Chapter Text
Jean Elaine Grey had been living in motels for the past 3 months. She counted up to 32 before deciding that it was simply not worth the effort logging the numerous motels she stayed. In fact, she simply did not find worth in doing anything.
She heard rumours on the third day she left New York. Rumours about a school. School that taught people. People like her.
And her plan had been to find that place. Her initial plan. There was something empty in her heart and mind that stopped her from moving. From thinking about the next step. About a week of travelling in Greyhound buses, she had switched to walking on highways hoping that the next motel she would encounter was remotely better than the previous one. It wasn't.
Now she had done a full circle and had come back to the motel that she first stayed just after she left New York. It was by far the most noticeable building in its 1km radius, not because of the fact that there weren't any buildings in its 1km radius, but because of the giant, neon 'Highway Motel' sign that constantly flickered in red and blue over a glowing white background.
The rooms were dirty, but she found out that it was one of the better rooms after staying in many more. The wallpapers were a shade of mustard yellow, with the occasional stains that extended towards the ceiling, which, was an ugly, unimpressive tan. While the floor was mahogany, (this was one of their key selling points) it looked like it hadn't been properly swept in a decade or so, alongside the other, dusty wooden furnitures.
So there she was, in Room 204, hands out the window, her body leaning against the window frame. It was 7 AM and she had just woken up, and she would always start the day by staring at the redwood forest that stood on the other side of the highway.
The forest was deep, and there were no hints of human activity whatsoever. It was comforting. Sometimes she would stare at it for hours. Somedays she would just sit on the side of her bed and do nothing, contemplating about the things that she wasn't sure about. Nowadays, she felt like she wasn't sure about anything.
That was a part of her that her analytical, calculating side did not understand. It was pointless. And pointless was the complete opposite of what her life was like for the past few years. It was anything but. Searching and tracking, Jean Grey had made it a life's mission to save Sara. Recently, that resolve exploded into something much more radical; she had raided from one Damage Control to another, trying to accumulate hints about a 'V-Max,' a word that she received from Sara.
And the V-Max was a nothing burger. And Sara was dead.
In that room, a controlled environment where Jean was subject to testing by Damage Control - she realised that Sara was gone - and with that something else had vanished within her.
Her life had revolved around Sara, and in one, instantaneous moment of realisation, her life lost the sun that it had orbiting around. It was now a stray planet floating aimlessly, unsure where to go and what to do.
Just locate that school. Jean's own consciousness retorted her. That. Is the logical step. You should've been on it ever since you found about it.
Well, I don't want to.
Why not?
She couldn't answer that question. The asker was her and the answerer was also her, and she suddenly found herself annoyed at the part of her that was always asking. What was there to ask? Yes, Sara was gone. And over the 3 months, she had accepted it. That Sara was truly gone, and that she should continue on without her. Or at least, she should've.
She sighed and went over the counter. Picking up a white mug and wiping off the dust with the hem of her hoodie, she poured hot water. Ripping off a pack of a instant coffee that was offered by the motel, free of charge, she poured it in the cup, swirling it with a dirty teaspoon. After taking a sip, she returned to her usual spot in front of the window. The sun was beginning to rise, and the golden ray had painted her red bangs orange. Her eyes blinked furiously at the notion of a sudden light, face slightly scrunched up by its magnitude.
She took another sip.
There is something. Jean admitted to herself. Well, there is a lack of something. She couldn't put a finger on it. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't know what it was doing to her. All she was able to analyse was that she felt like she was missing a part of herself that had always been there - a value - a fragment of her individuality.
She took another sip.
Her mind recalled to a specific moment in time. Not a memory with Sara. Not a memory with her mother. She was in a room, a room with a soft glow that seemed to welcome her - all of her. It was a normal, average bedroom, the one you'd see on an average apartment in New York, but simultaneously the most welcoming room she'd been in years.
She took another sip.
You have me. She recollected. Replayed it in her head again and again whenever she wasn't pondering about. There was no intention behind it; and while she did feel safer, comfortable, and all the positive things that she thought she could ever feel in a human being, she did not register any of that nor let it linger in her mind too long. The memory had tied itself to her daily routine, and she still did not figure out why. She did not even necessarily enjoy it; after the positive feelings she had for Peter washed away, all she felt was overwhelming guilt. Guilt for what she had done to Peter.
It's all your fault. Her voice told her.
"I want to talk to him." Jean said softly, her mouth barely moving in its place. She did not mean to say it, nor think of ever saying it. It was an instinctive product, a comment that Jean Grey did not expect to come out of her mouth. She raised her own eyebrows at this.
No, you don't. Her analytical voice responded, with a stronger register. What you want is to find that school.
Jean considered for a moment. She didn't notice it, but her brain was already self-rationalising the reason why she had said that she wanted to talk to him.
You have me.
It wasn't because of that, no. She was only going to see him only because she felt stuck here. Trapped here, unable to move or take the next step. No, she thought to herself. I'm only going there, because Peter can help me.
Help you with what? She reasoned again.
Help me with stuff. He's an ally. He can be trusted.
Well, you might trust him, but he might not. Nobody really trusts you. Sara did, but now she's-
Jean stopped her train of thought. She wasn't going to have arguments with her own self-intellect again.
Taking another sip, her brain clicked. An idea. A reason. She had finally come up with a reasonable purpose in going back to New York to see Peter again. She would go back, talk to Peter, and face some unfinished business. Yes. That was the reason why she felt trapped. Felt like she couldn't move on to the next step. It was because she had never said sorry, never had closure with Peter.
OK, OK. She thought. I apologise to him, then MJ, then I leave.
Jean packed her stuff.