ax_main | Jean and Scott, Backdated to December 27th

Jean and Scott regroup for a minute once they're back at the mansion.

Jean supposed it wasn't the kindest thing to be grateful Warren was away in Montreal, leaving Scott without a roommate. It meant they had one less person available while the school was in something of a crisis.

But she was grateful nonetheless as she knocked on the door to Scott's room. They'd made their excuses to Jean's parents, Jean had said her good-byes and promised to be back soon. And now they were back at the mansion. Home for some, but still "the school" for her.

"Just a second." Scott tugged on a white t-shirt, and padded over barefooted to the door in his sweatpants and undershirt, hair rumpled and damp from his shower.

"Hey," he greeted when he was who it was. He swung the door open for her. "Come on in."

"Thanks." Jean took a seat on Warren's bed. She'd changed and showered herself, but it hadn't been time enough to take the redness and puffiness from her eyes. "How are you doing?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Her posture, the raw look beneath her eyes. Scott almost sat next to her, but hesitated. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable - on a bed with a guy she'd been on a date or two with- when she looked like she needed comforting. "I could ask you the same. How are you doing, Jean?" He asked gently.

It wasn't that he was unwilling to answer; he was. It was just that his answer - that he was fine - was something he knew was not normal. Yes, he felt awful for Nick, for Nick's family. Yes, he hated anyone that would kill people because they were born different. But he wasn't likely to have nightmares over it. Even if he wished they could've found out in time to save the Gleasons.

The tempation to remind him that she'd asked first flickered in her mind, then died.

"I don't know if I'm more sad, scared, or angry," she whispered. "I keep cycling through, and then I'm just crying again."

He sat down next to her, her raw emotion enough to overcome his concern about propriety. Scott reached over to take her hand and let his leg rest against hers. He wasn't entire sure where to start with her cavalcade of emotions, but Scott steeled himself because he had to try.

One at a time, maybe. "What makes you sad?" He asked. Nick, his parents' fates, the state of the world for mutants...there was a long list of candidates.

Jean squeezed his hand.

"All of it. And I think the answer is the same for the other two. It's just... it's not just unfair. It's cruel."

He nodded slowly. It had been cruel, there was no doubt about that. "There are some really bad people in the world," he had to admit. He should know. "All we can do is try and overcome them with good."

Scott squeezed her hand back. "You did that, you know. Did good."

"It doesn't feel like it. I was so angry..." Jean breathed out. "I'm not sorry. But I don't feel like I did anything good."

He was silent for a long moment, thoughtful. "Anger can be good," he finally said. It was the justification he used for keeping such a tight hold on his own. "Anger is what gets people to take action."

Scott looked at her for a long moment. "And you saved someone. That's not nothing."

"Poor Nick." Jean blinked hard. She knew Xavier would look out for him (she couldn't even conceive otherwise, in fact), but there wasn't much comfort to be found in that fact. "Do we know if he has any family?"

He swallowed, but let go of Jean's hand so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know," Scott admitted quietly. "I hope so."

Hell knew Scott wished he'd had family around when his parents had died.

"I think you're right about anger," Jean murmured, leaning against Scott's side. "I feel sick about the whole thing. But if this is what the Professor wants the X-Men for, to stop this from happening to other kids, it's the right thing to do."

He ran his thumb over the fabric of Jean's shirt, not with intent but almost unconsciously. "He wasn't the first," Scott agreed. "He won't be the last. But if we can save even one person..."

Well, it'd be worth doing. Even if they didn't always manage, it was worth trying. Someone had to.