Hank drew up a chair and sat down beside Jean after a bit, just watching her. Scott copied him.

"The plan is to take turns." Hank said. "I'll leave in half an hour or so and get some rest, could you stay for a few hours more, then someone'll come down to relieve you." Scott looked up at him. He didn't want to leave Jean, now or in a few hours. He was not going to lose her again.

"I can stay."

"How much have you slept in the past two days?" Hank asked. Scott didn't answer. Hank sighed.

"Ten hours? Eight?" Scott said.

Hank looked hard at him. "Total?" Scott didn't reply. "And that's with the bupe. Whoever's here needs to be alert. You may be now, you won't be in eight hours."

,

Hank left about an hour later. Scott stayed. He'd spent enough hours down here over the years that he knew where things were. Jean had been shut in The Danger Room for over two full days. She hadn't had the opportunity to wash, and she'd passed water while The Professor had been… whatever he'd been doing. She'd prefer to wake clean. He left for long enough to run to the common lockers and fetch training kit. She hadn't moved when he came back. He wasn't sure if he was glad about that or not. He set the clothes down, closed the blinds over the glass in the door and went for a dish of warm water. Bit by bit, he stripped her and cleaned her skin. He knew what she looked like. He assumed she'd rather he did this than anyone else. Her skin still wasn't… right to the touch, it moved wrong, as though it was too stuck to what was underneath it. It was better than it had been, but still wasn't right. And she was cooler to the touch than she usually was.

"Don't you dare be dying." He said to her quietly, as he turned away to fetch a blanket. She'd told him before that people in comas sometimes woke up remembering what had been said to them, or parts of it, even if they gave no sign at the time. "I'm not doing that again."

He looked around. He couldn't think of anything else he could usefully do for her. He knew why he wanted that. Sharing a bed with a telepath for years meant becoming very self aware, because, of course, she understood his drives and motives, she tended to explain him to himself. She'd said in the past that anyone could tell when he was worried about something because every single engine in the mansion would be dismantled and put back together again. He liked to do things. It gave him some illusion of control. But there was nothing he could sensibly do. He couldn't do anything else to help Jean and he wasn't leaving her.

He took a breath, just deep enough that it pulled at his back. He sat down in Hank's vacated chair and took Jean's hand, the one without a drip line in it. He could talk to her at least. People in comas sometimes remembered. Could she still read him? Could she still reach out and feel what he felt? He sort of hoped she couldn't. He'd rather she just heard his voice.

So he talked. Just talked. About everything and nothing, about the problem of plot being mistaken for story in modern cinema, about his hopes for the X-men over the next two years, the next five, about Bobby and Rogue. He'd barely thought of them since this had hit. He had two X-men, barely more than kids, missing and he'd barely thought of them.

"God, this is too much." He said. "Right now, this is… This is just too much. I don't know if I'd still be able to do this if…" He stopped abruptly. "You know. But I don't see how I fix this right now."

He didn't like monologuing at her, she didn't usually let him. He found himself asking her questions after a bit. But that was worse. There was no answering voice, just the quiet noises of the machines. He couldn't bear to turn his back on her, not now, but he couldn't bear this any longer, being with her but not being with her. Hank thought she should just wake on her own, but what she'd be when she did? What if she was still… Still The Phoenix, and this had all been for nothing?

Time dragged. Hank had been right, he was tired. When someone came in to swap out with Scott, he could probably get Hank to give him pain relief so he'd sleep. It numbed his head as well as his back. It felt like alcohol, it just took the edge off everything. It did make him feel sicker than alcohol did, but he'd take that right now.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come."

Kurt's head appeared round the door. "Scott?" Scott just looked at him. "It will be my turn soon. I had thought that I would read to her. You know her better than I, does she have a favourite book?"

Scott coughed. The movement sent pain shooting through his back. His first thought was Tintinallia's (or whoever he was) Emergency Medicine, but… Apart from anything else, he couldn't ask Kurt to read that aloud, a good half of it was unpronounceable.

"The Chrysalids." He said quietly. Kurt tilted his head at him. "John Whyndham's The Chrysalids. It's in the library."

,

Kurt sat in Scott's chair, tail looped through the back of it, leaning off at an angle. He was a restless reader, even on his own. He had to move himself every few pages.

"'The largest was the one on the back wall, hung to face the door which lead to the yard. It reminded everyone who came in: WATCH THOU FOR THE MUTANT!'" Kurt stopped and looked sadly at the book. "I hope this book cheers up, Doctor Grey. It is a little close to home for me at the moment, and I suspect for many of us here." He sighed. "But if you ask…"

He carried on reading. It was a dark and frightening book. To his mind, it was like the worst of humanity, well, the worst of those who weren't mutants, allowed to run wild and rule, even something as innocent as a sixth toe was exile or worse. What would they have made of him? Blue skin, too few fingers and a tail! Well, they'd have to catch him first.

Then he started to realise why Jean identified with this book.

"I think I have it now, Doctor Grey." He said. "Young David hears 'thought shapes'. I do not think I can do that. I think that young David and his cousin are telepaths. Telepaths hiding from people who will try to destroy them for their powers. This is how you felt once, yes? Before The Professor found you." Kurt smiled for a second. He set the book down, spine up, and took Jean's hand. She didn't move. She hadn't since he'd come in here. He sighed. "I remember that Christ drew an evil spirit from a boy once, and the boy appeared dead for a time. So we must be patient, I think. I feel that you will return to us, I feel in my heart that the uncleanness in you is gone." He shifted again and picked the book up.

,

First there was nothing. Nothing but breath and a heartbeat, and knowing that she was alive. Time was meaningless. She knew that her awareness came and went.

,

Storm had finished The Chrysalids the better part of an hour ago. She'd picked up where Kurt had left off, he'd asked her to pass the book to him when she'd finished with it

"Because surely it cannot end as sadly as it begins. I want to know the ending of it."

Storm had studied The Chrysalids in Junior year herself, it was one of The Professor's standbys, even though it gave about a third of every class nightmares. It was very close to home for some of them.

So now she was just sitting quietly with Jean. Hank had said she ought to come to eventually, and Storm trusted him, his judgment. Storm wasn't good at reading EEGs, but what little Jean had taught her made her think Jean's trace looked like deep sleep rather than her being… brain dead or brain damaged or anything.

Jean didn't need anything in medical terms right now, it was just about someone being there when she woke up. Storm knew Jean would have done it for her. Jean had sewn her up a couple of times over the years, never mind just sitting with her.

Storm was comfortable with the silence. What was coming was coming. She probably wasn't going to change anything by yammering at Jean, so why bother?

Storm was about an hour from the end of her shift when Jean's EEG began to change. The waves on it started to get shorter. Haltingly at first, one short wave then ten long ones, but then one short, seven long, then nearly fifty fifty. Storm picked up her radio.

"Professor?"

"Go ahead."

"I think she's gonna wake up."

There was a moment's pause. "Stay where you are. I'm coming down."

Storm took Jean's hand in hers.

"Jean? Are you there?" There was no reply. Storm started to hum softly, not quite on purpose, half looking at Jean's face, half at her EEG. It was still changing, still speeding up. She was coming up.

Then suddenly she gasped and made to sit up.

"Jean!" Storm flung her arms around Jean to keep her from falling off the bed. "Jean, it's okay, you're safe." Jean was panting. She was clinging to Storm in return. "It's okay."

"Storm." Her voice was hoarse.

"Yeah, it's okay. It's over you're safe."

Jean drew back slightly. Storm let her. "I can't hear her." Jean said. "I can't hear her." And Jean could obviously see, she was looking right in to Storm's eyes. "Where's The Professor?"

"On his way down." Storm said. "You're through it, Jean. You made it. It's okay."

She was probably still just really disorientated. She'd been out for hours.