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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
- 13
- 14
Chapter 14: No Place Like Home

The flight from Sydney’s Kingsford-Smith Airport directly to JFK International seemed interminable to the anxious Jean Grey. At multiple points during the nearly-day-long direct flight she grumbled about her own folly and the earth’s circumference in equal measure. By the time the plane landed, she felt utterly exhausted, even weary to the bone, and it took every erg of her stamina to shut out the press of the throng milling about one of the world’s busiest airports.

Navigating through the terminal, Jean could hardly believe she was only two days removed from her Australian adventure – an adventure she should, according to her original plans, still be enjoying. After leaving St. John’s, though, she’d felt compelled to return home with all haste, so she phoned the Professor to ask if he’d arrange things with the airline. Within the hour he’d contacted her via Cerebro to give her the information regarding her new flight, adding that he’d send someone to pick her up. She’d spent the remainder of that day at one of Sydney’s numerous municipal parks, worrying about her eventual encounter with her ex-husband.

Jean spotted her bags exiting the baggage terminal, focusing on them so she wouldn’t lose them in the crowd. She jostled her way to them; but, when she reached for them, her hand overlapped that of the gentleman beside her. Turning toward him, she put on her most polite smile and said, “Excuse me, sir, but these are my bags.”

Her eyes widened when she saw her reflection in a familiar pair of ruby-quartz lenses. “I know,” he replied evenly, a soft smile on his lips. “I was hoping to have them already waiting in the car for you.”

Jean licked her lips as realization set in, that her eventual encounter would be less eventual than she’d hoped. “Scott! You surprised me,” she admitted. “I’d expected the Professor, or maybe Ororo.”

Scott’s jaw clenched slightly for a brief moment, the only sign of anxiety against his otherwise calm demeanor. “I… I hope it’s a good surprise. May I get your bags?” he offered gallantly.

Jean nodded, both to Scott’s explicit question and to his implied one, and moved her hand away. Warmth flooded her cheeks, in part from that moment of contact and in part from chagrin. “I really should’ve known,” she said aloud, as much to herself as to him, “that you’d come, that it’d be you to take me home.”

As if he could tell there was more to her statement than was said, Scott’s brow furrowed as he hefted the two heaviest pieces of Jean’s luggage. “We can talk in the car, if you want,” he replied. “If not, I’ll understand.” He offered a brave smile.

Jean smiled back and lifted the remainder of her luggage. “I appreciate it,” she told him as they plowed through the crowd, “all of it – coming to the airport, carrying my bags, leaving me a few pieces so I won’t feel coddled.” She surprised both of them by laughing lightly. “You’re making a great first impression,” she teased.

They soon reached Scott’s sporty red convertible – a wedding gift to them from the Professor – and stashed the suitcases in the trunk. Ever the gentleman, Scott opened the door for her. The engine positively purred when Scott started it, and Jean smirked to herself, the rather naughty thought, I can certainly sympathize, running through her mind.

“I’m surprised you didn’t sense me the moment you landed,” Scott observed nonchalantly.

“With that many people around, I have to keep my psychic shields airtight,” she reminded him. “I had some difficulties after the flight to Sydney.” Jean sighed.

“Nothing too serious, I hope,” he replied, picturing her crumpled on the floor, clutching her head, begging the voices to stop.

“Not quite, but I had to endure some oglers,” she answered. As they drove further out into the countryside of Westchester County, Jean relaxed her mental shields and found herself reattuning with the undercurrents of Scott’s psyche. She noticed most strongly his worry for her well-being.

“I notice you’re, ah, back early,” he stated, his tone tentative, inquisitive.

Jean stared through the windshield at the road ahead. “Australia had a lot to offer,” she finally responded, “but home is where my heart is.”

“Your… heart?” The feelings of elation, of hope, were palpable.

“Those dearest to me, those whom I love,” she began, not entirely wanting to deflate him yet not wanting to encourage him overmuch, “are here in New York. Australia was an escape, a much-needed break; but I decided that the sooner I begin rebuilding my life here, the better it would be – for everyone.”

The wistful tone of her voice at the end tipped Scott off immediately. “Did you have more flashbacks?” he queried, bracing himself. Little did he know that no amount of bracing could prepare him for Jean’s coming revelations.

“Several, actually,” she admitted, “most revolving around my time as the Phoenix, of course.” Nervously she tugged at her ponytail. “One was… from a different incident, but I’ll, ah, tell you about it later.”

Scott didn’t respond right away, and Jean took the opportunity to forge ahead. “Otherwise, Sydney was lovely – a bustling metropolis, with all that implies.”

“You didn’t have any more near-misses with creeps, I hope.”

Jean shook her head. “The poet I met was a grand slam, though,” she elaborated. “If he were here,” she continued, turning to face him, “he’d even help put it into a cricket metaphor.”

Scott half-glanced over but kept his eyes affixed to the developing traffic patterns ahead. “Jean… what are you saying?”

The way he asked that question hit Jean right in the gut – he spoke so quietly, his need to know audibly clashing with fear of the same. Truth time, she encouraged herself, no more evasions. That sort of cowardice is what instigated everything anyway.

“I met one St. John Allerdyce,” she murmured, trembling with cold anticipation. “He’s a poet of some note in Sydney, and a mutant, as it turns out.”

Scott gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “I swear, if he used illusions or telepathy to… to take advantage of you, I’ll… I’ll…” His threat seemed to sputter, as though he couldn’t devise one that wouldn’t result in murder.

Gently Jean reached over to touch his arm, well-muscled where it protruded from his short sleeves, to calm him. She sensed him fighting back his knight-in-shining-armor complex. “No, nothing like that,” she assured him, her voice soft, soothing. “He could control flame, much like Magneto controls metal.”

“Like the one in Washington, party to the assassination attempt on Senator Kelly?” he asked, slowly relaxing, hoping the goosebumps on his arm didn’t betray his sheer joy at her touch.

Jean laughed. “That man may be St. John’s half-brother. He told me he had a rotten half-brother, and I thought St. John rather resembled that Pyro maniac.”

Scott couldn’t help but laugh himself. “That’s quite a coincidence. Small world, huh?”

Jean pulled her hand back slowly. “I checked, too. They weren’t the same man, unless he had telepathic memory tampering too subtle for me to detect.” She twiddled her thumbs a bit. “Even so, enough telepathic tampering to impart that much wit and charm would have shown up.”

“Charming, Pyro wasn’t,” Scott agreed.

“I met St. John at one of his readings. We went to the beach.” Here Jean cleared her throat and clarified, “A clothing-optional one, but I took the option.”

Scott simply shook his head. “Don’t worry; I know how modest you are.”

“He stayed clothed too, by the way. He didn’t want to freak me out after we just met.” Jean sighed, knowing she was defending her Aussie fling, but she refused to regret it. “He also joined me for an open-mic poetry reading to support me.”

Scott’s brow furrowed, and he’d have stared at her slack-jawed if he hadn’t been driving. “You actually wrote a poem to read? Could I read it later?”

The redhead couldn’t have stopped the giggle even if she’d tried. “Sure, I guess, if you want. I still think it’s terrible, but St. John seemed to like it. You’ll probably tell me so, too.” She mock-sighed dramatically, “Honest critique is so hard to find these days for the serious artiste.”

Both laughed at that. A comfortable silence settled in, one which Jean was loath to break. She fiddled with her hair-tie again, slowly collecting the courage to tell Scott the rest, the part he wouldn’t like, the part she’d sworn not to hide or regret.

Unwittingly, perhaps, Scott pre-empted her: “It sounds like you were having a blast… so why did you leave early?”

Jean took a deep breath. The moment of truth, she realized, for me, and for him. Licking her suddenly-dry lips, she began in a soft tone: “St. John and I… we, um, we… we had sex. It was just a fling, a one-night stand.”

Before her chauffeur could respond, though, she continued, the words spilling out of her. “I did it for a lot of reasons. I’d never had sex just for fun before, y’know? For love, for revenge – though I know I wasn’t myself, not fully – but never just for kicks.” Jean sighed. “I guess dying made me want to live a bit more spontaneously.”

Scott said nothing, but Jean couldn’t miss the sensation of utter shock he was feeling, spiced with a dash of anger, a hint of jealousy, and a pinch of nausea. “It was a mistake, though,” she assured him, “and I realized it quickly, which is why I came back early.” Jean looked out the window, unable to face her ex-husband just now – though the act of telling him the truth did feel oddly freeing.

“What made it such a mistake?” he asked, surprising her into turning toward him. A study of his profile yielded insight: Scott was still processing, willing to hear her out, tightly controlling his emotions. Never more thankful for that particular character trait of his, Jean smiled.

“Part of me wanted pleasure, but that was the only part that got satisfied,” she answered quietly. “The part that missed… intimacy… went unfulfilled.” Jean snorted. “I didn’t even kiss him.”

“You slept with him, but you didn’t kiss him?” he asked, confused and somewhat incredulous.

Jean nodded. “I don’t really get it, either, but there it is. I guess kissing just had an emotional significance that my libido didn’t care about.” She shrugged.

Scott’s mouth quirked. “I, um, hope you, um, used protection. I don’t think the FDA has tested how resurrection from the dead interferes with your birth control pills.” He half-laughed, though it sounded more like a strained cough.

Jean also half-laughed. “I did – another barrier to intimacy, I guess.” She shook her head, another realization dawning. “I felt a strange psychic pressure during the, um, festivities,” she explained, “which I think was a failed attempt to – what to call it? – to link, to fuse, like we did.”

Scott kept a good poker face, but she could tell he was thinking of the various times they’d engaged in “festivities” and the psychic linkage that occurred. “I’m glad to hear that I’m the only one you’ve experienced that with.” He paused thoughtfully before asking, “Is that selfish?”

Jean smiled warmly. “Not at all,” she replied, emotions starting to simmer within her. “In fact, that night, our honeymoon, was the other flashback I had. It showed me what I was looking for, something I couldn’t find elsewhere.”

The redhead sniffled softly, suddenly overcome. “I mean, how could I hope for intimacy with a man I can’t even tell the whole truth to? I couldn’t tell him much about the X-Men; I couldn’t tell him about the Phoenix; I couldn’t explain Mastermind, not really; I couldn’t tell him about what happened to our marriage.”

“C’mon, Jean, that’s not fair,” Scott replied. “How can you expect to explain to anyone who wasn’t with us that you were possessed by a cosmic entity, or that you were raised from the dead? This St. John guy would’ve thought you were crazy.”

“True,” she conceded, “but I think that’s the point. I don’t think I can share my life with anyone else, Scott.” Jean darted in to give him a peck on the cheek.

Scott swallowed the lump in his throat. Those were words he’d wanted to hear from her ever since she’d returned from disposing of the M’Kraan crystal. Before he could respond aloud, though, Jean added, “St. John declined my offer to join us here in New York, claiming he was no hero, preferring his life as a poet.”

“Nothing wrong with that, I guess,” Scott replied, feeling a distinct sense of relief that he wouldn’t have to compete with anyone for Jean’s affections. The Mansion gates opened at their approach. Scott guided the convertible towards the above-ground garage.

Jean leaned towards him to murmur in his ear. “I’m a hero, though. It’s who I am as a woman. I’m holding out for a hero.” She smiled at her reference and at Scott’s shiver. The telepath could sense that he, like no one else she’d ever met, was up to the challenge.

Scott parked, and they unloaded her bags. While they still had a few moments – Jean sensed the others gathering for a cobbled-together “Welcome Back” party – she apologized. “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you, Scott.”

He licked his lips. “It does, Jean,” he admitted. “Technically, I know I have no right to be hurt, since our marriage was ended by death. I can’t help the way I feel, though I’ll try to be a hero and forgive. Heroes forgive, right?” He smiled lopsidedly.

Jean beamed at him. “Under my definition they do.”

Scott nodded. “I understand if you still need some time, or space.”

“Based on what I remember from my time with the Phoenix, I’m qualified to say that they’re the same thing, really,” she told him with a wink. More seriously, she added, “Thank you, Scott. When I’m ready to try ‘us’ again, you’ll be the first to know.”

Scott led the way to the door. “It’s good to have you back, Jean. I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you.” Implied was how much he, personally, had missed her. Jean didn’t need telepathy to detect that.

The door opened, and Jean stepped through. She soaked in the moment. Home, she mused, there’s no place like it.
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A/N: And there we have it - The end! I hope everyone's enjoyed this story, and I look forward to your reviews. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far; your feedback has been most appreciated.
My rather lengthier author's note explaining how this story came to be has been moved to the forums: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/26889-down-under/ .
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