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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 4: Crystal Ball

The phone rang, but no one answered.

Jean lay half-curled up on the hotel bed, almost but not quite in the fetal position. The hotel phone’s receiver nestled between her shoulder and ear as she twirled the spiral cord around her finger, feeling for all the world like a teenage girl. Indeed, the feeling sparked her memory – a memory of Jubilee in just this pose while on the phone with her foster parents, snapping her gum impatiently. Jean smiled warmly at the thought.

The phone rang again; still no one answered. Brow furrowed, Jean checked the time. Ten-thirty here, less fifteen hours, she calculated, makes seven-thirty in the morning there. A little early for a phone call, but only Jubilee sleeps past nine.

The phone rang once more. Revelation struck like lightning. Daylight savings, she realized, I can’t believe I forgot daylight savings! Jean grimaced and kicked herself for omitting something so important from her calculations. Praying that she hadn’t awakened anyone, she resolved to hang up and wait until tomorrow morning to try again.

Before she could so much as sit up, thought, a warm, familiar voice, just barely on the low end of tenor, came through the speaker: “Xavier Institute for Higher Learning; this is Scott Summers, assistant headmaster, speaking.”

Jean’s heart skipped a beat and her cheeks ignited, a horde of emotions stampeding through her all at once. Her breathing shallowed. Suddenly her voice abandoned her.

“Um, hello?” came Scott’s voiced confusion, his professional demeanor slipping marginally. Jean imagined him scratching his head, about to hang up.

Thus spurred into action, she stammered, “Scott! You answered.” Queen of the obvious, Jean Grey, she snarked to herself.

Silence came from the other end, but only briefly. “Jean? What is it?” he asked, his tone full of consternation. “What happened?”

Jean couldn’t fight her smile. He knew something was wrong, she marveled, just from the sound of my voice. “You… you’re up early, even for you,” she deflected, still working up the courage to talk to him, again feeling like a teenager. “Please tell me I didn’t wake you.”

On his end, Scott’s stomach churned. His instincts told him something was seriously amiss, but he decided to let his beloved broach the topic on her own terms. After all, he told himself, what’s love without trust? Aloud, he replied, “No, actually, you didn’t. I woke up on my own about a half-hour ago and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“I’m sorry about that, but I’m… kinda relieved. That I didn’t disturb you, I mean.” Real smooth, she chided herself. “Is anyone else up?”

“No… did you want to talk to someone else?” Despite his best efforts, Scott couldn’t quite keep the hurt – from the thought that she might not want to talk to him about what was bothering her – out of his voice.

“No! I just didn’t want anyone else to be up because I’m an idiot.” Despite her best efforts, Jean couldn’t quite keep the embarrassment out of her voice – not that she judged herself all that successful up to this point.

“Jean, you’re not an idiot,” he soothed.

Whereas most men might sound patronizing with that line, Jean mused, Scott is nothing if not sincere. “Thank you,” she said, “but I feel like one for forgetting the time difference – specifically, the extra hour due to daylight savings.” She sighed, twirling the phone cord around her finger again.

Scott smiled, imagining Jean lounging in her hotel room in her nightie, twirling the phone cord around her finger. “I didn’t know they had that in Australia,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“Some areas do; others don’t. Sydney happens to be in an area that does. Imagine if, say, New York did, but New Jersey didn’t.” Glad that she had opted not to jump right to her reason for calling, Jean began to relax. She knew she would have to broach the subject sooner or later, but, for now at least, this conversation was… comfortable for her.

“Sounds confusing,” Scott commented, his tone indicating that he judged the practice foolish. “You’d have to reset your watch every time you crossed the state border.”

“Luckily, I don’t plan on leaving the greater Sydney area,” she replied. “It’s… a true metropolis. Plenty of people, sights, culture.”

“It sounds like your kind of city, Jean.”

Chewing her lip, Jean hesitated. Though she’d left herself an opening to broach the topic of tonight, she was torn between maintaining this pleasant small-talk with her ex-husband and telling him about her misadventures, unsure how to tell him even if she wanted to. “It is,” she admitted, “for the most part. It’s, ah, a lot like New York.” Not just yet, she decided.

For his part, Scott wasn’t sure he liked where this was headed. “Is that so?” he hedged uncertainly. Please, Jean, he silently begged, unsure whether or not she could hear his thoughts at such distance, please tell me what’s troubling you. Don’t turn this into a chess match where I have to drag it out of you.

“The brochure even says so,” she added with a slightly-forced laugh.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” he told her, mostly meaning it. “I have a feeling this isn’t why you called, though.” Scott hoped such a bold move would pay off.

Jean couldn’t respond right away, so taken aback was she that Scott had cut right to the crux of the matter. “W-Well,” she stammered, “Sydney, Scott, like New York, has all kinds of people. And clubs – lots of clubs. I, ah, decided to try one out.”

The mental image of his beloved partying in a club – sweaty, possibly drunk, strange men’s hands all over her as she dances – might have filled Scott with jealousy, if it weren’t so incongruous with her usual entertainment preferences. He therefore refrained from response, so his brain could process Jean’s elaboration. Scott had been confused by plenty of things, especially over the past few months; never before, though, had he been confused by something so mundane.

Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, Jean forged ahead. “At this club, there were lots of people, including… including this guy named Gary.” Her eyes squeezed shut, both from the sour memory and from anticipating Scott’s reaction. She imagined him exploding into a fury the likes of which would impress even Logan.

No response came, however, which she took as a good sign. “We, um, danced together, laughed, talked. He was very polite, very flirtatious, very charming.”

A faint sports-car rumble sounded in Scott’s ear, as if coming from the Mansion garage. Still on the phone, he craned his head around the corner to see none other than Remy LeBeau walk in through the door leading to the garage. The Cajun whistled to himself and twirled his keys on his index finger, still clad in his one of his sharpest suits.

“Like Gambit?” Scott caught himself asking aloud. Feeling the need to justify his response, he added, “Who, ah, is also up, though I think because he has yet to go to bed.”

Jean giggled despite herself. “That’s our Cajun, all right.” More seriously, she added, “I guess that’s how Gary seemed, anyway. He recommended some wine for me, one of my favorites.” The terror of the moment returning in a rush, her voice softening, cracking as her eyes moistened with tears, she confessed: “He… he put something in my drink, Scott. I don’t know what, exactly.”

Only silence came from the receiver for a long, long moment. Finally Scott said, “If I start packing now, I can board the Blackbird in twenty minutes. At maximum speed, Australia’s only…” She could practically hear him crunching the numbers in his head, somewhat surprised that he hadn’t simply hung up and sprung into action.

Touched by his first instinct to charge to her rescue, Jean interrupted his calculations by merely calling his name. “I’m okay,” she assured him – and herself, feeling the weight lift from her, now that she’d told someone about the encounter. “I’m okay,” she repeated for emphasis. “I… I had a feeling something wasn’t right, so I read his mind, saw what he was planning, and bolted.”

Scott slumped against the wall with relief. “Jean,” he murmured, not entirely trusting his voice not to crack, “are you… are you sure you don’t want me to fly there and pick you up?”

Though she knew he couldn’t see her, Jean shook her head, loosening the errant red strand again. “No, there’s still so much here to see. I can take care of myself, Scott.” Wincing at how harsh she’d come across just then, she added, “Besides, I still owe Beast a postcard.”

Her words softened the blow enough that Scott could manage a chuckle. Not for the first time in their relationship, he kicked himself for letting his knight-in-shining-armor complex impact on Jean’s independent spirit – one of the legion of traits he loved about her. “The Opera House?” he guessed.

“That’s our Hank.”

Despite her rejection of Scott’s offer, he nonetheless made her feel truly appreciated, valued, treasured. Part of me would love for him to come here; even if he didn’t take me home, he could stay and we could share this vacation.

“You sure you don’t want me to prep the Blackbird?” queried Scott, as though he, not she, were the telepath.

Chewing her lip again as she chewed over the million-dollar question, Jean sighed. Long moments passed in silence. Scott licked his lips, wishing that his phone were a cordless model so he could already start packing.

“Scott, you remember why I took this vacation. After everything I’ve been through, I need some time, some space, to heal, to find myself,” she reminded him. Maybe I’m really reminding myself at this point, she theorized.

He grimaced, remembering that conversation all too well. In light of the strain of the whole Phoenix saga on their marriage – one presumed death and resurrection, another confirmed – they had discussed their future together. While they still had feelings for one another, death had voided their marriage. Within days of moving back into her old room – despite his preference that they share a bed, literally if not figuratively – she told him about this largely-unplanned vacation. The idea rankled him to no end, and not merely because he was a stickler for planning; but, for Jean, he held his peace. He had even driven her to the airport, to give her his tacit blessing.

Jean pursed her lips. Scott, she knew, had wanted so badly to simply revert to how life had been before – before the loss, before the loneliness, before the Phoenix. She knew he didn’t mean to pressure, didn’t intend to smother; but she could not pretend that nothing had changed. Deep down, she hoped her temporary absence – as opposed to what had seemed like a permanent one when she died – would help him heal as well.

Bitter taste on his tongue, Scott croaked, “I know. I look forward to… to your return.” He’d wanted to say ‘to having you back.’ I’m trying, Jean, really I am.

“Do you, um, want a souvenir?” asked the moved young woman. He really is trying to respect my wishes, isn’t he? I know it’s hard, Scott, but I think this is our best chance.

“Nothing comes to mind,” he replied. Still feeling knightly, he offered, “If you get too homesick, or whatnot… you know I’m just a phone call away.”

Jean smiled warmly. Fleetingly she wished he were there with her so she could squeeze his hand or even kiss his cheek. “I know, Scott. Honestly, knowing you’ll be wherever I need you makes this that much easier.”

He ran a hand through his hair, answering, “Wherever, whenever, whyever.” Even if that means a world apart right now, because you need space.

“Thanks, Scott. I… I’d better turn in; I have a fun-filled day of sightseeing ahead.”

“No more nightclubs?”

“Not a chance.”

“No more random Aussies?” Scott appended, a note of jealousy in his tone.

“Doubtful, but no promises,” Jean replied impishly. She could imagine the color draining from his face.

All color departed Scott’s face when he heard her say that. “Please be careful,” he pleaded.

“I will.”

“I love you.” Scott clapped his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say it; he supposed it had slipped out via force of habit when talking to her. They had been in love a long time before their wedding last summer.

This time silence came from Jean, frozen in shock as she was. Her heart had leapt into her throat when she heard him say those words. She managed to return her heart to its appropriate spot by swallowing forcefully.

Knowing he hadn’t meant to say those words, knowing she couldn’t yet respond in kind, knowing she would hurt him, she whispered, “Good night, Scott,” and hung up the phone.
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