What do I say to this? Is it to test my courage? Is he trying to pay me back for kneeing him in the crotch? Is it because Jean loves Scott more than she could ever love him, and he knows it?

At least I'm not shaking.

"Yes." Might as well admit it. "Yes, I am scared of you. I'd be stupid not to be, though I don't know why you're trying so hard." I frown, not fully understanding my next impulse to speak. "We're your friends. I'm your friend, Logan san. I will never knowingly hurt you."

His breathing has changed. He lets go of my ponytail and leaves. I watch his back as he heads away, wondering if we'll see him at the party later or if he's gone for the evening. I wish he'd stay, but there's nothing I can do about it. I close the door, walk down the hall and dump my trash in the garbage slot. Then I'm out the main entrance, hurrying around the east wing to where I know the others will be. I catch up with the Professor and Mr. Summers, who is keeping pace with the wheelchair, just before we reach the scrambler. My history teacher raises an eyebrow, silently asking about Logan. I shrug, not really wanting to go into it.

"We might see him later," I say vaguely. It's left that way.

Peter hasn't transformed into Colossus yet, but he's positioned at the centre of the equipment, ready. Bobby is posing like Mr. Universe and generally being a ham. Rogue and Jubilee are laughing. Ms. Munroe and Mr. Wagner are smiling at his hi-jinks, though I note the teleporter looks a bit weary. Everyone but Professor Xavier grabs a part of the scrambler, trying to distribute ourselves evenly so it looks like we're all lifting it.

"Now?" Peter asks.

"Anytime you're ready," the Professor answers, and my friend transforms into Colossus, the metal coiling up his body, a second skin that smothers him. He gains height, breadth and weight, and he was a big, healthy eighteen-year-old hunk to start with. The girls, including me, provide an appreciative sigh, just because we can and because it bugs Bobby.

"One -"

I brace myself against the pole, feeling ridiculous. As if I could ever lift anything remotely one hundredth the size of this thing. Maybe if I phased it, like I did that gun…

"Two -"

I wonder what the group on the other side of the trees will say when they see us trudging into view? At least Peter doesn't have to go very far before we can all set it down and he can return to his human form. I sense movement to my left as someone takes a spot ahead of me. It's Logan, muscles bulging as he grabs hold, bends and flexes, preparing to do some real lifting. I bet he can, too. I smile. He came back to us.

Thank you, God, for still listening to me.

"Three!"