Chapter Sixty Four: Last Goodbye

At the north end of the mansion’s grounds stood a single room chapel. It appeared as a stark contrast to the lush greenery of the estate and the elaborate architecture of Storm’s beloved greenhouse. Yet, there was something intangible about the chapel that gave the impression it was intricately entwined with the mansion’s history. Constructed of whitewashed logs by former servants during the Great Depression, the structure was simply adorned with a cross made of sticks tied together with string. This minimalism was further reflected inside with eleven handmade wooden pews and a simple altar. With no wiring for electricity, light was provided by candles, kerosene lamps, and of course, three large windows on both sides. While the design had been subjected to the materials and resources at the time, the austere nature of the chapel also conveyed the sense that there would be no barriers between the devout and their God.

Prior to Xavier’s decision to open his family home as a school, the tiny building had been frequently used by the servants for communal worship. Over the years, this practice was abandoned as these employees took leave (most out of fear in response to the new residents Xavier called pupils) or retired. In recent years, the chapel was rarely visited by anyone with the exception of Kurt. The former priest-in-training regularly sought refuge in the offered solitude. There, he could communicate with God privately as well as ensure the church’s maintenance. For the Munich native, it reminded him of his admiration of the monks who often opened the grounds of the monastery to his circus family during the harsher off-season. However, Kurt’s close friends, notably Kitty and Logan, surmised it was his way of living a cleric’s life without the formality of being ordained.

However, this morning was different. Inside the chapel was alive with activity, albeit solemn in its nature. On this day, students found themselves seated alongside instructors, other staff, and field team members. Affiliated individuals, including members from the X-Factor detective agency, Sean Cassidy, Pete Wisdom, Brian Braddock, Meggan, and Domino, were also present to pay their respects. In the background, a string quartet accompanied Allison and Jay Guthrie as they sang Schubert’s Ave Maria and Mozart’s Requiem. Their voices and the melancholic notes from the instruments seemed to float in the air, coexisting with the sobs, sniffling, and murmuring among the attendees. Meanwhile, the gloomy skies overhead limited the amount of sunlight, compelling the use of strategically placed candles to illuminate the church and casting the wood-panelled interior with an incandescent glow.

The collectively sombre expressions and the outfits consisting of black attire were a stark contrast to the floral arrangements that adorned the chapel’s interior. For the most part, Storm had kept in mind the tradition of Western funerals by adhering to a white theme in her design—white cymbidium and dendrobium orchids, white peonies, and mini calla lilies. However, the weather goddess reserved her use of colour for what would have been the casket spray. As a nod to her friend’s memory, Storm had decided to weave fiery hues alongside creamy tones into the arrangement. It was an inspired piece—one that offered the weather goddess much comfort in creating. In a way, she found a way to express a proper farewell to a woman who was more of a sister than a team mate. For Storm, the floral arrangement in its vibrant beauty seemed to articulate so much more than words ever could.

Because the exhaustive search efforts of the crash sites yielded no remains, the Grey family and Scott decided against a casket. Instead, a wooden chair had been positioned in front of the altar, adorned with the casket spray. It had been Lorna’s idea to use a chair and purchased the piece from Jean’s favourite antique shop in Westchester. Stained, distressed and edge rubbed by hand to reveal layers of contrasting undercoat, the chair was meticulously crafted from with a kiln-dried wood frame. It represented all of the good qualities of her late friend: classically beautiful, steady, and welcoming. To some, this substitution—a chair without an occupant—represented a more haunting and poignant reminder of their loss. While for others, notably Scott, the empty piece of furniture served to further exacerbate his perception of culpability, failure, and ultimately, shame.

For the Grey family, the grieving process was made complicated by the fact that they were surrounded by people barely known to them. It was not that the Greys were by any means prejudiced. In fact, the contrary was true. Upon discovering Jean’s ability, the family made a point of lending their unwavering support. Her parents, in particular, were quite insistent on cultivating a relationship with the Professor as he was the one they were entrusting with their daughter’s welfare and development. Despite this, Jean was keen on maintaining some separation between her biological family and her family at the school. Although she shared the Professor’s faith and optimism in mankind, the pragmatic part of her was mindful of the fact that those consumed by hatred would not think twice about inflicting collateral damage. For this very reason, the telepath sought to shield her family as much as possible from this aspect of her life. While Dr. and Mrs. Grey and their oldest daughter, Sara, had voiced their protestations regarding Jean’s decision, they understood her intentions and ultimately, accepted her course of action. Yet, as the family accepted condolences from various individuals while sitting at the front of the chapel, their collective anguish was compounded by something else—the realization that these people knew a part of Jean that would remain forever elusive to them.

As one of the few faces known to the family, the Professor sat at the end of the row next to Dr. Grey. The renowned telepath and activist was still weakened by the effects of the psychic attack, appearing quite fragile and vulnerable. The impeccably tailored black, gabardine suit and white poplin shirt seemed to drape his small frame. The Windsor knot looked especially large, accentuating his narrow build even more. There were dark circles underneath his usually piercing eyes, which seemed devoid of any lustre. Concerned over his frail condition, Ororo suggested that he not attend the service. However, this was not an option as far as the Professor was concerned. To him, Jean’s death meant losing someone whom he shared the deepest bond with. He had not only found a protégée but a surrogate daughter as well. Over the years, their relationship evolved to the point where she was able to relate to him as a peer who could understand the nuances of the abilities they shared. Despite the addition of Emma, the Professor always found himself relying on Jean for sound advice and constructive feedback on aspects of the school and team operations. With her passing, he and the Greys were now sharing yet another (albeit devastating) commonality.

Another familiar face was located on the other side of the aisle. In contrast to his increasingly dishevelled appearance of late, Scott Summers was clean-shaven with every chestnut hair combed in place. Wrinkled clothing had been traded in for a pressed, double-breasted black wool suit with a crisp, white shirt and a blue striped, silk tie. While the transformation was dramatic, it did nothing to diminish the pained, troubled expression that seemed to be permanently etched across his chiselled features. Every once in a while, the bespectacled widower glanced at the chair and clenched his jaw tightly. The ensuing torment coursing through his soul forced him to clasp his hands in his lap until the knuckles turned white. Although he was now united with his in-laws in mourning, Scott could not help but wonder if they held him responsible as he himself did. Granted, no one had said anything to that effect. In fact, everyone in the family had been quite sympathetic—even expressing their concern over his well-being. And yet, Scott was unnerved. Why weren’t they looking at him with the same contempt and resentment he had reserved for himself? Surely, her family must have entertained the same thoughts regarding his role in all of this. After all, he was Jean’s husband—the man whose purpose in life was to love and protect her from whatever dangers the world posed. Her death established his ineptitude in fulfilling the responsibilities associated with this role.

An equally distraught Alex placed a tanned hand on Scott’s arm. It was a comforting gesture—one that compensated for the lack of eloquent words to express his thoughts at that moment. While he, too, was affected by the overwhelming sense of loss, his mourning was tempered by a heady level of concern. Helplessly watching his older brother in the throes of grief was a position Alex loathed with every fibre of his being. This was not based on any apathy on his part. On the contrary, the younger Summers made several attempts to provide solace to his older brother. Unfortunately, his efforts proved inadequate. The reassurances relieving Scott of any culpability and appeals to his sense of reason fell on deaf ears. Much to Alex’s dismay, Scott was bound and determined to hold himself responsible for what happened. He rebuked any counterarguments, insisting that Alex (or anyone else for that matter) could not possibly understand his experience. Although Alex recognized this as Scott’s grief manifesting itself, it did nothing to lessen his own feelings of anger. He hated his impotence in the face of his brother’s spiralling descent. Studying his brother at that moment, Alex wondered if the Scott he knew was forever lost.

Meanwhile, Jubilee was seated on Scott’s other side. An ethereal vision of melancholy, she wore a black dress with cap sleeves and an A-line skirt, which was paired with a matching suede ankle boots. A thin black belt was cinched around her waist, accentuating her slim frame. Her long, ebony tresses were pulled back away from her face in a bun at the nape of her neck and pinned with a clip Jean had given her. Staring ahead at the altar, Jubilee found the void Jean left behind all the more tangible. Granted, she had been present on that horrific night but the hours and days that followed were surreal. There were moments when she believed she was trapped in a nightmare. Jubilee waited for Jean to appear, reassuring her and everyone else that all was well and that there was nothing to fear. Given Scott’s current condition and Logan’s absence, the young firecracker was feeling adrift in her grief. It was as if she were a young girl again, yearning for a grounded parental figure to provide some stability in the chaos. However, as her sapphire gaze roved over the empty chair, Jubilee realized that moment would never happen. Such thinking had a magical quality that failed to be connected with the reality of the current situation. Controlling the quivering in her lower lip was increasingly difficult as she struggled to accept this. Finally, she took a deep breath and summoned the strength to maintain her composure. There was a man by her side who needed a rock today.

From the back of the room, a pair of sorrow-filled, grey eyes gazed upon the chair. Dressed in a black, wool suit with intricate pick-stitching along the collar, welt pockets and pocket flaps, Bobby Drake kept a sombre vigil by the doorway. His feet seemed to be rooted in place, preventing him from venturing further inside. Doing so would only serve to cement this day and everything it represented as a matter of fact rather than the horrible illusion everyone wanted it to be. For Bobby, accepting that Jean had been taken away too soon was like an insurmountable feat. It meant acknowledging the emptiness she left behind was now a constant. There would be no more opportunities to seek out her non-judgmental, sage counsel; endure her gentle chides following some prank gone awry; or bond over their early days together at the school. In the days leading to this morning, Bobby struggled to overcome his incredulity over the situation in an effort to process the facts of what happened. The rational part of his mind recognized that Jean’s death was certain under the circumstances presented. Hours of examining photographs and footage of the crash sites drove that point home. Yet, his heart was unable to accept that the vitality and warmth that was so quintessentially Jean was no more. It was a battle that continued to rage within him even as he stood inside the chapel, preparing to contribute his words to the service.

As Sage and Bishop filed past him, Bobby soon realized he had other motivations for not seating himself right away. He found his gaze had travelled from the empty chair to where Jubilee was. A lump formed inside his throat as Bobby watched as she took Scott’s hand and clasped it with her own. Studying her beautiful face with a mixture of longing and sadness, he was able to discern that she was putting on a brave face for the widower’s benefit. But it was the glittering of tears in those old-soul, blue eyes that betrayed her mask. Sensing her despair, Bobby wanted desperately to tear himself from where he stood, rush to Jubilee’s side, and envelop her willowy form in his arms. His mind also began to entertain thoughts of things he would say to her. Although the details of what would be articulated were becoming vague with each passing second, his motivation remained steadfast. In fact, it gained strength as he continued looking at the woman he loved so dearly.

It was also the reason why he willed himself to remain where he stood.

Painful as Bobby found the experience of observing Jubilee in her despondent state, he was cognizant that indulging his yearnings was not an option. This was an emotionally charged day as it was. To approach Jubilee would have complicated things, possibly intensifying her existing turmoil. She was already in mourning over Jean, a woman who had been the closest thing to a mother to her. Then there was the pressure of acting as caretaker for Scott. Melancholy coalesced with concern as she attempted to fulfill her part in their role reversal. Tried as she did to conceal these feelings for Scott’s sake, it was growing quite apparent that they were brimming beneath the surface. Based on her present struggle to mask her anguish, there was a high probability that anything would have undermined her façade.

Absentmindedly, Bobby placed his hand over his chest. As the iciness permeated through his shirt, he was reminded of what ultimately factored into his decision. Everyday, Bobby felt more and more removed from the person he had been before Genosha. The involuntary changes afflicting him brought about a transformation that rendered him incapable of being the man Jubilee needed. With his own body betraying him, how could he even fathom offering her any semblance of comfort? As far as Bobby was concerned, he had failed both himself and Jubilee. No longer could he be considered her steady rock, someone she could look to for support during trying times as he been so long ago. Instead, his lack of control now made him a burden and a liability. Bobby immediately thought of the dynamic between his parents and the dream he had weeks ago, which depicted Jubilee as dutifully doting upon him even as her own light was fading. As he continued staring at Jubilee’s beautiful profile, the young man vowed silently not to resign her to that fate.

Hank’s deep, baritone voice suddenly interrupted his internal deliberations. “It is rather unfortunate that such a gathering takes place within the context of tragedy,” he remarked glumly, watching Piotr and Kitty offer their condolences to the Grey family. With the X-Men’s many affiliates spread across the globe, it was a rare occurrence to see them congregated in one place. The observation left the Ivy league-trained biochemist with a sense of poignancy that made him grimace.

Startled, Bobby peered over at his best friend. The larger, feline-like man made a sombre picture in his charcoal, Italian wool suit with narrow lapels and slim-fit trousers and onyx, silk tie. While Hank was by no means a disciple of Stoicism, it was still bewildering to see him in such a state. His emotional state coupled with his physical stature made for an incongruous picture. Hank’s red-rimmed eyes were puffy, reflecting the woe that had been draped over him like a heavy shroud.

Nodding his head, Bobby said in an equally gloomy voice, “That it is.”

Hank studied the young man standing next to him. Since their conversation in the Med-Lab, things between the two had been uneasy. As committed as he was in maintaining Bobby’s confidence, Hank was finding his dissonance increasing exponentially. Bobby’s attempts at rationalizing his behaviour and decisions did little to assuage Hank’s concerns. In fact, the younger man’s arguments only provided further evidence of his erroneous line of reasoning. Granted, Bobby’s intentions were noble—wanting to spare the person he cared about any distress resulting from his condition. It was a position Hank was intimately acquainted with. However, he found himself dissenting over Bobby’s interpretation of the circumstances, which led to his decision. Taking on the martyr role in the face of his father’s illness and the onset of his secondary mutation was, as Hank saw it, destructive. This was not only in regards to Bobby’s relationships with others around the mansion but also to his own well-being. His self-imposed isolation seemed to reinforce the impact of the physical changes, warping his perspective about himself and those around him. As far as Hank was concerned, it was this psychological transformation that was incredibly profound.

Noticing Bobby’s tormented expression, the cat-like intellectual found himself following his friend’s line of vision. It was then Hank was reminded of another source of his opposition. Despite Bobby’s assertions that he was acting out of concern for Jubilee, it was apparent that she was experiencing his behaviour in another light. His decision to end their relationship seemed to further complicate her mourning, intensifying her feelings of loss. Knowing Bobby as well as Hank did, this was not a fact that was lost on his friend. He was also cognizant that Bobby hated almost every fibre of his being for inflicting such pain upon someone he loved. Moreover, Hank was quite positive that the younger man was just as miserable if not more so. It was a conclusion that further cemented his disagreement.

Suddenly, he remarked, “During such grave times of loss, many search for ways to obtain some peace through reconciliation with fate.”

Bobby’s grey eyes widened in response to the not-so-subtle hint issued. Even though he was fully aware of Hank’s opposition, it was still jarring hear his friend voice his opinion now. While he had not expected unconditional support for what he was doing, Bobby thought he could rely on his best friend to refrain from judgment. Following their conversation, he believed they had reached an implicit understanding not to divulge anything beyond the Med-Lab’s walls. For Hank to introduce the topic under these circumstances felt like a betrayal, reflecting the other man’s inability or unwillingness to understand. Either way, the point was made.

“I don’t think that applies here,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“I beg to differ,” Hank countered quietly, watching his friend nervously shift from foot to foot. There was a part of him that felt a twinge of guilt for his outburst. However, this was outweighed by the need to put forth some reason into the discussion. As Bobby’s closest friend, Hank could not, in good conscience, allow him to continue on his path without pointing out the inherent flaws.

A scowl marred Bobby’s boyish face as he hissed, “Then you don’t get it.”

“What part of it don’t I get, Bobby? Is it the part where you’re intent on burning every bridge available in an effort to salvage some ideal?” Hank whispered back fiercely, peering around him to ensure they were not attracting any attention. Fortunately for them, the heated nature of their interaction was being drowned out by the din of the conversations around them and the music echoing throughout the walls of the chapel.

“Don’t lecture me, Hank. This isn’t fun and games.”

“Have you given any consideration that your assumptions may not be valid? That what you’ve done isn’t at all necessary?”

“What are you talking about? We both know what the score is. I’m…you know…”

“Has it crossed your mind that particular variable is minor in the grand scheme of things? It changes nothing fundamental about you, Bobby. Not as a friend, instructor, team mate, son, or boyfriend.”

“You make it sound so easy to accept. But it’s not.”

“I wish you’d reconsider that statement. As we both know, this is an area is something I am familiar with.”

“True, Hank. However, here’s the thing—I’m not you.”

“Under no circumstances am I saying that. It’s just that as someone who’s had similar experiences, I want you to know that closing yourself off isn’t the most constructive option. It can actually backfire, causing pain for those you’re determined to protect.”

“I’m not oblivious to any of that. I know I’m a bastard for what I’ve done. Do you realize how much it is killing me not to go up to her and confess everything? Seeing her so upset at this moment and knowing I can’t comfort her like I should makes me wish I never got out of bed this morning.”

“Then it’s not too late?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to stay the course…for both of us. I’m going to do whatever it takes to ensure her happiness even though it doesn’t include me anymore. Yes, it hurts like hell right now but as time goes on, she’ll move on.”

“What about you, Bobby?” Hank inquired. His tone softened as he was touched by the sentiment expressed. “What about your happiness? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The younger man focused his attention on Jubilee, who was still unaware she was being watched. “I love her enough to realize that my happiness is dependent on hers,” he said quietly, staring at her lovely face with tenderness. “In the end, it’s all that matters.”

His friend was taken aback by the conviction present in his voice and in his words. It was difficult for Hank to recall a time when he heard Bobby make such serious declarations about someone. Sure, there was Lorna but their involvement never warranted anything remotely similar to this. By comparison, that relationship was more of an infatuation rather than anything functional and reciprocal. No, what had been relayed was indicative of something deeper with respect to his involvement with Jubilee. Bobby’s words reflected a maturity Hank had not witnessed before. They proved that he was more than the insecure, young man who sought to quell his anxieties through wisecracks and practical jokes. After years of dedication to his inner child, Bobby was now embracing adulthood.

Despite these revelations, Hank was not ready to concede. Rather, he was even more driven to persuade the younger man to understand the detrimental nature of his choices. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he insisted gently, his whiskers twitching slightly. “You don’t need to do this to her and yourself. There are always alternatives… Just think about what’s at stake here, Bobby.”

Finally, Bobby tore his gaze away from Jubilee to face his best friend with desperation in his grey eyes. He could feel his veneer of calm begin to dissolve with the other man’s persistence. Simply talking about the issue was leaving him at the precipice of losing his composure completely. In a pleading whisper, he implored, “Hank, please. Not now. Please.”

Sensing the pain and torment emanating from his friend at that moment, Hank relented. Losing control, losing Jubilee, and losing Jean—all three events were clearly taking their toll. His feline-like features arranged themselves into a sympathetic expression as he nodded his assent. “OK,” he said in a low voice. “OK, Bobby. Not now.”

The two friends were about to proceed down the aisle to take their seats when Warren approached them. The winged playboy’s golden locks were askew and his elegant, black wool suit and navy tie were slightly wrinkled, indicating that he had taken to the skies prior to the service. Like most of Jean’s friends, Warren was still reeling that this day actually arrived. He was hoping that a quick flight would clear his head so that he could endure this day without breaking down. Much to his chagrin, a reprieve would not be had.

Grim-faced, he leaned in towards his friends and whispered urgently, “We have a situation.”

Hank’s furry, blue brows furrowed together. “What’s going on?” he inquired.

“We have some old friends outside of the gates,” Warren explained tersely, his blue eyes narrowing. “And they’re not here to pay their respects.”

Bobby and Hank exchanged perplexed looks. Although the blond Adonis’s words were vague, it was the intensity in which they were conveyed that infused a tension in the air. Whatever troubled their friend, it was clear that the situation was very serious. Wordlessly, they nodded their understanding before exiting the tiny chapel with Warren.

Meanwhile, Lorna had been consulting with Kurt regarding the schedule when she noticed the trio departing. Based on the expressions on the men’s faces, she instantly recognized something was wrong. Quickly, she grabbed her sand-coloured, ankle-length pea coat and threw it over her black, sleeveless, crepe satin dress. Lorna then turned to Kurt, advising him that it would be best to omit Warren, Hank, and Bobby’s contributions to the service. Citing the Professor’s weakened condition and the frayed nerves of everyone in attendance, she stressed to the German native the importance of maintaining the illusion that nothing was amiss. Before Kurt was able to pose his queries as to why these changes were being implemented, Lorna had already taken her leave.

The wrought-iron gates that separated the estate from the narrow, winding road into town were approximately a twenty-minute walk from the chapel if one was making the trek by foot. For Warren, the journey was a fraction of that time once he soared against the murky grey skies. His friends were not too far behind, travelling along via one of Bobby’s ice slides. Hank held onto Bobby’s shoulder to maintain his footing upon the slippery surface. The grip he applied nearly caused the younger man to pass out.

Once all three reached the entrance, they were immediately greeted by a crowd of approximately twenty people congregating outside the metal barriers. Almost all of them were carrying signs with various slogans that read, “GOD HATES MUTANTS”, “MUTIES DOOM NATIONS”, “MUTANTS ARE BEASTS”, and “MUTANTS ARE MISTAKES”. Some were chanting but given the din and the divergent messages, it was difficult to distinguish exactly what was being said. To the collective disgust and horror of Warren, Hank, and Bobby, there were several children present in the mob. They laughed gleefully as they marched back and forth, picketing.

Suddenly, a deep, smooth voice with a lilting Southern accent emerged and called for order among the group. The speaker, whose voice was transmitted by an electric megaphone, began to talk of God’s rage towards mutants and how this death meant one less abomination roaming this world. A few members of the crowd shouted affirmations in response, such as “Amen” and “Thank God”, which was followed by a smattering of applause.

Warren scanned the throng, attempting to sort out the contemptuous faces in order to determine the source. With the vitriol ringing in his ears, there was something hauntingly familiar about the voice. The blond playboy racked his brain in an effort to narrow down possible suspects. He was about to give up when he detected a lone figure standing outside of the gates with a white megaphone in hand. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, dressed in royal blue, hooded parka, cargo pants, and a black turtleneck. His salt-and-pepper hair, which matched his goatee, was closely cropped to his head. Perched upon his slightly bulbous nose was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Lines around his forehead and mouth were deeply etched, as if he spent much of his existence scowling.

After careful examination, Warren felt his stomach lurch and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. The blood pumping through his veins suddenly ran cold. It was like rediscovering an insidious force once believed to have faded away into obscurity. Following what seemed like eons, the CEO of Worthington Industries managed to utter the name associated with so much destruction in the shared pasts of everyone at the school.

“Colonel Stryker.”

Incredulous, Hank and Bobby stared up at Warren before focusing their attention on the stocky man standing in front of the picketers. For his part, the speaker lowered the megaphone and turned his head in the direction of the winged, blond Adonis hovering over him. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a smug smile. It was as if he relished hearing his name spoken with absolute derision.

“Actually,” he said, his dark eyes glittering behind his glasses. “It’s Reverend Stryker now. As you can see here, my partnership with the military has ended. I have found a higher calling—one that is not bound to serve a blind and corrupt government.” He waved his hand to the group behind with flourish, eliciting cheers from the crowd.

Bobby fought the urge to vomit. With his fists clenched at his sides, he surveyed the faces on the other side of the gates. The ugliness behind the signs they were waving around, the hostility in their chants, and the hate reflected in their eyes were all indicative of the ignorance permeating throughout the crowd. Although Bobby had encountered such manifestations of prejudice before (notably his covert mission with Graydon Creed several years ago), this was uniquely different. There was something very personal about this intrusion. They deliberately chose this day—the day of Jean’s funeral—to air their filthy views. It was as if their intention was to stomp and drag her memory through the mud until there was nothing left. The very idea left him reeling with disbelief and rage.

Hank frowned at Stryker. While he shared Warren and Bobby’s outrage towards the obvious provocation, there was something just as troubling about the bigot’s presence at their home. Logan, who had ambiguous recollections of a working relationship with the former colonel, once told Hank and Warren about Stryker’s ties to defence contractors. While he primarily operated as a science officer to these organizations, Logan was certain he had been involved in some tactical affairs during their time together. Everything about the attack upon the mansion was indicative of a sophisticated operation rather than a random attack by a loose collection of criminals. The coordinated nature of the assault, the use of helicopters, and tranquilizer darts carrying depressant agents seemed to reflect the planning of someone closely acquainted with the military planning and execution.

In regards to possible motivations, Hank was well aware of what formed the basis for Stryker’s hatred. When the school first opened its doors, the Professor had been approached by the then-colonel about “curing” his son, Jason. The child could generate illusions and manipulate other people’s memories, affecting even telepaths like the Professor and Jean. Although Xavier had been consulted about Jason’s abilities, it was the parents’ perceptions and handling of their child that disturbed him. Hank had been present when the Professor attempted to explain that mutation was not a condition to be cured or treated. Upon hearing the news, both mother and father appeared to be devastated. However, it was the Stryker patriarch who lashed out. He was furious with the Professor for not even trying to help, accusing him of being part of a conspiracy to forever mark his child as “a freak”. Before storming out of the office with his wife, the former colonel vowed never to forget or forgive.

Since then, Stryker waged a personal crusade against the Professor and his school. He testified in front of Congress about the dangers mutants posed, advocating for camps in order to control the population. There were papers published in peer-reviewed journals about the benefits of prenatal testing to identify those carrying the gene. He even petitioned the state regents to revoke the school’s accreditation. When the Professor was mysteriously kidnapped, drugged, and imprisoned in an abandoned warehouse several years ago, Stryker hinted at some involvement but never revealed enough details to implicate himself completely.

For Hank, a very likely suspect had surfaced right on their doorstep. “I didn’t realize your spiritual awakening would lead you back to the scene of the crime,” he finally mused, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Scene of the crime?” the older man repeated, brows shooting upwards into his hairline. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

The condescension dripping in Stryker’s voice nearly evoked a rumbling growl from Hank’s throat. Somehow, he managed to repress the sound and retorted, “Come now, Reverend. Don’t insult everyone’s intelligence by denying your culpability. If anything, I would have thought you would have been proud to claim responsibility in the demise of ‘an abomination’ . Perhaps, it might elevate the status of your little group here.”

“Careful now, Dr. McCoy,” Stryker chuckled, adjusting his glasses slightly. “I believe that’s slander and I have a team of lawyers ready and willing you to take you to task over that. Just ask that council member from your district. He’s still paying down a $200,000 lawsuit after calling us a hate-group and accusing us of bombing that mutie clinic downtown.”

Warren, fully aware of Hank’s line of reasoning, nodded in agreement as this theory became more and more plausible. “So it’s just all coincidence? The way the school was invaded and your past dealings with the military, not to mention your views on mutants…” His voice trailed off as his anger threatened to consume him. There was nothing more he wanted than to find a way to wipe that smirk from the other man’s face.

“Gentlemen,” Stryker chided in a soft voice, waving his hand dismissively in the face of the accusations levelled at him. “Those are awfully broad strokes you’re using in connecting the dots.”

Warren raised a sceptical brow. “Is that how you’re choosing to spin it?”

The former colonel shook his head demurely. “It’s not spin if it’s true,” he informed him nonchalantly. “As the Lord is my witness, I had nothing to do you’re your little tragedy.”

“Spare us your hollow invocations,” Hank snapped. While he was not a religious man himself, the fact that Stryker would involve God in the conversation was insulting to those who genuinely had faith. This sudden spiritual awakening seemed to provide him with other means to justify his hatred. Furthermore, it did nothing to lessen Hank’s suspicions about the bigot’s connection to the attack.

Stryker appeared pleased he had struck a nerve of the usually even-tempered Hank McCoy. He smiled before responding. “Much as I would like to take credit for what happened, I am bound to the truth. I did not have a hand in any of this. In fact, you would be best to contact someone from the district attorney’s office in Philadelphia. I, along with members of this fine congregation, have been there to rectify a misunderstanding with their police department. We just arrived in Westchester this morning after hearing about your friend’s death on the news.”

Warren’s shrewd business dealings often required adeptness in reading other people’s intentions. It was what made him so successful since taking the helm of the family business. While he was no means a telepath or a lie detector, the winged playboy could usually determine when he was being deceived. His blue eyes closely scrutinized the man on the other side of the wrought-iron gates. To his disappointment, Stryker was being candid. Shaking his head, Warren pursed his lips in disgust.

Stepping back slightly from the barrier separating him from the three X-Men, the husky preacher was fully aware of the conclusion. His aging features arranged themselves into a haughty expression. “Now that we’ve settled that, I suppose it would be disingenuous of me to say I’m very sorry that someone of your ilk is dead. In the full interests of disclosure, I’d like to make it very clear that nothing makes me happier to know another one of your kind is rotting in hell.”

“You bastard,” Bobby spat out, his words barely audible above the applause and cheers from the crowd. His boyish features were arranged in a deep scowl as he tried to comprehend the other man’s motivations. Hating another person so deeply was a foreign concept to begin with. But being so blindly committed to the hate, where it compelled someone to view death as a triumph was beyond Bobby’s understanding altogether.

Stryker sneered, his dark, beady eyes locked onto Bobby’s glowering face. “I’m simply giving context to what is apparently the Lord’s will,” he told him, reaching into the pocket of his parka to retrieve a small, leather-bound book with a gold cross embossed on the cover. He raised it over his head and shook it with conviction. “Your kind is a mistake, devoid of soul and unworthy of salvation. All of you are a danger to mankind, an insult to God.”

His voice became progressively louder as he continued his tirade. “The ones who look like freaks are bad enough but the ones like you, my dear boy…the ones who try to pass off as one of us…you’re the worst of them all. You actually think you’re normal. You believe you can live like the rest of society even though you’re cursed. But do you want to know what makes me truly sick? The fact that you’re probably laying with another one of your kind with the intent of bringing more abominations into this world... It makes me wish you people were sterilized.”

Somewhere, in the recesses of Bobby’s consciousness, a light switch was turned off. Any semblance of control and reason dissolved. He was consumed by anger, triggered by Stryker’s hateful persecution and thoughts of his former life with Jubilee. Without thinking, Bobby sheathed his clenched fist in ice and began edging closer to the gates.

Hank instantly read his young friend’s expression and clamped a firm hand on Bobby’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Reprehensible as his message is, there are laws that protect his right to speak. We’re not here to engage in a confrontation.”

“So what are we doing here then?” Bobby demanded, his ice-covered hand shaking with rage. He wanted so desperately to at least freeze Stryker’s lips shut.

Before the larger, feline-like man could respond, he felt the presence of another person behind them. Turning around, Hank was surprised to find Lorna floating above. The expression on her face indicated that she was privy to the exchange that took place. Clearly, she was not pleased.

“Mr. Stryker,” Lorna called out, emerald eyes flashing. “I suggest you and your followers leave here immediately.”

He snorted. “And why would we do that?” he asked blithely.

Suddenly, the signs his followers were carrying fell apart. The metal thumbtacks used to affix the poster board to the wood had been wrenched free and were now floating in the air. Stryker’s megaphone then flew out of his hand, hovering over his head.

“Because today we are in mourning,” she explained coolly, as the megaphone was pierced by the many thumbtacks before crumpling itself into a tiny square, “and when people are upset, they tend to act irrationally. Apply that logic to mutants and who knows what can happen?”

Inside the chapel, the funeral service was underway. Kurt, heeding Lorna’s advice, made an executive decision to alter the proceedings completely. He approached the Professor, Scott, and the Grey family, presenting his concerns about the emotional fragility of those asked to speak today. Rather than inflict any additional pressure on these individuals, the former priest-in-training recommended that one person speak today as a means to convey a united message about Jean’s memory. In light of this, all parties agreed that only one individual could address this task.

Steering his motorized wheelchair to the front of the chapel, the Professor appeared frail as if he might pass out at any moment. Although it had been days since the psionic assault on the world’s telepaths, the effects continued to linger. In addition to his taxed physical condition, the Professor was struggling with his telepathic abilities. He noticed that his range was severely limited, where he was only able to read information from an immediate radius rather than the lengthy distances he was accustomed to. Despite these difficulties, Xavier was determined to attend today’s service. As he faced his colleagues, students, and the Grey family, he was even more resolute to provide comforting words in this time of great sorrow.

“When I was asked to talk about Jean, I struggled to conceive of the appropriate words that would capture her love of learning, her bond to family and friends, and her spirit of adventure,” the Professor admitted, his voice echoing throughout the small chapel. “But today, I see the faces of those she loved dearly and I am inspired. She was a blessing to us and to this world, providing lessons on how to do things right; how to be a wife, friend, team mate, and mentor; how to appreciate history; and how to be courageous. No one else looked like her, spoke like her, wrote like her, or was so original in the way she did things. No one I have ever known had a better sense of self. In all the years since her arrival at this school, her genuineness and depth of character continued to shine, touching people beyond these walls.”

Staring out into the sea of despondent faces, he said, “I first met Jean when she was a teenager. Since then, it has been my privilege to have watched her mature with ever-expanding responsibility, to have known some of the warmth of her genuine friendship, to see tested under pain and loss the steely strength of her character. I have been with her in joy and in sorrow, in decision and in crisis, among friends and with strangers and I know of no one who has combined in more noble perfection the qualities of greatness that marked her intelligence and her big, brave bountiful heart. Now all of a sudden, Jean has been taken from us and I dare say we shall never see her like again.”

His piercing, blue eyes peered over where Scott sat alongside Alex and Jubilee before he continued. “Many others will measure the wide interests of her mind, the swiftness of her resolution, the power of her persuasion, the efficiency of her action and the courage of her conviction. However, I believe it is fitting and proper to focus on the personal aspects that made all of us love her so. Jean had a wonderful sense of focusing on someone with total attention. It was a gift of herself that she gave to those fortunate to know her. In spite of whatever was going on in her life, good and bad, she never faltered.

“At Jean’s side, was the understanding and devotion of her husband, Scott. Her pride in of being with him which she so eminently justified was plainly reciprocated. The bonds of love that made them one in marriage became like hoops of steel binding them together. From wherever men may look out from eternity to see the workings of our world, Jean is surely beaming with new pride upon her valiant Scott who shared her life, especially to the moment of its early end.” Xavier swallowed back a sob when he noticed Scott struggling to do the same. “These days of sorrow must be difficult for him—more difficult than for any others. When we later reflect on this sad hour in times to come, many will ever recall how his love and loyalty matched her courage and strength.”

The Professor’s gaze rested on Jubilee, who mournfully returned his stare. “Recently, Jean came to embrace another role,” he began, his voice even and calm. “While not bound by blood, her love for Jubilee was deep and unqualified. When Jean and Scott first took her in, Jean admitted feeling slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of raising a young girl. It was a responsibility she took very seriously. Of this, she told me, ‘If you’re a terrible parent, then nothing else you do really matters.’ It turns out there was no need for Jean to be concerned. She revelled in Jubilee’s accomplishments, she hurt with her sorrows, and she felt sheer joy and delight in spending time as a family. As a result, Jubilee has turned out to be extraordinary, honest, unspoiled, and with a character equal to the woman who raised her.”

The crowd, riveted by his words, did not notice the doors at the back of the chapel open. Nor were they aware that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and Lorna were quietly making their way inside. The Professor, however, gave the quartet a subtle nod before continuing. “What comfort can I extend to the heavy hearts today of her friends and colleagues…what beyond the knowledge that they had the privilege to know a gifted and noble spirit, who in her time and in her sacrifice, had made more sturdy the hopes of this world. I suppose it is a consolation for us all to know that Jean’s tragic death does not spell the end of her dedication to mutantkind but commits to new responsibilities the energies and the abilities of her friends and the students she inspired. All of us who knew personally and loved Jean Grey—her youth, her drive, her ideals, her heart, generosity and her hopes—mourn now more for ourselves and each other than for our dear friend. We will miss her; she only waits for us in another place.”

After a brief pause, the fragile-looking man in his seemingly mammoth wheelchair pressed forward. “In truth, she did everything she could–and more–for each of us. She made a rare and noble contribution to this institution and for those share our struggles. But for all of us gathered here today, most of all she was a magnificent wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, mentor, and friend.”

Xavier took a long, hard look at the chair, which was adorned with the lovingly crafted casket spray. While he was able to maintain his composure for the majority of the eulogy, the Professor’s grief began to overtake him. “And now the journey is over. It was too short, too short. Yours was a life filled with adventure and wisdom, laughter and love, gallantry and grace. So farewell, farewell.”

With that, the Professor quietly wheeled away from the altar and took his place alongside the Grey family.

Following the funeral, everyone made their way to the mansion for lunch prepared by Cook and her staff. The menu consisted of Jean’s favourites: Indian-spiced mixed nuts, green goddess dip, cheddar-cauliflower soup, baked ham with a brown sugar, rum, and cayenne pepper glaze, wild rice pilaf with dried cranberries and pecans, tricolour salad, and ginger cake with warm caramel sauce. It was the Englishwoman’s way of expressing and channelling her grief into something other than tears. As she confessed to Ororo and Lorna while in the midst of preparations, Cook was not one to indulge in “blubbering about”. Engaging in her culinary responsibilities provided her with a purpose.

Attendees had convened in the living room while Cook and her staff organized a buffet table in the formal dining area. The atmosphere was subdued but less solemn than during the service hours earlier. There was chatter among the guests albeit hushed and reverent. Members of the Grey family found themselves looking through a photo album of Jean presented to them by Ororo. Kurt, Tabitha, Brian, and Meggan were gathered around the black, baby grand piano where Allison sat, keying a tune softly. Also admiring the music were Jean-Paul, Cain, and Domino. Standing by the fireplace were Bishop and Sage, nursing their pilsners of beer while talking to Jamie, Theresa, and Rahne. At the other end of the room, Kitty seemed to be awkwardly engaged in conversation with both Piotr and Pete Wisdom. Nearby, Monet, Paige, and Sean were standing by the bay windows, quietly catching up since their Paris X-Corps days. Not joining this reunion of the Massachusetts Academy was former headmistress Emma Frost. The blonde telepath stood in a corner of the room, surveying the room with a cool gaze and martini in hand.

Also absent from the impromptu Generation X get-together was Jubilee. She was seated alongside the Summers brothers on a well-worn leather sofa, pretending to watch Storm go through various pictures with Jean’s parents and sister. It had taken a great deal of cajoling on the part of herself and Alex to convince Scott to make an appearance rather than retreat to the emergency living quarters. Not surprisingly, the grieving widower was in no mood to be around other people following the emotional service. The eulogy, the individual expressions of condolences before and after the funeral, and the sympathetic faces were almost impossible for him to bear. It was as if he were being constantly reminded of his impotence that night. To hear how sorry they were for him made him want to scream, releasing the white-hot rage that coursed throughout his body. For Scott, it was astounding how no one could see how responsible he had been for losing Jean. He felt as if he were the only one who was able to see past the morass of grief to understand his role in all of this.

Sensing Scott’s distorted view of culpability, both Alex and Jubilee were determined not to allow him to be alone. While neither believed Scott would intentionally harm himself or worse, there still remained the concern about his drinking. The bespectacled leader had not consumed a drop of alcohol since last night—an incredible feat given the days that followed his wife’s death. Based on his agitated presentation and laconic interactions with others, Scott was clearly uncomfortable without his crutch. Taken together with the poignancy of this day, his nerves were understandably frayed. As far as Alex and Jubilee were concerned, alcohol would undermine what little control he had over his feelings—something Scott acknowledged he wanted to have today.

Unfortunately, a non-drinking Scott proved just as volatile as a Scott who indulged in his whiskey. During their preparations for attending the service, he was irritable and often snapped at Alex for seemingly minor infractions. For example, when his younger brother pointed out the wrinkles in his suit jacket, Scott accused him of being hypercritical and insensitive on the day of his wife’s funeral. He went on to claim that Alex was constantly judging him, looking for opportunities to point out inadequacies and faults. When Jubilee attempted to intervened, he interrogated her about her loyalties to him (“Do you think I have a problem?”, “Are you letting Alex, Kurt, or the Professor tell you what to say to me?”, or “If you really cared about me, wouldn’t you see things my way?”). Any appeals to his sense of reason were quickly rebuffed.

What resulted that day was a combination of unease that coalesced with the sorrow associated with Jean’s funeral. Both Alex and Jubilee found their actions being guided by caution. Interacting with Scott was akin to walking on eggshells. Despite the desire to take him aside and shake some sense into him, they were aware that he was entitled to his grief. The two reminded themselves (and each other) that his irrational behaviour was only in response to his tragic loss. Together, they hoped, with time, that this ominous cloud would be lifted from Scott.

For Jubilee, the entire day had been especially trying. While she was no stranger to losing a loved one to death, the process of mourning Jean was very difficult. The Professor’s moving eulogy reminded her—and everyone else—of the nature and severity of the void the redhead left. His words provided a tangible context to their relationship, which seemed to devastate Jubilee all the more. She had been aware of the great affection shared between herself and Jean, but it was only after the Professor talked about the telepath’s perspective did the young firecracker recognize the extent of her dedication and love. The knowledge of this sent Jubilee in tears.

Prior to that moment, she swore to herself that she would be strong for the funeral. Given Scott’s current state, it seemed like the only option. After all those times when he had been a source of security, Jubilee believed it was her turn to repay the favour. Moreover, because of the complicated nature of his mourning (notably the intense levels of guilt and his continued insistence that he was culpable), she knew the last thing he needed to do was to worry about her. Scott was already stretched emotionally thin already. So, Jubilee resigned herself to remain composed for him.

As she thought about her lapse, Jubilee reflected on the feelings that fuelled her tears. Listening to the Professor, she thought about her sadness over Jean and the stress in response to Scott and his unpredictable behaviour as of late. However, what resonated the most were feelings of loneliness and confusion. Jean’s death left her grieving not only for a maternal figure but also for an additional presence in what remained of their informal family. Without Jean, Jubilee was shouldering the responsibility of caring for Scott—a task that left her feeling uncertain about her efforts (his inconsistent demeanour with her made her wonder if she was doing more harm than good) and psychologically exhausted. There was no one else to confide in, no opportunities for reprieve from being so strong. In short, Jubilee was feeling the pressure from the solitude.

She supposed that the severity of these feelings were exacerbated by the situation with Bobby. Their time together as a couple gave her solace in knowing that she was not alone. Being connected to a person she deeply cared about gave her confidence and strength she once believed to be elusive. It allowed her to make sense of the world. Equally important was the implicit permission for her to be vulnerable. Bobby had completely understood and cared for her unconditionally, which allowed her the luxury of being herself around him. There was no need to pretend to be the resilient Jubilee, as she often portrayed herself to be while around those like the Professor, Jean, and even Logan. She was not troubled that he would judge or become consumed with guilt or overprotective rage. Instead, Bobby had been her beacon of reason, support, and understanding.

Jubilee remembered looking for him in the chapel that morning, sifting through the sea of despondent faces. The rational part of her mind mocked her for doing so. It wondered why she was being so masochistic, trying to seek out someone who clearly wanted nothing more to do with her. Or perhaps this need was rooted in stupidity. She was being too dense to comprehend that things were over. After all, Bobby seemed very unequivocal about ending their relationship. Still, there was a chance that desperation played a role in her search. To believe that things between them were truly over was a fact that was unacceptable to her. In the end, the specific motivation did not matter. Jubilee knew that on this day, she wanted to feel Bobby’s arms around her. She wanted to hear his voice reassure her that there would be an end to this turmoil. Most of all, she wanted to feel safe again.

It was during the Professor’s eulogy she finally saw Bobby. Jubilee had turned her head briefly when he began talking about the impact of Jean’s death on her friends. Her chest ached as she caught sight of him. Standing in the back of the chapel with his hands shoved into his pockets, Bobby looked so forlorn and haunted. His grey eyes were dull as they stared listlessly ahead. With each passing second, Jubilee was finding it increasingly difficult to observe him in such a state. The task was made more trying given that there was nothing she could do to comfort him. The social conventions surrounding their break-up effectively tied her hands. Yet, there was a part of her that believed Bobby wished for what she did—that they could somehow find a way to be together once again. For a moment, she had contemplated approaching him in between the readings.

Instead, Jubilee squeezed Scott’s hand after deciding that was the only course of action available to her then.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Alex handed her a glass. The younger Summers brother gave her a small smile, his aqua eyes briefly glancing over at Scott who had edged away from Jubilee’s side to engage in a conversation with Dr. Grey. Startled, she returned the gesture before scooting slightly to allow him to sit next to her.

“You look like you could use something,” he told her quietly, taking his seat. “I wanted to get you some food but Cook chased me out of the kitchen before I could even ask. This is the best I could do.”

She raised the glass to her lips. “This is great. Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Alex replied, watching her take a sip. “I mean, we do have to look out for another.” In the wake of Jean’s death and Scott’s debilitating bereavement, he and Jubilee managed to forge a close rapport. It sustained them, allowing them to rely on one another especially during more demanding times. Alex was quite certain that if Jubilee had not been present, he would have probably hit Scott. Knowing that he had someone to commiserate with provided him with the reserve needed.

Jubilee nodded in agreement, swallowing. Then she grimaced, peering down curiously at the glass. “Is this…diet?” she asked.

He gave her a quizzical look. “I thought you drank diet soda.”

“Sorry, but I can’t stand the stuff. The companies kind of give it away with the first three letters.”

“So not all women drink diet soda? I learn something new everyday.”

That remark earned him a wry smile, causing his own grin to broaden. With their days dominated by gloom and sadness, this brief moment of levity was welcomed. It was almost as if things were normal again. The thought left both feeling very nostalgic for simpler times, times that seemed so removed now.

Jubilee placed the glass on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m going to get a replacement,” she announced, rising. “Just point me to the drinks station. Then we can debunk your stereotypes.”

Following her lead, Alex stood up as well. He was about to direct her where to proceed when he noticed her expression had changed. Gone was the glimmer of sparkle in those sapphire eyes as was the tiny smile that graced her red mouth. Now marring her delicate features was an expression that seemed to reflect anguish. Concerned, Alex placed a supportive hand on her back and began to lean in to inquire what was troubling her. However, the words died in his mouth when he discovered the source. His blue-green eyes quickly narrowed.

On the opposite side of the room, Bobby stood with Warren, Hank, and Lorna. The four of them appeared to be in deep conversation with Professor, who looked extremely lethargic. Despite this, he still managed to take an active part during this interaction. An anxious-looking Hank knelt down in front of his wheelchair-bound mentor, nodding firmly and gesturing to the three who remained standing. Meanwhile, Warren gave pointed looks to Bobby and Lorna before turning to speak with Xavier as well. Grim-faced, Bobby involved himself in the discussion and seemed to be deferring to his winged friend’s statements. There was a hangdog quality about his demeanour as he shifted his weight from foot to foot while being taken to task by the blond Adonis. For her part, Lorna placed a hand on Bobby’s arm while shaking her head at Warren and then the Professor. It was as if she were struggling to defend him or possibly something he had done.

Alex finally wrested his attention from the scene back to Jubilee. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard before answering. Everything about this moment felt so strange. Watching Bobby through the eyes of someone he no longer wanted to be with was akin to a bad dream. Her heart yearned to be by his side, to share whatever it was that disturbed him, and if possible, do everything in her power to take away his pain. However, she refrained from acting on her instincts once again. This was not the time or the place to give in to her urges. Much as she wanted to, there were other things to consider at the moment. Calling attention to her own problems, especially when everyone was still reeling from the funeral service, struck her as selfish. Approaching him while he was obviously engaged in a serious conversation with the Professor and his team mates also seemed to be inappropriate.

Ultimately, Jubilee wondered if she would ever have the chance to talk to Bobby. Impressive as her restraint was, there was a part of her that was restless. With her crystalline gaze still locked onto him, she felt as if she were jumping out of skin. A final resolution, good or bad, appeared very much out of reach—something that utterly frustrated her. In spite of these tumultuous feelings, however, logic prevailed. Jubilee was determined to confront Bobby under more appropriate circumstances.

“No,” she whispered back after what seemed like eons of internal reflection. “No, I’m not.”

The blond geophysicist frowned, concerned. He was cognizant as to what was weighing heavily on the young woman’s mind. Studying her desolate expression, he wished for the ability to turn back time. Had Alex been more wary and forceful in his reservations, perhaps some of this heartache could have been avoided. Inwardly, he cursed himself for letting down his guard and for allowing himself to be convinced that Bobby anything but a selfish, immature jerk. Alex knew that all of people, he was the one who was the most familiar with the less appealing aspects of Bobby Drake.

However, the experience of the other man’s temper tantrums, passive aggressive behaviour, and thinly veiled insults did nothing to prepare him for this transgression. As the one least likely to vote Bobby for Mr. Congeniality, Alex was forced to admit that his behaviour as of late was rather surprising. Witnessing him snub Jubilee and act as if nothing was amiss was infuriating. It chipped away at Bobby’s previous assertions of being a good guy who got a raw deal with respect to his relationships. As far as the younger Summers brother was concerned, the manner in which Bobby hurt Jubilee undermined that position completely.

Leaning towards Jubilee, Alex’s aqua eyes peered into her lovely face. “Do you want to go outside and get some air?” he inquired. “I’ll come with you…if you want.”

Surprised, the young firecracker stared up at him with wide eyes. Several weeks ago, if anyone told her Alex Summers would be someone for her to rely on for emotional support, Jubilee would have dismissed this possibility with a laugh or wise comment. But sensing the genuine nature of his concern, she found herself at a loss for words.

Finally, she regained the ability to respond. “Thanks but no,” she said softly, giving him a rueful smile. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw that group had dispersed and that Bobby was now walking up the spiral staircase. Sensing her chance, Jubilee excused herself and drew away from Alex.

Once his blue-green eyes followed her line of vision, he became alarmed. Instinctively, tanned fingers snaked out to grasp her arm. “You don’t need to do this.”

She shook her head, gently pulling her arm from his grip. “You’re wrong, Alex,” she told him, her tone determined. “I do.”

Bobby heaved his shoulders, exhaling loudly as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. A grimace was plastered across his boyish face, which seemed to be an expression he often wore these days. Several steps ahead of him was Lorna. His former girlfriend’s brisk pace reflected her eagerness to leave the gathering below. Neither one was in the mood to be around other people at the moment. Based on the body language displayed by both, it was clear that the two would not have made good company if approached.

The dressing down received minutes ago left them with feelings of embarrassment, indignation, and shame. It had been quite some since either one of them had been reprimanded by the Professor. Such an interaction was something believed to have been left behind during their training days. But experiencing Xavier’s stern words earlier reminded the two of how intimidating he could be despite his advancement in years and current frail state. Even Lorna, who was struggling with some anger management issues following her experience in Genosha, found herself responding meekly to her mentor’s chiding.

What provoked the uncharacteristically severe response were the events surrounding the encounter with newly ordained Stryker and his group of picketing followers. After Lorna remonstrated the congregation, members of the crowd proceeded to charge the gates while screaming at the top of their lungs. Initially, those on the other side were quite certain of the strength of the metal barrier. After all, these iron-wrought gates had been with the property since its construction so many years ago. However, their collective sense of overconfidence faltered once the bars began to shake and the sound of the clanging became progressively louder. While Lorna was bracing herself to intervene, it was Bobby who maintained the separation between them and the hostile crowd. Extending his hand towards the gates, he created a dense block of ice that encapsulated the gates completely. The material was so thick that it muffled the sounds of the protesters yelling and distorted their scowling faces. Soaring above the melee, it was Warren who heard Stryker call for everyone to head towards their vehicles in order to contact the police about the theft and ensuing destruction of property. Hearing this, Warren was alarmed as he realized the last thing that needed to happen on this day was any contact with the police. When he and Hank were unable to make contact with the Professor or Emma, they decided to make the journey back to the chapel in the hopes of directly appealing to either one in order to change the course of events.

Upon entering the doors of the tiny church, Hank appointed himself as spokesman for the quartet. During the Professor’s eulogy, he alerted their mentor as to what occurred outside. Although Xavier was sombre while delivering his speech, his telepathic voice was stern as he reprimanded them for allowing their emotions to cloud their better judgment. He then brought Emma into the conversation and requested the former Hellfire member to assist him in “addressing the situation”. Fortunately, they were able to alter the memories of Reverend Stryker and his people before the authorities could be contacted. However, the Professor continued to be upset. He expressed his utter disbelief that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and Lorna had let things get this far to begin with. He specifically targeted Bobby and Lorna, informing both how disappointed he was in them.

“I expect better from you two,” he had told them, looking weakened but determined. “What you did today could have resulted in catastrophic consequences.”

With the Professor’s voice still echoing inside her head, Lorna paused in her steps and leaned against the mahogany wood that panelled the walls in the hallway. “I didn’t think this day could get any more challenging and something like me losing my temper causes even more grief.” Her emerald eyes soaked up the Persian carpeting beneath her feet. Then she peered over at Bobby. “How are you doing?”

“It’s been a hard day,” Bobby admitted wearily, standing across from and loosening his tie. Then he shook his head and amended his statement. “Scratch that. It’s been a hard couple of weeks.”

Lorna nodded sympathetically. “I know,” she said, tucking a lock of sea-green hair behind her ear. While working alongside him on the investigative team, Lorna knew of his recent problems, including his father’s stroke. She had also witnessed his interpersonal difficulties with various individuals around the mansion, which she later learned stemmed from his unexplained break-up with Jubilee. Taken together, it was no surprise he was so despondent as of late. “I’m sorry.”

He gave her a grateful nod before continuing to speak. “I just want things to be the way they used to be,” he told her sadly. “Before…” He let his voice trail off. The word seemed to encompass so much for him in his life. There was the secondary mutation, his father’s stroke, Jean’s death, and ending things with Jubilee. His yearning could have applied to any of these events. As unsure as he was about what he was referring to, the only thing he was confident of was his sense of being hopelessly adrift in the chaos.

Lorna, unaware of the dynamics at play, interpreted her friend’s doleful presentation as being in response to Jean’s death and the stresses associated with his father’s illness. “I guess we can only hope that with time, things get easier,” she said, feeling slightly out of sorts when dispensing those words. As soon as they escaped from her mouth, she immediately thought of Jean and how much she truly missed her. It was in situations such as this that the redhead seemed to shine. She could always be relied on to provide the appropriate response, to soothe the other party. After experiencing the traumatic events in Genosha several months ago, Lorna had little faith she had any business comforting anyone.

Bobby was able to discern his former girlfriend was ruminating about something. Eager to distract himself from his own difficulties, he looked into her pensive face and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

She crossed her slim arms over her chest and shook her head in disbelief. “I’m trying to get used to the idea of Jean being gone,” she replied. Then she bit her lower lip. “I know this sounds terrible to admit, but I feel like I took her for granted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I first returned to the mansion, I was really…out of it. Jean was one of a few people willing to be patient with me. Everyone else was freaked out by ‘Crazy Lorna’ .”

“I wasn’t.”

“That’s right. You weren’t. Why was that, Bobby?”

“You were and still are my friend,” he pointed out. “I don’t believe on turning my back on friends even when they’re not acting like themselves.”

Hearing this response, Lorna gave him a small smile. “I’m grateful for that,” she told him, her tone devoid of the usual tinge of harshness. Then she added, “I guess turnabout is fair play.”

He frowned at her, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind, Bobby, and you’re not that naïve.” Lorna lowered her arms and clasped her hands together. She was trying to choose her words carefully as she broached this topic. “People have been treating you like persona non grata since you came back. I’m just saying that no matter what’s precipitated this, I don’t intend on shutting you out.”

The boyishly handsome young man was taken aback. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more—how observant Lorna was or her declaration of loyalty. Rather than dwelling on the issue, Bobby decided to focus on assuaging her anxieties. “Thanks for letting me know,” he told her, attempting to sound nonchalant. “But I’m okay, really.”

“Bobby?”

Startled, he turned around to find Jubilee standing several feet away. There were a myriad of emotions that coursed throughout his entire being as his gaze swept over her beautiful but sad face. He was elated to see her, to know that she still cared for him in spite of everything he had done. At the same time, he was experiencing a multitude of negative feelings surrounding how he had handled things between them—guilt, heartbreak, self-loathing. The intensity of these feelings seemed to increase exponentially the longer he continued gazing upon her lovely features.

Jubilee studied Bobby as he looked over at her, his boyish face filled with pain and his grey eyes lost. Gone was the hard mask of indifference he had worn around her since that day in Long Island. For a moment, Jubilee saw her Bobby, the man she loved so much, the man whom she envisioned a life with. As their eyes locked, there was a glimmer of hope that he would come to her. She could feel her heart skip a beat at the possibility of him returning, smoothing away all the heartache between them.

To her astonishment and disappointment, Bobby abruptly turned away from her. He then leaned towards Lorna, whispering in her ear. The self-proclaimed mistress of magnetism looked awkward as she cast a glance at Jubilee. She appeared as if she wanted to leave him but acquiesced when his hand reached for her shoulder, tugging at it insistently.

Jubilee could feel her entire world crumble as the green-haired woman guided Bobby into his bedroom before closing the door firmly behind them.