Shadow King: Don't Stop Believein'

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Curiosity about her future life takes hold of Jeannie, and she and Scott get to talking... right before the world goes sideways again.



If she'd been asked what she was doing up on the staff level she'd have come up with some story, plausible or otherwise, possibly involving asking about classes that she might want to take. Chances were good, though, Jeannie knew, that anyone asking would be able to see right through her, particularly as she was pretty crap at lying. Thus, it was lucky that no one asked.

In truth, Jeannie was really just up here because she was bored. Well, bored and curious, but she was trying to stifle the curiosity - she didn't really know how to deal with being curious about the guy she supposedly married, particularly not when he was older than dirt. Playing M.A.S.H. was one thing, but being told 'hi, I'm your husband from the future except it's the past', well that was just bound to give a girl a headache. None of which stopped her from wanting to know more. Thus she found herself outside the door to his room (and how weird was it that she almost had something she could be thankful to the crazy blonde lady, that she knew where Mr. Summers' room was?) contemplating how to proceed. It took her almost a full minute to work up the gumption to knock, and when she did it was the world's smallest knock. It would be a miracle if he heard it. If he was even inside. The called out "Mr. Summers?" was, if anything, even quieter. So it was a wonder, then, that she managed to find the courage to turn the doorknob and slip inside. Hey, she'd knocked and called. Clearly he wasn't in.

Which, oddly enough, proved to be true. Jeannie found herself inside the suite that, supposedly, was her own, at some time when she thought she was the age she looked. She stood and stared about a few moments before her damned curiosity overtook her again. The bookshelves got a cursory examination - engineering texts and novels all neatly stored and clearly organized, while the shelf covered with medical texts... Well, if there was a sorting system going on, Jean didn't understand it. There were a whole bunch of little knick-knacks scattered about; most of them looked like they had stories to them - the sort of room decorations Jeannie always dreamed of having some day - but she didn't know what the stories were, and that was kind of depressing. The kitchen was almost scary clean; the stovetop practically gleamed, and even Jeannie's mother didn't work that hard. It was the living area, though, that was the most interesting, or rather a corner of it. Most of it was more of the same - the couch and chairs looked comfortable and it was clearly a space people actually lived in, but for all of that it was a little too neat and tidy, and the desk against the wall was exactly the same, all the papers squared off and the books stacked perfectly. The little end table next to the couch, though... In comparison it was total chaos - books piled haphazardly and what were clearly important papers being used as bookmarks and coasters. The little grey computer (and it had taken one of the kids at the school almost a quarter of an hour the other day to convince Jeannie that those things really were computers) was open and when Jean tentatively touched the 'mouse' it sprang to life, and Jean couldn't tell if the feeling like she should know all about this was real or if it was something that the people at the school had given her. Was there really something familiar about this place, or did she just want it to be?

Her musings were interrupted, though, with a startling and imperious "Mroow" and Jeannie jumped, spinning about to see a little black cat regarding her intently. "Oh! Aren't you sweet." Leaning down she offered the cat her hand to sniff.

Des gave her a long, suspicious look. The cat was clearly aware that there was something amiss. Rarely did Jean talk to her in such friendly tones, after all, and that was even setting aside how odd she looked. Des ignored the hand and jumped onto the table, walking quite deliberately onto the computer's keyboard and flopping down into a sprawl.

"Aw, kitty, don't you like me?" Jeannie asked, making little clucking noises. Although thinking about the question did give her pause - surely if this was her suite then this was her cat, right? So why was she ignoring Jean? "So what's your name? Surely nothing stupid like 'blackie', right? Please tell me I grow up and have some better taste..." Not that she expected the cat to answer, but this place was weird enough she might well do.

"Her name is Desdemona," came Scott's voice from the door. He watched the two of them with a carefully neutral expression, marred only by the slight upward tug of his lips. "My cat, actually. Or I'm her human. The two of you don't actually get along all that well."

Jeannie started at his voice, head whipping around to see Mr. Summers watching her as she hid her hands behind her back in a very clear 'I'm not touching anything, really, sir!' type move. "Oh. Um. I'm sorry. I knocked." And then barged in, and she was in so much trouble...

"Jean, whether you remember it or not, this is where you live. I mean, I'm glad you knocked - given the situation, walking in might have been awkward, but you don't have to apologize." Scott came over and picked up the cat, who promptly snuggled into the crook of his arm, purring and giving Jean a thoroughly malicious look through narrowed eyes. "Is... anything helping you remember?" he asked after a moment, hesitantly. He was tired and more than frustrated. None of the specialists he or Moira had contacted had been able to offer any insight.

She shrugged slightly. "I dunno. I mean, I don't remember anything specific, or anything..." Which was a highly weird and uncomfortable topic, and the cat could hopefully provide an excellent distraction. "So, she doesn't like me? Looks like she'd try to bite me if I pet her."

"She... arrived while you were away for a few months, last year." Scott scratched Des behind her ears. "The two of you got a little competitive. She ate your shoes. You kept shutting her out of the bedroom when she wouldn't stop jumping on your head..."

Jeannie's eyes widened slightly and her gaze slid for a moment towards the room she had very decidedly not investigated before snapping back to him and doing her damnedest not to blush. "Ate my shoes, huh? I've seen the shoes I wore - she's right to eat them. I grew up to have terrible taste," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and revealing some frightfully large, dangley earrings.

Scott looked mildly amused. "Remember, fashions have changed over the last decade or so... what looks unfashionable to you, looks just fine to the eye from 2008." It was a lot easier to stick to frivolous conversation like this. Preserved the surreality, rather than bringing up the worry.

"2008... wow. I totally missed my chance to party like it was 1999, didn't I? I don't think I approve of this whole new millennium thing." Jeannie could do frivolous.

"1999 was seriously overrated." Except that it hadn't been. At all. Some very nice things had happened that year, and Scott bit back a sigh, letting Des down and going over to the kitchenette. There was a spot of something on the countertop, and he picked up the rag, scrubbing at it.

There was totally nothing there, but Jeannie shrugged as Mr. Summers went to putter in the kitchen and focused on the cat, who was staring right back. "I didn't mean to intrude," she said, not looking at him. "I can get out of your way or whatever, if you want." No matter what he said about her living here, it was just weird and she was pretty sure she made him uncomfortable. Which was fair enough, since he kind of made her jumpy, too.

Scott looked up sharply. "No - I mean, not unless you want to," he said. If there was any chance at all that being around the suite might help jog something, like hell was he asking her to leave.

Jeannie shrugged again, tucking her hands into her pockets to keep from trying to pet the cat (who seriously looked like she'd bite Jean if she tried it). "Don't really have anything to do - no homework to do, nothing good on TV and most all the kids are older than me, or I'm older than them, or whatever. She glanced around the room, her eyes falling again on a couple of the knick-knacks. "Can you tell me about these," she asked, moving to peer at them again. "They look like they have stories..."

Harder for her than for me, Scott reminded himself resolutely, then inclined his head at the delicate tagua carving of a hummingbird. "You bought that," he said, "in Quito, when we were on our honeymoon. You liked it so much you didn't even barter with the shop owner."

She was about to ask 'where's Quito' but cut herself off - it was the tone, really. He didn't talk like he was just recounting facts out of a book. These were memories for him, important ones. Things she'd just... lost. "When was that?" she asked after a moment, voice quiet.

"June 2006," Scott said immediately. "That's not when we got married. We... well, we had things happen, that meant that we had to put off the honeymoon for a while." He cracked a very slight smile. "We only got married when we did because we eloped at the last minute."

"Eloped, huh?" Settling on the arm of one of the chairs she pulled a leg up to wrap an arm around her knee. "Sounds... romantic, I guess. Bet my mom wasn't happy." Jeannie grinned at that.

Scott coughed to cover a smile. "I think she forgave us eventually. Mostly. She'd been driving you nuts with some of her input into the original wedding plans..."

"What about your mom? Was she mad, too?"

"My parents died a long time ago," Scott said, "when I was young. But," he said more briskly, "we eloped in Alaska, when we were at my grandparents. They were thrilled."

Jeannie winced slightly and said, "Oh. I'm sorry." She paused a second, then added, "I should know all this... I'm sorry about that, too."

Scott set the cloth down and met her eyes. "Jean," he said patiently, "you don't have to apologize. You didn't ask for this to happen to you - you were trying to help someone when it did."

Jean met his gaze, eyes sad. "My dad always says you should say you're sorry when you hurt someone, even if you don't do it on purpose."

"I've always gotten along with your father," Scott said after a moment. "He hides me when we go to your parents." The smile tugging at his lips was hard to resist.

His smile was reassuring (and also kinda cute, in an old guy sort of way) and Jean smiled back, then stuck her tongue out at him. "You talk about my mom like she's a harpy."

Scott grew more serious. "Your mother loves you very much, and I respect her. I've just always gotten the sense that she would have liked more for you than... well, me."

"I dunno. You don't seem that bad. Besides," the wicked grin was back, "you already said I wear the pants, so hey, you grew up and married a doctor."

Scott smiled back, but there was something somewhat pensive in his expression, still. "If your memories were intact, this would be where you threw something at my head and told me to stop putting you on a pedestal... but you're a pretty amazing person, Jean. You're a doctor and a teacher and an activist... you're beautiful and brilliant, and will probably wind up doing something world-changing in one field or another. I think your mother just wanted your horizons to be as wide as possible."

Jeannie blushed bright red and her arms tightened around the leg she had propped up. "T-Thanks. Um... I... I wish I could remember. Cause I just know you've got to be every bit as... as, you know, special or whatever. If nothing else, you're really good with kids. And you're, like, head teacher and everything." Weak. Really, really weak, and she needed to stop talking now.

Scott gave a one-shouldered shrug, the smile still tugging at his lips. "There should be a large black photo album on the bottom of the coffee table," he said. "You might want to leaf through that."

She hesitated for all of half a second and then she was crouching to peer under the table, managing to look shockingly awkward as she pulled out the book she found there and flopped back onto the couch. "You're gonna have to tell me about these you know," she said, flipping it open. Jeannie glanced down then went completely still. There she was, in this weird new body, smiling up at her from somewhere she had no memory of. She froze, staring, then all but slammed the book shut, shoving it back onto the table. "No. No. Never mind. That's... no."

Shit. Scott came out from the kitchenette, but slowly. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I didn't meant to upset you."

"N-not your fault," she said, shaking her head violently, although whether it was at him or at the book she wasn't sure. Mainly Jeannie was focusing on not becoming hysterical or crying or whatever. It had been different, somehow, when everyone had just been telling her stories about the missing time - it wasn't quite so personal as looking down into her own eyes in a strange face and a stranger place.

"I don't really know what's the best thing to do here, you know," Scott confessed after a moment, trying to keep his voice and his expression as steady as he could. "I'm just trying to fumble through..."

"S'okay," Jeannie said. Deep breaths. Deep breaths were good. "Not like there's a Miss Manners' Guide to waking up thirty. Or to having your wife wake up thinking she's eleven, or whatever."

"The frightening thing is that we've seen stranger around here," Scott said wryly, perching on the arm of the armchair. "Welcome to Wonderland, Alice."

She smiled wryly at that. "Too bad you named the cat Des. If it were Dinah maybe she could wake me up."

Scott's eyes narrowed slightly, and his smile was a bit speculative all of a sudden. "Read the book, have you?"

"Yes, of course. School may be dull as toast, but I like to read. Why?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.

"Just wondering, when you read it..." Scott waved a hand a bit limply at the bookshelves. "If you see anything you might want to read here, feel free." Some of the books on the shelves were favorites. Again, he was probably getting his hopes up, thinking familiarity would trigger something. He just couldn't seem to shake the impulse, though.

Jeannie shrugged. "Better than trying to watch the trash that passes for tv these days. Not even any good Saturday morning cartoons."

"Hey, don't knock modern television," Scott said lightly. "There are some decent shows on... I own a few DVDs you might like..." What did he own that might appeal to an eleven year old? "Um... maybe. Let me think?"

Jeannie started to ask what a DVD was, but really only got about halfway through the 'wh' sound and then stopped dead, first her eyes and then her face and finally her whole body squeezing shut until she was curled up tightly on the couch, fingers clutching at her temples. Then, almost as fast, it was over and she was sitting up again, gaze moving quickly from her lap up to her husband. "Lycra, Scott? Lycra and hairspray?"

And then she fainted.

Scott froze for a moment and then bolted to the couch. "Jean! Jean, can you hear me?" he said, all but falling to his knees beside the couch. Please not anything worse, please...

The return to consciousness was far less painful and overwhelming than the return to memory, but it did have it's own unpleasantness. The world spun for a moment and the native disorientation of unconsciousness was rather heightened by the fact that this was, very clearly, not the rec room. Blinking up at her husband in confusion she asked, "Where's Cain, Scott? How did I get up here? And why the hell am I wearing day-glo lycra?"

Oh thank God. Scott lunged forward and hugged her tightly. "Um, long story," he said, his voice a bit strangled, reeling at the sudden bright warmth of the link, back the way it should be. "Are you all right? It's been a week-"

The sudden hug was startling - not unwelcome, but there was a definite clingy-ness to it which caught Jean briefly off guard. Of course, then he spoke at that had her reeling for a second while she clung right back. "A... a week?" She paused, and she thought. And then she said, "Oh, hell." She remembered, although it was distant, as though it had happened years ago; the clothes, and the hair, and the music. And her mother.

"Something went really wrong. We're not entirely sure what - something to do with Farouk. It had all of you... well, it's a long story." Scott drew back just a little. "God, I hope Charles is coming out of it. I've been willing him to do that the whole time..."

"He... he should be," Jean said - she could sense him, sort of, although her brain was more than a little off balance, what with the advent of twenty years of history returning.

Scott took her by the shoulders, giving her an intent, worried look. "Are you sure you're all right? We just had to sit here and wait for Strange and Snow Valley to see what they could do - we didn't even dare try to bring another telepath in to try and help any of you."

Jean nodded. "Understandable, yeah. I... I think I'm ok. I mean, I can feel you and Charles and everyone." And there was a certain comforting familiarity to the psychic noise of the mansion. "And I remember who I am. Er... speaking of..." She shifted slightly and then she was kissing him. Sorry about... everything.

If the way he kissed her back was a little frantic, he thought that he could be forgiven. Not your fault. Just let's not do that again anytime soon, right? "Oh hell," he said, pulling back sharply. "I need to find out what's going on with Cain."

Yeah, please no more. She was a touch reluctant to let go, but she knew that the world needed to be dealt with, now that she could again. "I should find my mother, and stop down in the medlab to reassure Moira and Amelia." Jean paused, then glanced down at herself. "Um... after I change."