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Down Under	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Het - Male/Female Views: 6656 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the various incarnations of the X-Men, or any characters appearing in any of their titles appearing herein. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
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Chapter 13: Changed for the Better

By the time Jean finished dressing, the invigorating scents of eggs and toast had wafted into the bathroom. Mouth watering, she breathed deeply to prepare herself to inform St. John that their tryst was over. He won’t mind, though, she thought, since he’s had plenty of these one-night stands. Right?

St. John smiled upon seeing her. ‘G’mornin’. Sleep well?’

Jean just shrugged, sitting at the kitchen bar. “Sadly, the hotel bed’s more comfortable. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

The Aussie considered the eggs and how they sizzled. ‘Bed’s a mite small for two,’ he admitted. ‘I’d no notion how ya liked yer eggs, so I scrambled ‘em.’

“That’s fine,” she replied, impressed that he’d bother to cook for a woman he might never see again. “And yes, that was a bad innuendo,” she added when she caught his amused thought to that effect.

St. John chuckled. ‘Sorry ‘bout that. I keep forgettin’ ya hear those.’

“Everyone does, even people who’ve known me for years.”

He glanced up at her. ‘Including this Scott bloke?’ When Jean blushed bright red, he added, ‘You kept moanin’ that name a bit before ya woke up.’

Jean bit her lip. “I… thought you were asleep. I guess I should’ve scanned to make sure.” Heaving a sigh, she continued, “Scott is my ex-husband. I was dreaming the memory of our wedding night.” She couldn’t stop the small smile from playing along her lips.

‘First time?’

“For both of us. I… I can’t begin to describe what happened.” She sighed again. “Magic, I guess.”

‘If it was fun for both of you, I think you’re in the minority,’ he told her earnestly. ‘So how’re ya feelin’? About that situation, I mean.’

Jean didn’t answer right away. The toaster ejected its payload, and she levitated the still-hot slices onto the plates St. John had set out. Meanwhile, her host scooped out the fluffy yellow eggs, waving his hand over them as they steamed, in an effort to cool them so they’d be edible sooner.

“To be honest, St. John,” Jean finally responded, “I think we, um, shouldn’t, y’know, sleep together again.”

His mouth quirked. ‘I thought yer bloke ran around on ya. I don’t mind helpin’ ya get revenge,’ he half-kidded.

Jean laughed and shook her head. “It wasn’t about that at all,” she assured him. Between bites of eggs she explained: “I only thought he was cheating. A mutual friend took Scott out on the town to encourage him to move on, since I was, as far as anyone knew, dead.” She swallowed the lump – metaphorical, not literal – that was forming in her throat.

“He’d gone to a concert – Dazzler, a mutant performer, if you’ve heard of her – and she’d taken a shine to Scott when he chased off some thugs harassing her.” She chuckled and shook her head again. “Scott’s always doing that kind of thing.”

‘Sounds like a hero complex,’ noted St. John. ‘He’ll get himself killed that way.’

Jean took another quick bite – toast this time, plain since the only condiment St. John placed on the table was that thrice-reviled vegemite, which smelled horrible as he spread it on his toast. “He’s a mutant, too, which helps. At any rate, I went looking for him at the club and saw another woman kissing him.”

‘Now I’m rememberin’ ya mention it before,’ St. John interrupted. ‘She kissed him, but he wanted none of it, right?’

Jean nodded. “That’s where I met Jason, an illusion-weaver who used his power to convince me to be with him.” She swallowed, fighting back her tears. “I wasn’t strong enough to resist him, and I’m not sure his predations weren’t purely mental.”

The Aussie shook his head sadly. ‘Not with predators like that, no.’

“Once that whole episode was over – once harsh words were said and I’d realized my mistake about Jason – the mutual friend explained the truth of the matter,” she continued. “I’ve felt guilty about how I acted ever since.”

St. John nodded, but said nothing. He busied himself with enjoying his breakfast. He seemed content to let her talk through her feelings.

The redhead sighed, pulling her thoughts back on-track. “Remembering that special night with Scott, and even telling you about him now, remind me of why I loved him.” She paused to correct herself: “Love him.”

St. John’s shoulders slumped. ‘Gonna rekindle the romance when ya return home from holiday, then?’

“Maybe. There’s still a lot of healing we both need before that happens.” Jean paused again, this time sensing something from him. “You’re upset,” she finally identified.

‘A bit,’ he admitted. ‘I’d thought to ask if ya wanted ta move here, ta Sydney, ta get away from yer life in New York for awhile longer – long enough ta heal.’

Jean blinked in shock. “I… you wanted me to move here? With you? To start over?” She stared at her half-empty plate. “I couldn’t. I’d have no job, no friends, culture shock…”

‘I know some folks,’ he countered half-heartedly. ‘The idea was half-cooked at best anyhow. But I like you and I like the fun we’ve had these last few days. You’re gorgeous, ya got good humour, ya like my poems; what’s not ta like?’

Jean smiled at his attempts to hide his disappointment, which she could easily sense radiating from him. “You’re a good man, St. John, with a lot to offer. I’d be glad to call you a friend, but I just can’t offer more than that, I’m afraid.”

They finished eating in silence. The toast was golden-brown, the perfect blend of crunchy and chewy. The eggs were perfectly scrambled and seasoned, presenting Jean’s palate with the appropriate fluffy texture and salty flavor, with just the slightest hint of Swiss cheese.

“I’m a little surprised,” Jean told him, “that you got attached so quickly.”

With a sheepish smile St. John answered, ‘That’s just how I am. I’ve never been good at one-night stands.’

“Oh.” Another silence ensued, shorter this time because Jean – a brilliant idea emerging from the mists of her mind – blurted, “Why don’t you move to New York and join the X-Men?”

St. John cocked his head to one side, a puzzled, quizzical expression on his face. Laughter burst suddenly from his lips. ‘That’s a riot, that is!’ he managed between spasms.

“I’m serious. My friend Hank would love to have someone to discuss literature with.”

The Aussie shook his head. ‘I doubt I’ve got hero in my blood.’

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Jean countered, thinking of Rogue, Gambit, and Wolverine.

‘I love my life, my career. If it’s discovered I’m a plundie, I could end up blacklisted from publishing.’ He shivered at the thought. ‘I’d rather be a stellar poet here than a middling hero in a foreign country.’

“I know it’s asking a lot,” Jean allowed, “but so was asking me to live here.”

St. John collected their dishes and put them in the sink. ‘My powers are shonky,’ he explained, frustration evident in his voice. ‘All I can do is control flames; I can’t generate the tiniest spark on my own.’

“We all work on control,” Jean assured him, “and some of us have discovered our powers, like us, are a lot stronger than we thought.”

‘Why would I want to play with fire?’ he replied, now leaving the kitchen to flop on his bed. ‘Fire burns, Jean; it destroys. My half-brother, if he’s the bloke you encountered as a villain, should be proof enough.’

Jean regarded him gently. She guessed he’d grown jaded and disillusioned about his powers, perhaps after an accident for which he blamed himself. She decided against prying, instead rebutting, “If properly controlled, fire can warm. Fire can light the way.”

The pyrokinetic lay silent. For a brief moment Jean hoped she’d convinced him. She couldn’t help but note the irony of the situation: she’d come to Australia to deal with the emotional fallout of her time with the Phoenix, and St. John had helped her quite a bit in that regard; but she was, conversely, helping St. John come to terms with his powers.

‘There’d be no point,’ he finally said, dashing her hopes, ‘you’d still be lost to me.’

“I’m afraid so,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

‘Me too, Jean. You’re one of a kind.’

Slowly Jean stood. “Thank you, St. John – not just for breakfast, but for everything.” She gave him a broad, sincere smile. “I… I should go now.”

St. John sat up and faced her. ‘I’d still be thrilled to guide you, if you’ll have me.’

Jean’s smile turned bittersweet. “Where I’m going, I won’t need a guide,” she answered cryptically.

St. John licked his lips and nodded. He read her intent, in all its awful finality. ‘I… I hope to see you again… next time I’m in New York.’ He stood to open the door for her, determined that he would show his quality, even if he wasn’t what she was looking for after all. ‘I look forward to meeting this Scott bloke,’ he said with a tight smile, admitting defeat.

“I’ll be sure to introduce you,” she promised.

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A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to seeing what you reviewers have to say. Your feedback has been exceedingly helpful over the course of this story, and I truly, truly appreciate them.
Once again, I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out - it could be next week, or it could be next month. It all depends on when and where I can sneak in the writing time, along with my overall level of burnt-out-ness. Until then, feel free to enjoy my other stories, especially if you haven't read them already; if you do, please review those as well, b/c any feedback on any story will help me progress as a writer.
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