Story Housekeeping: What?! An update? I know, right?! I'm as surprised as you are.

So this is part two of White Lights, which picks up the morning after part one.

I'm calling this one a character piece or somethin' - it was suppose to be more action packed, but the whole thing just became to long and convoluted, so I did some Ming the Merciless triage and I feel better about where it's heading now. (Really how much in-depth buffet talk did we really need?) To make sure it's all comprehensible there will be a White Lights part three down the line.

General Housekeeping: I'd like to thank the following groovy individuals for the reviews : Verthril (Love triangle...maybe? My lips are sealed;) ), Amy Hunt (Happy your loving my take on Jubes), serenity4life (sorry this update took so long), Lois H (Such kind words, thank you. I have a massive soft spot for Hank and I love seeing the world from his unique perspective.)

I'm sending fluffy vibes to MaddySan5926 and dharien1000 for the Favs and Follows. :)

Shout-outs to: Usher (Usher's Shadow Man is a must read!), themadzz123, dragonrider2345, MaddySan5926, monica2 and Mako1 for also following.

(If I missed anyone, feel free to send me an angry message.)

Have fun!

*...* Indicates telepathic speech.

Chapter 11: Interlude - White Lights: Part Two

"A fractal is a never-ending pattern. Infinitely complex - they are created by repeating a simple process over and over in an ongoing feedback loop. Driven by recursion, fractals are images of dynamic systems – the pictures of Chaos." - Fractal Foundation

Manhattan, Years before:

The shrieking alarm pierced the calm of the hotel room and woke Jean with a start. The man next to her, groggy and groaning, reached over her to kill the offending noise.

Over the years, Scott Summers had learned that the woman sharing his bed didn't appreciate starting her mornings by sweeping fragments of alarm clock from the carpet. While effective in stopping super-powered foes, optic blasts were just not practical in a domestic setting.

With the shrilling alarm silenced, Jean felt the muscled torso next to hers defiantly slide back deep under the covers. While Cyclops might have been the poster boy for all things square – punctuality chief among them - the man behind the visor still would have preferred to sleep in.

It was moments like these, the rare unguarded glimpses of her future husband's character, that reminded her exactly what she loved about him.

Turning to hug him, Jean relished the feeling as his arms folded around her, Scott's warm presence in her mind at one with the easy physical intimacy between them, like a blanket on a cold night.

'Time to get up,' she reminded her lover with a whisper, preparing to disentangle herself from his stubborn embrace.

He let out another groan, followed by a sullen: 'Do we have to?'

'Someone might notice if we're not there.'

'I happen to know a sexy redhead that can make it so they won't even notice.'

'That's not very ethical,' she countered, trying to smother a girlish giggle into his chest as his fingers traced their way up her spine.

'Might not be ethical, but it's a damn good idea.'

For a moment, Jean gave herself over to the feeling of his nimble fingers weaving their way through her sleep-knotted hair. When she was younger, the thought of anyone seeing her in any way less than perfect scared the hell out of her. But now she welcomed these moments when it was just the two them, and she didn't care if there were bags under her eyes or if her freckles were showing.

With a sigh, she pulled herself from his embrace. 'Luckily you're on our side, Mr Summers,' she said, tilting her head to lay a soft kiss on his rough stubbled chin.

Before Scott could make another grab for her, she gave him a good-natured telekinetic nudge out of the bed.

Although he would never have admitted it, Scott Summers hated mornings. Mornings meant leaving the arms of his loving fiancé, early workouts, grumpy teammates and all the responsibilities that came along with leading the X-Men.

Not even the spacious, lavish suite Charles had insisted on for his oldest students made the transition from night to day any better, for all that lay ahead were hours of mind-numbing speeches and FOH members shouting offensive anti-mutant propaganda at the top of their lungs.

Making his way to the bathroom, Scott was grateful to find the tiles beneath his bare feet comfortably warm. Yes, there were those tiny touches that made a penthouse suite worth it. Warren called them the perks of a productive life; Cyclops considered them needlessly indulgent, at least in principle.

As he stepped into the steaming tiled space of the shower, he tried to pull a passing Jean in with him, but she swatted his hands away, muttering something about being late.

'I'll make it quick,' he promised, giving her his best lothario look behind his ruby quartz goggles, the corners of his eyes crinkled mischieviously.

The object of his attention shook her fiery mane.

'Now what would be the fun in that?' she teased before blowing him a kiss and leaving him alone in the steamy bathroom to finish his shower.

Stepping out of their suite an half hour later, the couple were the image of professionalism. Scott, dressed in a dark grey tailored business suit, was swoon-worthy enough, but he was eclipsed by the vision beside him. In a tasteful green minidress, tweed jacket and high heels, Jean Grey was the epitome of effortless perfection. The skirt's shorter length highlighted her toned legs and curves, while the jacket's high collar invited the eye to travel up her slender neck, past a pair of jade drop-earrings and up to her simple slicked-backed red ponytail.

Making their way towards the elevators, the couple found a similar smartly dressed Rogue and Remy waiting for the next ride down. As the women chatted about the previous day's shopping, the ex-thief casually leaned against the wall, and Scott had to suppress a grumble of annoyance as he sensed the Cajun's eyes slyly roaming his fiancé's figure. Or he assumed that's what he was up to; you never could tell with those strange eye always hidden behind those damnable shades.

Downstairs, the breakfast room was filled with fellow hungry guests piling plates high from the Hilton's overflowing buffet. In a far corner, the group spotted the rest of their party. As the others were tucking into their morning meal, Charles Xavier was only picking at his food, too busy making notes and planning the day's meetings to care about something as menial as basic nourishment. Ever so often he'd pass something to the blue doctor to his left, who had his own steadily growing stack. To the professor's right were two empty seats, a nod to the mansion's unofficial but usual seating plan.

Pouring a cup of black coffee to go along with his bowl of porridge, Scott took his customary seat on the Charles Xavier's right-hand side.

'Morning, professor,' he said in greeting to his mentor as he rummaged through the jumble of sugar packets, hoping to find a sachet of brown sugar for his porridge. While he usually prefered it with just a splash of milk, the dark, caramelised goodness was a small extravagance he allowed himself on certain occasions.

'Morning, Scott,' replied the telepath around a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving the diary book before him. Then, as an afterthought: 'Did you sleep well? How's the room? I hear the view of the river is lovely.'

Jean, who was taking the seat next to her betrothed, flashed the older man a stunning smile and answered for Scott: 'It's perfect, thank you. The champagne was lovely, too. You really shouldn't have.'

Charles looked up from his reading to return her warm smile, 'As I told you: consider it an early wedding present, you deserve it. I'm just glad you're enjoying it.' He then promptly returned to his notes.

Still rummaging through the mishmash of sugar packets, Scott took a moment to notice even Jean was indulging her sweet tooth with a plate of sugary pastries and a second bowl brimming with fresh fruit. While he was never one to complain about curves on a woman, Scott did wonder where she put it all; he dreaded the day she'd ask him "Does this spandex make my butt look big?"

Returning his attention to his own breakfast, Scott shot the worthless sugar caddy and his bland porridge a disgusted look and picked up his spoon. But before he could dip it into the sludge, Jean took a gentle hold of his wrist.

'Rogue?' she called for the southern belle at the other end of the table.

'Yes, sugah?'

'Is there any brown sugar on your side?'

'Let's see… Splenda, Sweet 'n Low, white, maple, Equal, and…' – she paused for dramatic effect as she pulled out the last packet – 'brown!'

Jean returned a grateful smile as Rogue passed the sachet down the table. Scott then watched as she tore it open and sprinkled the contents on his neglected porridge - and proceeded to dump half of her fruit bowl right on top. Ignoring his stunned look as he stared down at his bowl, she pecked him on the cheek.

'You can use all the sweetness you can get,' she whispered with with a wink, hiding her wry smile behind a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

Around them there was a spatter of polite breakfast conversation as everyone either tucked into their food or milled around the buffet, ignoring Remy's flirting - and Bobby's less fruitful attempts to attract the interest of the cuter hotel staff.

Midway through smearing his third bagel with something incredibly calorific, Hank noticed the empty space next to the Iceman.

'Would it not be prudent for someone to wake Jubilation?' asked the doctor. 'She's awfully waspish when she misses breakfast - brought on by instances of acute hypoglycemia, I believe.'

'She's not there, sugah,' said Rogue, momentarily distracted from scowling at the nearest pretty waitress to her Cajun beau. 'Gal's bed was empty when ah got up. She's probably around - Jeannie can always give her the ol' psi holler if she doesn't turn up.'

'Someone might wanna...munch...check the gift shop,' Bobby added through a mouthful of scrambled egg and toast, 'just in case she's trying to...gulp..max out the institute credit card again.'

The remark earned him varying degrees of admonishing glares from those X-Men that were more forgiving of the erstwhile mallrat's shopping habits. But Bobby, not the least bit discouraged, ignored it as he stole a piece of toast off Hank's plate. The doctor rolled his eyes and was about to tell his incorrigible friend to unhand his breakfast when a woman dressed in the the Hilton's signature dark maroon blazer walked up to the table.

'Professor Xavier?' she inquired, bending ever so slightly as the X-mentor's side.

'Yes?'

'This message was left for you at the front desk.'

Charles took the slip of paper from the woman and frowned as he read. While receiving a message at such an early hour was in itself was not an odd occurrence - since the start of the conference, requests from other dignitaries and journalists had been arriving in a steady flow - this particular note was written in a large, swirly script of a younger hand and was addressed to Chuck. Charles doubted he was that familiar with any of delegates.

The short note read:

Yo Chuck,

Gone To MoMa. Taking the M train.

Catch you guys at lunch.

Smell ya later.

J :)))))))

Then there was a space and an even more hastily scribbled:

(Pls turn over!)

Shaking his head, the professor dutifully did as instructed.

PS Bishop's tagging along. Don't worry, I'll look after him.

'Professor, is something wrong?' asked Scott.

The telepath passed the note along to the one codenamed Cyclops, who inspected it intensely as if it were a plan for world domination, before crumpling it up in his fist.

'How many times do we have to tell her? She needs to check in before she takes off!'

There was an uncomfortable shuffle around the table. An irritated fearless leader was never a good thing: he might just decide to take his frustrations out on you.

Jean, who had gleaned the message's contents through their psi-report, placed a calming hand on her irked fiancé's clenched hand.

'Jubilee is trying, Scott. She's just not used to having to ask for permission. Sometimes she gets carried away and it slips her mind.'

The fist under her touch did not relax.

'Jean's right, Scott,' added Xavier. 'I'll have a talk with Jubilation at lunch. Bishop is with her; I'm sure he'll keep an eye on her.'

A strangled gurgle of air left Scott's constricted throat. 'You're too soft on her - that girl has no respect for authority.'

Lowering his papers, Charles Xavier laid a stern gaze on the boy he'd come to think of as a son. From a young age he had cultivated and encouraged Cyclops' serious streak, but at times his inflexibility grated even on the professor's nerves.

'Be that as it may, Scott, considering all the child's been though, I do believe that under the circumstances, a modicum of understanding on our part is not wholly unwarranted.'

Cyclops shook his head in disbelief. Didn't they understand? The safety of this slip of a waif was his responsibility. The girl had an unnerving habit of hurling herself headlong into danger behind her craggy cigar-chomping mentor without a second thought. Trouble and chaos seemed to be attracted to her on a molecular level. The whole thing was downright disturbing. He needed to make the others see, and a tiny lightbulb clicked on in his mind.

'And what if she decides to try and give MoMa a new skyline again?'

This time the uncomfortable shuffle of cutlery had nothing to do with their leader's temper, but rather that of his fiancée. Jean had made clear to everyone that no one was to breathe a word of the MoMa incident to Cyclops. Knowing how he felt about the teenager, the telepath wasn't about to strain the delicate truths that existed between the two even more.

Jean's green eyes scanned the table, narrowing when she noticed Bobby was no longer shoveling food into his mouth as if he were a human garbage disposal. The young man made the mistake of meeting her eyes and the Iceman shivered.

*We'll talk later,* the redhead projected coldly.

*I didn't mean to, it just...*

He didn't get to finish as the link was abruptly severed and Jean returned to sipping her tea.

From across the table, Hank McCoy contemplated Scott as he watched him eat his breakfast in an almost mechanical motion. His childhood friend was not always an easy man to get along with; his unremitting loyalty to the team and his family often placed an extraordinary amount of strain on Scott, both physically and mentally, and did not make him the easiest individual with whom to form a rapport. While the older members of the team had become used to - and in the midst of battle even relied upon - their leader's unbinding will, Hank doubted if the newer and more free-spirited members of the team would share that understanding attitude. Realising that someone had to help Storm and Jean build bridges between the differing factions in mansions, Hank decided to contribute as the voice of logic and reason.

'Scott, yesterday was a mere slip in her concentration. All young mutants have them. Jubilation has made considerable progress in maintaining her control these past few months. She indeed is trying.'

Scott's spoon hit the porridge bowl below him with a clank.

'Trying, Hank? How long is she going to keep trying?'

Sensing Jean's soothing presence move into his mind, Scott mentally shrugged her off, effectively shutting her out.

'Tell me, Hank, when exactly can I expect her to finally graduate from trying to doing?'

'Oh for the love of all things holy, she's only thirteen and...'

'And Kitty was only fourteen!'

'It is hardly fair to compare the two, Scott. They are as attitudinally opposed as night and day.'

'Yes, one is disciplined and can follow basic instructions, while the other is a complete juvenile delinquent.'

Hank smothered a frustrated growl. Though he had sympathy for the other man's position, there were days that he wished to compress Cyclops' larynx for just a few seconds.

'That's enough,' said Charles firmly, cutting them off. The professor rarely needed to raise his voice - since the X-Men's teenage years it had been ingrained into their psyches to respect it at normal volume.

'But professor...'

'I said enough, Scott.'

'Yes, sir,' he relented, and all around the table colleagues braced themselves for a long day with their disgruntled fearless leader. The remainder of breakfast was bad enough, as a tense atmosphere permeated that table in the far corner, everyone waiting for the other boot to drop. But it was followed by an even worse morning security briefing. In the mutated eyes of their leader, no one could do or say anything right, and after forty long minutes the team were relieved to escape from Cyclops' overly critical gaze. The unspoken consensus was that they'd all rather face a riotous anti-mutant mob then spend a minute more with an ornery Scott Summers.

The lone highlight of the morning was Rogue's exasperation. 'Ah swear there are days that man is so full of shit his eyeballs turn brown,' she blurted, causing the Iceman to gag and splutter on his soda and leaving him in a fit of laughter all the way to the rental van. He spent the rest of the morning snickering whenever Scott came in to view, leaving the other man to contemplate why the ice mutant was trying to peek behind his glasses.

The rest of the day was a hectic mess, with Friends of Humanity members hurling venomous insults and misinformation with equal ferocity. The small security detail were forced to intervene more than once to keep the furious protesters from coming too close to their X-mentor.

By mid afternoon, the parking lot was erupting into a flow-blown riot, with frequent clashes between angry protesters on both sides. What according to the police was supposed to be a safe exit route from the building was now a swarm of angry bodies.

'Where the hell is Bishop when we need the giant lug?' Bobby yelled over the din of FOH megaphones as he struggled to subdue a placard-wielding bigot.

The Cajun swung his bow staff in wide sweeping arcs before him, trying to force back the baying mob. 'Pup wasn't schedul'ta work, Drake!'

'Well between you, me and two hundred of our new "friends" here' – Iceman ducked to avoid a clumsy right-hook – 'if I was sent back from you-know-where to protect the professor, you know where I'd be today? Right freakin' here!'

From behind them came a painful yelp of surprise as a pro-mutant protester who to cop a feel of Rogue in the maelstrom was rewarded with his wrist being twisted at an unhealthy angle.

'Oh no ya don't - y'all need to buy a gal dinner first!'

The protester uttered a deep moan of regret.

'Jeannie! Watch your front, girl,' the belle hollered. 'Some of these boys ain't got no manners.'

The telepath didn't reply, too occupied with telekinetically shielding the professor and herself from harm as the X-Men inched their way towards their waiting van.

In the end it took the better part of twenty minutes to move the short distance from the rear door of the venue to the vehicle, the crowd only parting when a thoroughly annoyed Beast sent a nailed baseball-bat wielding FOH member flying through the air onto his equally odious companions.

Beast knew he'd get an earful about his temper from both the professor and Cyclops at a later juncture, but that small act of defiance had scratched a mental itch he had borne since the first uneducated bigot opened his big mouth to chant disgusting slurs on day one of the conference.

High above the street, hidden from view, a lone assassin watched as the rental van made a speedy exit from the conference centre's the parking lot. He would have preferred to take out Xavier in the chaos of the riot, but they had their orders - the pro-mutant activist would live at least one more day.

Next Time: Guess who's coming to dinner. Introducing David Kelly. How will the X-family react to their firecracker dating a Kelly?