The X-Project

Scott and Jean go for a drive, to get some fresh air and time away from the mansion. All's going quite well until they stop the car and decide to talk. While a number of things are said that need to be said and a number of secrets come out, it's not by any stretch of the imagination a pleasant conversation.


Scott was working on... something or other. Jean hadn't asked, being too wrapped up in her own thoughts as she stared out the window. The sun was going down on what had been another gorgeous late spring day. And it wasn't like she was completely locking herself in these days, but the weather was so perfect and she was missing it...

"Want to go for a drive?" she asked, not looking away from the blue sky that was slowly darkening.

Scott looked up, blinking at the question. Drive? The flicker of pleasure that she was proposing an out-of-suite activity faded suddenly as he remembered there was something he hadn't told her. Something that involved driving. "Sure," he said after a moment, a bit uncertainly. "We could get one of the cars out of the garage and do that... some fresh air would be good."

That did get her to turn and look at him, a curious eyebrow quirking upwards. Maybe he was just being silly? "Sure, that's fine. After all, Baby's in the garage," she replied, smiling at the odd joke.

"Um." Scott reached forward, saving the file he was working on and then closing the laptop. He was flushing a little, unable to believe that he hadn't expected this conversation to come about at some point. Jean really loved the car, after all. "Actually, she's not. Well, she technically is, but in Forge's little machine shop..."

"You're kidding." The smile widened, but there was confusion in her eyes. "You actually let Forge touch Baby? Are you ok?"

He gave a nervous laugh, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back into the chair. "Okay. It's kind of complicated. I actually sold the car to Forge, rather than letting the wrecker take it away. I had a bit of an accident..."

Jean blinked, then blinked again. Then paused. There was a significant amount of pause. It was a good few seconds before she finally said, "Why do I get the feeling that my impulse to apologize is both wholly appropriate and not at all welcome."

Scott's lips twitched in a brief, humorless smile that was more sad than anything else. "There was freezing rain," he said simply. "On the way back from Washington back in February. And I wasn't focusing on the road very well."

Moving away from the window, Jean came and knelt down next to Scott. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, meaning more for what she had said that horrible day than anything else. And, then again, there was the bit where he'd failed to mention the ulcer... "Were you ok? Hell, no, obviously you weren't, but, I mean..."

"Just bruises and a cut or two from the glass," Scott said, keeping his voice level, calm, as soothing as he could. It wasn't something she needed to be upset about, it really wasn't. "Sam came and picked me up afterwards and drove me back to the mansion."

That Jean didn't want to be soothed, or even feel she needed to be, was incidental. Scott wanted to, and after everything... But, still.

"And there was a wrecker involved, and Forge bought your car."

"There was a wrecker involved just recently," Scott confessed a bit reluctantly. "I... tried to fix it, at first, but I couldn't." That sounded awfully lame. "And last week, I just... I wanted rid of it," he continued, the words coming out in a sudden rush. "I did some pretty strange things last week. Sold the car to Forge, tried to pawn off responsibility for the 'Bird to Sam... I'm not sure what I was thinking."

"That's... that's fair. What are you thinking now?"

"Confused," Scott muttered, gazing down at her. "I try to figure out why I'm reacting the way I am to things and I can't." He tilted his head, trying to smile. "I really will take you for a drive, you know," he said, trying to shift the subject just a little.

Jean smiled faintly back, catching his hand and kissing the back of it. "Then we can be confused together, about both of us, and do it out on the road."

It was probably bad of him to be so glad that she was open to subject changes these days, but to hell with feeling guilty about that or anything else just now. He smiled at her and rose. "We can just pick a direction," he said, tugging her to her feet and towards the door of the suite.

---

The sunset had been gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous, really - why had he spent the whole day inside? Scott thought somewhat distantly, then shook his head. Right. Because Jean had, and given that he'd been gone - and given what she'd done when he'd been gone - he hadn't really... what, wanted to take his eyes off her? His lips twitched wryly as he kept driving.

The sun gone, the wind past the window was starting to get chilly, but Jean wasn't ready to roll up the window. Her head was leaned against the door frame, eyes closed as she just... existed in a world of rushing wind and the knowledge that Scott was just right there and she could reach him any time she needed to. Everything else could wait for the moment.

It would be so easy to tune out, Scott thought. Just to keep driving, to lose himself in the road and the fact that Jean was in the seat beside him and apparently perfectly content to be there. To forget everything else. Maybe they deserved those moments, from time to time - surely they did, Scott reflected, a shadow crossing his face. Surely they didn't have to be... in the middle of everything they were feeling, all the time. Or was that dishonest, too?

Jean was refusing to think that thought. She was refusing to think just about everything. The persistent wiggle in the back of her mind that she still hadn't told Scott what she'd done to him was being very, very firmly ignored. It was too nice a night.

They drove for another fifteen minutes before Scott saw the rest area coming up alongside the road and, after a moment's thought, pulled over. It was utterly empty except for them, and Scott leaned back in the seat, watching the light fade from the sky. "Just needed a break," he said softly. Not entirely honestly, but he wasn't going to venture anything else right this second.

As the car had slowed Jean opened her eyes and looked over at him, a peaceful smile on her face. "Ok," she said, voice quiet in the stillness that came without the rushing wind. "Want to stretch your legs?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling back at her a little. Six months ago, he might have made a joke about there being better things to do if they stayed in a car... but not today. He opened the driver's side door and got out, taking a deep breath. "Going to be cool out here tonight."

Jean unbuckled herself and opened the door, swinging her legs out, but stayed seated for a second. "Yes. It's nice for now, though. Fresh air and all that." Standing up at last, she stretched her arms above her head.

Scott leaned back against the car for a moment, watching her. When she started forward, so did he, reaching out to take her hands as they walked. "You surprised me, you know," he said after a minute or two. "Or maybe you didn't. Making that post while I was gone."

Jean was silent a second. Finally she said, "I... wanted to see what they would say without anyone leaping to my defense. And you were gone so there wasn't much to distract me from... everything. It was a cheap trick, I know." Which wasn't an apology, but it wasn't not an apology, either.

"It's all right. I can see the logic behind it." And he did, much as he'd flinched when he'd first logged back onto the system after getting back and seen the post. "You do this at your pace, Jean. That's the important thing."

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand. They walked for a few more moments before she said, "It's a important thing. There are a couple. You're one, you know. How you're doing. And... and trust is another, right?" And she really had to tell him, didn't she.

"Yeah." He thought about what he'd just said about pacing. Even so, there were things he should really tell her, he reflected, given what she'd posted. And things that had nothing to do with what she'd posted that he still ought to tell her. His hand tightened slightly on hers. "Jean, I need to tell you something," he said abruptly.

Which totally derailed Jean's train of thought. Had he just stolen her line? "Y... yes?" she said, stopping and turning to face him.

He stopped as well, gazing as steadily as he could at her. Time to get out the worst of it, he thought. At least then it would be out in the open. "While you were gone," he said, his voice low but almost calm, "there was a night..." He stopped, swallowed. "It was the week the tape came. I went out, wound up at this club. I don't... know what happened, because I don't remember. Someone, a telepath, took the memories from me, left false ones in their place."

Not entirely true. Or at least, not all of the truth. Scott took a deep, shaky breath, and made himself go on. "However it happened, I... slept with someone." There. "I don't know who, like I said. But I just... I don't want you to think that I took what Jane... what you said in that email seriously. I don't know why I did what I did, and I don't understand how it could have happened. I can't remember a moment, all the way through this, when I remember ever wanting anyone but you. It wasn't some... tit-for-tat thing, it couldn't have been." He hoped. He believed, but he didn't know. Damn it.

Oh God oh God oh God. He hadn't just stolen her line, he'd stolen her confession. He was blaming himself for things he didn't even know had happened for sure. He was blaming himself for what she had done. Looking away, Jean swallowed, closing her eyes. She couldn't face him and say this. Oh, but that was so unfair.

Forcing herself to look back she said, "It wasn't," her voice tight. "It definitely wasn't. Oh, Scott... I'm so sorry. I... I can't give you back your memories of that night. They're gone. And I won't give you mine. But... you didn't betray me, Scott, ever. Even after what I did..." She had betrayed him in every way possible, and he was blaming himself. Jean didn't even notice as her eyes began to fill with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her not to cry, almost a reflex reply, when the implications of what she'd just said finally penetrated. "Wait," he said raggedly, his legs feeling suddenly rubbery, as if they weren't wanting to hold him. "Wait, what? Jean... it was you?" His hand tightened almost spasmodically on hers.

Jean clung to his hand, terrified to let go, that he'd run away. "I... It was a terrible violation - she wasn't... I wasn't going to... to hurt you like that. But..." Deep breaths. "But it all spiraled out of control and you..." she swallowed. "You called my name, and Jane, she... she told you her name because..." God, she felt like she would break in half, but she had to finish, he had to know. "Because she wanted you to love her, even though she didn't think you ever could or would, and then, because she couldn't let you know about her she... She stole your memories, erased them. Destroyed them." And Jean was talking about Jane again as though she were a seperate person, but this... It didn't make sense otherwise. Or maybe it made too much sense.

Scott stared at her, ghost-white, his mind racing, coming up with all kinds of scenarios ten times worse than the ones he'd imagined when he hadn't known it was Jean. It had been her. Her, he'd slept with her when she'd been trapped in her own mind, and even the Jane-personality had wanted it wiped out of existence as much as possible...

"Oh, God... Jean, I'm so sorry..." How could she stand to look at him? How could she... had he... Scott sucked in a shaky breath, his face almost gray, his mind hitting another wall as it simply refused to go there. "You were watching, from that cage..." It had to have been as bad as him watching that tape of her and Bobby.

Biting her lip, she nodded faintly, the memory of harsh words and her own helplessness flickering through her mind. No, he was far better off not knowing everything. Focus on the other part of all this, keep the tears back, keep control. "It wasn't your fault, Scott. Even... even after everything, though, you still loved me," she said, voice soft. "You said it and I believed it - I did and Jane did. And it made her crazy but... it gave me hope."

"Oh. Well. That's good, then." It sounded inane. Hollow and inane and entirely insincere, and Scott squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe deeply. He didn't think he'd ever hated himself quite as much as he did right this second, but she didn't need to see that. Didn't need to deal with it. "I'm... as long as I didn't h-hurt you." What the fuck? Of course he'd hurt her. What a moronic thing to say.

"Scott, please..." She bit her lip again, watching him. She might not be able to hear his thoughts, but they were written on his face. "Don't... don't blame yourself. I... It wasn't your fault." It seemed that all Jean could do was repeat that over and over, and it just wasn't enough.

"In the same way it wasn't Bobby's fault? Or are we talking about a whole different level of 'not my fault' here?"

He hadn't just said that.

He had.

Jean stared at him, completely at a loss and then, not even thinking about it, reached out and slapped him before bursting into tears.

Jean's idea of a slap was considerably more robust than most women's, and Scott rocked backwards for a moment before he straightened, rubbing at his jaw. "I probably deserved that," he said under his breath, still so pale he was almost gray.

"Probably? Probably!" Tears falling unheeded down her cheeks, Jean managed to keep her voice below a shriek, but it was a close thing. "Fuck you, Scott. No, it wasn't rape. It wasn't with Bobby, fine, and it wasn't with you. Is that what you want to hear? It wasn't even close. Matthews? That was rape." The words tumbled over themselves but at that she gasped to a halt and then tore her hand away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as she turned away, sobbing.

Scott closed his eyes, swallowing back the bile rising at the back of his throat. Idiot. "That's not what I meant," he said after a moment, his voice hoarse. But maybe it was a good thing that he had said it, because this was the first time she'd said anything about this to him. "Jean..." He raised a hand, reaching out to touch her arm - and then hesitating, letting it fall again, unsure. "I'm sorry," he said finally, his throat thick. Alex, Betsy, Jean... what was it with the people he loved and horrible motifs that shouldn't be repeating but were? "I'm so sorry," he went on, his voice wavering, "but I'm glad you told me. About all of it. I just... wish I could make it better somehow, but I don't know how."

Chocking back her tears, Jean just shook her head for a moment. "I don't know, either," she whispered. "I did this... He wanted a willing puppet and he got... Jane was no one's puppet, but she was no less willing to hurt me. Anyway she could."

He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do here. His stomach twisting itself into knots, he took a hesitant step closer, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She hadn't said anything about any of this - would she have, if he hadn't brought it up first? Did that matter? But what did it mean that she'd been not letting that affect how she was... or had she... A small, pained noise slipped free before Scott could stop it, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Think. He had to think.

"What do you need?" he finally asked, faintly. "Right now." Maybe if they talked about it, there'd be something that would help him figure out.

She'd been dealing, she told herself, she really had. He wasn't supposed to know - after Bobby and the tape, he wasn't supposed to have to deal with this. And she was shaking - with cold, with exhaustion, with fear, she really didn't know. "Does... does it matter?" she asked, almost too quietly to be heard. "Does it change anything?" She needed to know what he thought, not even realizing that the question had at least two meanings.

"What happened with Matthews?" Scott said very quietly. "No." There was nothing he could have done about that, and so he couldn't even feel like he'd failed her. Just hopeless. Again, it had happened again and there wasn't a damned thing he could have done. He shouldn't be surprised, he supposed. "What happened with you and I..." He opened his eyes, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "You'll... have to be the judge of that. Since I don't remember what happened, why it happened..."

She wouldn't give him her memories, but he deserved to know. Her voice was flat as she spoke. "Jane found you at the club - you were talking with some girl, and she decided to... to play. Started goading you, but you... the tape. You were angry, fought back. Told her to blow you across the room and then kissed me. She... I have always loved you, Scott. Somehow we ended up in the alley, but you thought she was me, and she realized. She's me, Scott. I love you, and so she loved you, but you didn't even know she existed, and I think she hated me more then than ever. So she told you her name, because she needed you to know, and she couldn't let you know, so she stole it back." Tears were falling unchecked and unnoticed, but she'd gotten through it. Now he knew.

He was going to get whiplash from her pronoun-shifting. Scott didn't pull away from her, didn't move away, but there was a moment of distancing there, where he tried to take what she'd just said and see it objectively, and...not happening. "I don't remember the evening," he said, his voice almost inaudible, "but I remember how I felt, after. It didn't make any sense, the emotions weren't connected to anything. I suppose they make more sense now." Not really, however logically he might be trying to approach them. "I felt so... despicable." His voice wavered a little. "But you don't seem to feel the same way... and I can't remember. So either I believe you, or I wonder. And maybe it makes me weak, but I can't stand all the options for what might have happened running in circles in my head right now. I want to believe you."

One of Jean's hands rose to rest lightly over his on her shoulder. "You weren't... I never..." She sighed and tried again. "I don't know if it helps, I don't know if it means anything, but I didn't think anything of the sort. You still loved me, and knowing that meant everything."

Scott closed his eyes again, telling himself to put it away. Believe her, and leave his side of what had happened alone. After what else had come out in this conversation, it was hardly the most significant thing. Right? He swallowed, trying to think out what he was going to say. No more blurting out stupid things.

"Have you talked to Charles about... no," he said suddenly, flushing. "That's none of my business. I'm sorry. I just... I hope you're getting help dealing with... this."

"Christ, Scott," Jean said, angry again, although only part of it was with him - more she was angry with herself, with the world. "Why does 'this' need dealing with?" she asked, mimicking his inflection as she turned back to him. "He fucked my mind first, what does it matter that he did it to get at my body? Why does it have to be an entire other issue that I need help with? What, I'm somehow more of a victim because he slept with me? I still can't hold onto an emotional state for more than five minutes at a time but the sex, that's the problem?" She was shaking again.

"You're jumping to conclusions again," he said as steadily as he could. "About what I mean. It's not the problem, but it's part of the problem. I'm not going to presume to know how much, but given your reaction, I'm guessing it's not a negligible part."

Which rather took the wind out of her sails. "God dammit," Jean whispered as she began to cry again.

Scott took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. "Look, I'm not doing a great job, here," he said, his voice shaking, "but I am here. And I love you. All of this, it's... hard, but I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Jean hid her face in his shoulder, trying to get control back, although it really wasn't coming. "I love you," she said, "I love you, I love you. I'm sorry. Hard doesn't even begin to cover it."

Scott sighed. "We said some things I think we needed to say, though," he murmured, ignoring the pain in his stomach. Surely that was just stress this time. "It's better to have it out in the open, isn't it?" After what had happened when things hadn't been said for too long.

She nodded into his shoulder because, while it didn't feel so right now, she knew it would.