Work Text:
Jean was the last out of the Blackbird, and her boots splashed in the puddles of melting ice. Bobby had preceded her, tactfully obliterating the blooms of ice that trailed the Iceman's every step. Jean smiled a little to see Bobby quietly following his leader out of the hanger and towards the briefing room. Meltwater splashed against the steel floor in their wake.
Such an odd pair. One all icy control, the other exuberant and lively. They make a good team.
She was last to arrive in the briefing room where the Professor waited. He was commending the team for their performance and Jean stopped, letting the words wash over her as she studied the rest of the team. Bobby hovered loyally by the Iceman's elbow, while the rest of the team slowly shifted away to escape the creeping cold. Bobby was never cold, warmed by his own fires.
The others felt it though, even through the thick leather of their suits. One by one they shifted awkwardly, edging away from him and the slick of frost that blossomed around his feet. As ice rimed the wheels of his chair Xavier broke off in mid-sentence; that was enough for the Iceman to notice the fruits of inattention. The frost puddled into nothing. The other X-Men smiled and shifted back to more comfortable postures, but the Iceman's face remained impassive.
Glaciers can't smile even when they're happy, and they all know that. But it's so hard to warm to someone who looks so cold, whose warmth you never see. I can't blame them for that.
The briefing over, the X-Men scattered; some went to bathe, others to eat. Their leader remained, leaning against a frozen chair, staring at the floor. Jean sighed quietly, and stepped into his line of sight. He raised his head, and she tried to meet his gaze - not an easy thing when looking into glassy white eyes.
Look at him - how can they think him unfeeling? The tilt of his head, the crook of his shoulders, the fists dangling limp. A sculptor would give his hands to create something so expressive.
Jean looked up into his face, and smiled gently. Her hand against his chest paled instantly; her nails blued and her breath misted against him. As his cold seeped into her, she leant to kiss him on his melting lips.
"It's late, Scott. Come to bed."
* * *
I am so tired. Every bone in my body is solid ice, and I'm cold from guts to skin. I can barely move.
Jean looked across at Scott, splayed out across their bed, sleeping as though dead. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow; at peace, he looked about fifteen years old. He was smiling. His sluggish sleeping brainwaves lulled her seductively across the shared link, and she knew she couldn't stay awake much longer.
Regretfully she unlaced her fingers from his, and stood up as the room chilled. A blue tinge crept over his skin, crackling noises echoing in the silence as his skin iced over and his flesh hardened. Jean looked away as the ice overwhelmed him again, but she could feel him in her head. The fragments of Scott that looked out through her eyes weren't angry any more, just sad and resigned.
In some ways, that's almost worse.
The warm water beat against Jean's back, soothing her body that ached from the cold. She laid her cheek against the glass and spines of frost splintered across it. She sighed. New pieces of Scott tumbled through her mind, like sharp-edged snowflakes that cut as they whirled. Painstakingly, methodically, she began to put the new fragments safely away, along with all the other slivers she had absorbed over the years.
A touch here, a caress there - only Jean's power, tightly controlled, could give Scott back his flesh and blood. The plane crash that orphaned him had left him with brain damage - the doctors had struggled to find any impairment, until his power manifested and he couldn't shut it off. He'd iced over three city blocks before the Professor found him, and many X-missions had become unexpectedly frosty until he learnt rigid self-discipline. Bobby's fire had kept them thawed more than once, until Jean had perfected her own control. Shared memories flickered in Jean's mind as she reasserted herself in her own head.
And now he thinks I'm the only thing that makes him human, and he will cling to me until I freeze myself.
She could feel the press of Scott's memories within her, the warmth of his heart at odds with the ice of his control and his powers. Every day she became a little more Scott; every day he needed her touch in some way, needed her to absorb the Iceman so that he could be Scott again. Idly, Jean wondered how long it would be before she became more ice than Scott was. She sighed and straightened, reassured to see her breath steaming - not freezing into snowflakes that would rain down on her bare feet. She shut the water off and wrapped herself in a towel, heading for the empty place on the bed next to her Iceman.
I am still me, and I'll be warm in the cold for as long as I can.