First Among Eauals

Disclaimer:  All characters belong to Marvel Comics and are used for entertainment purposes only and without financial gain.

Notes:  This is a Scott and Jean Summers story.  (Wait!!!  Don't go!!!) Let me explain, I wrote this in response to an interesting challenge that someone posted in Kielle's dreambook about wanting a story where Scott was portrayed fairly.  I hope I suceeded, because frankly, Marvel uses these two potentially great characters as Ken and Barbie stock pieces.  This takes place directly after the Onslaught saga the day before we get the "breakfast scene in the cottage".  Sorry, I currently don't have access to the issue number.  Marvel has been talking about letting them leave the team for awhile, which for once, is a realistic character development.

"Honey, move over please."  Jean Grey-Summers looked forlornly at the tangle of arms and legs that made up her husband of nearly two years. There was no response from the lanky form.  She sighed and tried to make a place for herself on the edge of the queen-sized bed that filled up most of their bedroom in the lakeside cottage.  Jean was physically and mentally exhausted, but unlike her husband, extensive use of her powers left her jittery and awake.  Scott slept like the dead.

 *Honey?*

 Again, no response.  Scott would probably sleep until noon tomorrow if left alone.

 Reluctantly, Jean wedged herself against her husband's warm back and tried to relax.  She sent out a gentle telepathic probe over the grounds of the Xavier Institute, or more accurately, what was left of the Xavier Institute.  The X-Men had returned from the disaster in New York to a gutted mansion.  For this one night, no one commented, no one spoke of rebuilding. They just found a warm place to sleep and tried to recuperate.  People thought mutant powers were all-consuming - when the sad reality was that a battle like the one they had just experienced had drained them to the burn-out point.

 "Um, guys?"  Bobby Drake whispered into the darkened room.

 "Bobby?  What's wrong?"  Jean glanced at the clock.  5:12am.

 Bobby blushed slightly, backed by the soft glow of the hall light. "It's starting to rain.  Beast and I thought we should tarp the exposed areas of the mansion before further damage occurs."

 "Have everyone move into the living room, where ever they can find a place."  Scott's deep voice floated up from inside a pillow.

"Honey, go back to sleep.  I'll take care of this."  Jean fumbled for her dressing gown on the floor.

 Bobby brushed his hand through his sandy blond hair.  "Jeez, guys, I'm sorry.  Ro's so tired she can barely move, I couldn't ask her to get us better weather."

 "I don't want anyone using powers."  Scott stood up shakily and looked around for his jeans.  "There should be tarp in the shed.  I'll be down in a minute."

 Jean watched him in frustration as Bobby left the room.  "Scott, go back to bed.  You can barely stand."

 "We need to put in a call to the local construction company.  Without powers, this is going to be a huge job."

 *Don't ignore me.*  He was deliberately blocking her, and frankly, she was too tired to push.  She stared balefully at his back, the ambient full of {{angry wife}}, as he slid on the pale blue windbreaker she had given him for Christmas.

 "Go back to bed.  I'll only be an hour or so."

 *No, you won't.*

 He was still ignoring her.
 
 

 "My God, Robert.  We've just unearthed the greatest find since the tomb of King Tut."

 Bobby Drake craned his neck over a furry blue shoulder and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the musty shed.  "Find the tarp?" he asked.

 "Heavens, no.  There's a secret stash of Twinkies back here." replied the owner of the blue fur in question.

 "Hot damn.  Breakfast is served.  Pass 'em up, Big Blue."

 Hank McCoy pulled up several packages of spongy yellow cakes wrapped in plastic.  "The greatest chemical composition of our century.  These shall outlast Apocalypse."

 "All we need is the Mountain Dew."  Bobby took a package from his best friend and ripped into it with gusto.

 "I thought LeBeau was our resident thief," spoke the low voice from the doorway.

 The guilty conspirators turned to see Scott Summers framed under the weak glow of the single lightbulb.  Bobby smiled.  "You been holding out on us, Scott-my-man?"

 Scott returned the smile ruefully.  "Actually, I had forgotten those things were back there.  I didn't dare bring them into the house - Jean resents my metabolism enough as it is."

 "Well, never let it be said that the esteemed Dr. McCoy would pilfer empty calories from a friend.  Care to join us?" queried Hank.

 "I'll pass.  And guys?"  Scott turned to leave.  "The tarp."
 

 Even the cold light of dawn couldn't manage to penetrate the gathering storm clouds.  Unable to sleep, Jean shrugged into a sweatshirt and padded downstairs.  On her left she passed the tiny guestroom.  Guiltily, she left the room undisturbed - she didn't feel up to dealing with Pietro's grief this morning, best to let him try and sleep.

 Moving through the darkened kitchen, she nearly bumped into Rogue. "Ya okay, sugah?" the younger woman asked.

 "I'm fine," she snapped - and instantly regretted the hurt and puzzled look on Rogue's face.  "Sorry.  I'm not a morning person."

 "No need to apologize, hon.  You going out to join the boys?"

 "Huh?"

 "Scott and Bobby are tarping the lower levels.  They look like a couple of drowned rats." Rogue's smile faded as she caught Jean's stormy look.  "Something wrong?"

 "Nothing at all, he can catch pneumonia for all I care.  Have you seen Logan or the Professor?"

 Rogue grimaced, the professor was something of a tender subject around the guesthouse.  "I....I think he went back to what's left of his study.  And ain't nobody seen Wolverine."

 "Is something wrong?"  A new person appeared in the kitchen doorway.

 Jean caught Rogue's sudden protective stare and tried hard to keep her voice modulated.  "Nothing at all, Joseph.  Please, help yourself to breakfast."  Offering the hospitality of her home to the Master of Magnetism was a  new and not altogether pleasant experience.  "Joseph, I don't wish to sound awkward, but I'd appreciate it if you stayed away from the mansion grounds for now - we still have sensitive materials around and I'd prefer if you and the professor didn't have any interaction for the time being."

 "Jean, Ah hardly think..." Rogue began hotly.

 Joseph interrupted.  "Please don't worry Mrs. Summers.  Your husband has already laid down 'the ground rules'."

 "And?"  She wished it sounded less challenging than it did.

 "They possibly make sense.  I'm not sure how stable our mental separation really is, unless of course, you can tell better than I."

 Rogue shot her a worried look and she smiled back at her friend.  "I don't think that will be a problem. I just think it's wise to hedge our bets right now."

 Joseph nodded in agreement as Rogue took him aside.  Jean shook her head at the strange pairing.  Just as long as Rogue could keep him out of everyone's hair.  She grabbed a raincoat from the back of the hall closet and stepped out into the unseasonably cold morning rain.  It took her a few minutes to locate Scott and Bobby working around the backside of the mansion.  "I thought we were going to have a construction company take care of this."

 Scott's response was equally sharp.  "We were.  I called the hotline in the yellow pages.  Apparently they feel they have the right to refuse service."

 "So, what, are you going to put this house back together with your own two hands?"

 Bobby peeked out from behind a girder.  "Um, hello.  What am I - the Invisible Woman?"

 Scott never took his glare off his wife. "Well, Robert, since she's dead now I guess the position is open."

 "Okaaay.  I'm going in to get a cup of coffee.  You kids have fun."  Bobby pulled his jacket over his head a walked off toward the cottage.

 "Nice."

 "I'll apologize later.  And to answer your earlier question, I'm out here because I couldn't find any other volunteers."

 Jean crossed her arms against the cold and his mood.  "Right.  Of course.  And since you so tactfully brought it up, we suffered some significant casualties yesterday.  What are we going to do about Pietro?"

 "Are you passing this one off to me?"

 "I can't be responsible for handling every issue that actually requires empathy.  It's not a mutant power, Scott.  Believe it or not, most humans are supposed to have it."

 Scott's glasses were dark in the rain.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

 "Figure it out."  Jean deliberately ignored the mental connection between them.  It was vibrating with a thousand different emotions, none which she felt like processing.  God, he just made her so........angry.

 She almost turned back when she found the professor.  He was sitting in his wheelchair in the torn remains of the study, barely covered from the rainfall.  "Professor Xavier?" she called out tentively.

 "If you don't mind, Jean.  I'd like some privacy." he replied quietly.

 She really didn't want to be here.  The Onslaught issue had brought up some terrible things about Xavier that she really didn't want to acknowledge.  Telepaths were supposed to be able to deal with the dark side of human nature, but his buried feelings for her made her uncomfortable and defensive.  "Scott and I would really feel better if you came inside."

 "Scott?  I only see you.  Or has my eyesight suffered the same death as my mind?"

 "He's busy trying to protect the mansion from water damage.  No one will come out to help us, I think New York has finally expired our good will in this town."  For a minute, it felt like old times.  Since she was fifteen she had come to this study to pour out her anxieties to his patient ear.

 "Yes, well, I am now hardly the one to allay their fears, am I?  Scott will decide what to do."

 Jean could feel the tears welling in the back of her eyes.  "No, he won't.  Professor, he's exhausted, we all are.  He's out there all alone trying to do an impossible job and I'm looking for a little guidance."

 "I don't have any to give you, Jean.  You and Scott will have to lead the team as you see fit.  I don't expect any less."

 Maybe he thought that would be comforting.  It just made the tears come faster.  "That's how its always been hasn't it?  We were just kids and we were responsible for everything!"

 Xavier arched a tired eyebrow.  "Where is this coming from?"

 "Maybe it's my turn to show how I really feel, you're not the only one who gets that luxury!  You put everything on Scott, made him feel like he was only worth something if he lived up to your impossible expectations.  And I ended up as some kind of demented den mother because he was so busy trying to be a leader!"

 "I think that was his choice, don't you?"

 "No I don't.  You took two scared teenagers that had nowhere else to go and made us fight your war.  No one else takes the responsibilities that we do, no one else takes the blame."

 Xavier sighed.  "I assure you, Jean, I take the blame.  For everything.  But you and Scott were my first, and still my most capable children.  I still have yet to have a student that compares to your abilities."

 "It doesn't help."

 "No, it probably doesn't.  But you have to know how proud I am of both of you, the way you both care for the X-Men."

 "Maybe its time my marriage came first.  Maybe its time Scott came first."

 "What do you intend to do?" he asked.

 But Jean had already left.

 Scott was waiting for her outside the cottage.  "How's the professor?"

 "God only knows." she replied sharply.

 Scott grabbed her arm impulsively.  "I need your help.  I don't know how to handle this."

 The connection had suddenly reopened between them.  She looked up at him inquiringly.  "Handle what?"

 He shoved his hands back in his pockets, leaning up against the wall out of the rain.  "Every......everytime I think about going in there to talk to Pietro I lock up.  I think back to how it felt to lose you......how can I tell someone it's going to be all right when I know that's the worst lie I could say?"

 "You don't need to tell him that it's going to be all right.  Just tell him we're here for him, that we love him."

 "I'm not sure I can do that."

 "No one loves harder than you - and I think I'm qualified to make that statement."

 That coaxed a smile from him.  "Even if I love the wrong way?"

 "There isn't a wrong way, only better ways.  Stop working so hard and just let be."

 "You still mad?"

 "Only if you go back out there alone."

 He touched her face.  *I'm never alone*.

 She smiled. *Never.  But maybe it's time we were alone together.  Understand?*

 *More than you think*.

Alexandra Nigro has a total of eight X-Men fanfics on my page. She aslo has others of other topics. Email her to let her know what you think. Or, visit her homepage, Alexndra's Apothecary, and tell her what you think of that.