From under the rumpled bedclothes, Chris moaned. “Skating was my life. I can’t skate anymore. I have nothing to live for.”
With her hands on her hips, Jubilee retorted, “Then don’t live for anything. Just live!”
He moaned again and covered his head with the blanket. Jubilee marched over and yanked it back. “Christopher Kim, I did not risk my butt to save yours from those thugs just to watch you sleep the rest of your life away.”
“But. . . what else can I do? All I’ve ever done is train.”
“Have some fun.”
“Training was fun.”
“There’s all kinds of fun. Come on, it’s a nice day. Look at the pretty leaves outside. Smell the wood smoke. Listen to the birds.” She cupped her hand to her ear.
They couldn’t hear any birds, but there seemed to be shouting outside.
Jubilee returned to the window. “Cool! Look, some of the guys are playing basketball outside. Let’s go play.”
“I can’t play basketball. I’m too short.”
“Maybe, but you have an advantage. You can be Air Kim!”
“Using those powers is what got me into trouble in the first place.” “Well, you can’t hide from using your powers. They’re part of what you are. Let’s go—you’ll see, it’ll be a blast!” Jubilee grabbed one of his hands, and hauled him to a sitting position.
Perhaps Chris decided it would take less energy to go along with her than resist. He finally consented to dress and go outside with her,
It was no ordinary basketball game. Remy was dribbling the ball, which was glowing with a charge of kinetic energy. Rogue was flying a few feet off the ground in front of the basket. Jean was floating on one side, waiting for the rebound, and Bobby generated an ice sheet under Remy just as he let loose the shot. Remy slipped onto his rear, but he made the basket. The ball bounced insanely upon hitting the ground, discharging a blinding blast. Jean, undaunted, stared at the now-singed ball, which froze in midair. Rogue flew in under it and, rising into the sky, slam-dunked it from three feet above the net.
Chris’s jaw dropped. “What the heck?”
“I told you before.” said Jubilee. “We’re all mutants here. This school teaches us to use and control our powers.”
“I... I guess I wasn’t paying attention before, with everything that was going on.”
“If there’s one place you can have fun with your powers, it’s here.” Jubilee grinned. “This is what recess is like for us.” She waved her arms to the players. “Hey, can we play?”
“Sure,” Remy said. “But if both of y’all join, you gotta be on separate teams.”
“Wait,” Rogue put in. “I’ll join your team and Jubes and Chris can join mine.”
Jubilee propelled Chris toward the court, and he joined the madness.
Two hours later, Chris was actually smiling as everyone clattered back into the mansion.
“Way to go, duuude,” Jubilee said. “You scored the winning basket.” “I just wanted to jump ... I didn’t think I’d jump that high.” In the last seconds of the game, Chris had darted past three flying interfering mutants and made a miraculous slam dunk. He really was Air Kim.
Remy shook his head. “Dey too many people who can fly playin’ dis game. I feel like a midget in de NBA.”
“Hey, I can’t fly!” Jubilee admonished and shoved Remy playfully. They were in the living room, and Chris suddenly was transfixed by something on the coffee table. He went over to it and picked up a book, then began leafing through it.
Jubilee noticed and broke off her teasing, joining the skater’s side as the others left for the kitchen. “What’s that?”
Chris showed her. “Great Works of the Italian Renaissance.” “Oooh.” Jubilee rolled her eyes and groaned. “I remember when we got that book. Professor Xavier took us to New York, to that big, boring art museum. He made us stare at a bunch of pictures of naked fat women ... yawn-o-rama!”
Chris looked at the book thoughtfully. “I’ve been in a lot of the cities where these paintings are displayed,” he said. “But I’ve never seen them. I’ve been all over Europe and only seen the four walls of my hotel room and the inside of the ice rink. We never had the time or the money to stay a little extra after the competition and see the sights. I always wanted to see the museums. I would read guidebooks and imagine what it would be like.”
“Eew. You like museums. ..” Then Jubilee remembered she hadn’t thought much of figure skating until Jean and Rogue had gotten her into it. Maybe museums weren’t so bad after all. “So . . . um . .. you’ve never been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art? In New York?”
The skater shook his head. “But I skated once at the Rockefeller Center tree lighting ceremony.”
“Well, dude, we’re only about an hour away from the Big Apple. We can go to the museum tomorrow. We’ll take the train; we’ll make it a road trip.”
“No way!”
“Way! I’ve got nothing better to do. Okay, there’s some school-work, but Professor X is out of town and I can blow it off. Let’s do it!” “But what about the media? Won’t they still be after me?”
“You can go in disguise.” Jubilee raised an eyebrow and winked.
The next day, Jubilee and Chris sat on a hill in Central Park at sunset. It was still a clear day, but there was a stiff breeze that carried the bite of winter. They looked out at the autumn foliage, which was past its peak—some of the trees were already bare.
“So, how’d you like the museum?” Jubilee asked.
Chris took off his baseball cap. “I had a great time .. . this disguise really worked well. I didn’t think I’d look so different just wearing a hat.”
Jubilee didn’t tell him there was an image inducer hidden in the hat. “I had a pretty good time too. You really know a lot about art.”
“I read a lot on plane trips. See, I told you there was more in there than pictures of fat naked women.”
“I liked the Egyptian stuff,” Jubilee acknowledged. “And those knights in armor... and those indoor gardens with the pretty statues . ..”
“The paintings are so much more beautiful in real life,” Chris said with a sigh. “The colors just aren’t the same in the pictures in books. And to see the sculptures in the round . . . !”
“Hey, Chris . . . now you have the time to go to all the museums you want.”
Chris blinked. “Yeah ... I guess . .He jumped with realization. “You know what I could do? I could take the money I would have spent on training this year, and use it to tour Europe. I could see all the great museums—the Louvre, the Uffizi, the British Museum!”
“Hey, that’s a great idea! And if you keep moving around, it’ll be harder for the press to bug you . . . you should keep the hat, though.” He smiled at her.
Jubilee sighed. He had a very sweet smile, and she hadn’t seen enough of it lately. But then she realized he was talking about going away, perhaps for months. . . and she was just getting to know him.
“Chris .. . you can still stay at the mansion right now. We can go to all the museums in New York, and you can learn to use your powers ..
He shook his head. “No offense, but... I want to get away from the mansion for a while. I’ve been cooped up in there long enough.” “But. . . but. . . what about. . . urn .. . us?” She winced as she realized she sounded like something out of a cheesy soap opera.
“Jubilee ... I like you. A lot. And ... I’m really grateful to you for saving my life.”
“Oh, no . . . don’t tell me . . . you’re not. . . into . . . girls . ..”
“No! I mean, yeah, I like girls . . . but. .. you might not believe this. . . I’ve never dated or anything. There just wasn’t time for that while I was training.”
“So you have time for it now.”
He squirmed. “Um . . . Jubilee ... I need to sort of. . . get used to my new life, y’know? My whole world has been turned upside down. I have to get my head together before I can get into dating or any of that stuff.
I didn’t think I’d even start dating till after I got my gold medal.” “That would only have been a few months from now.”
“A lot can happen in a few months. .. Jubes, I’m sorry. I don’t want to blow you off or anything . . . but you know what I’ve just gone through.”
Jubilee hung her head. “Yeah . . . just a couple of days ago I was really worried you might do something . . . drastic ... if you know what I mean.”
“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Thanks for saving my life . . . and giving me a new one.”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Then, Chris hestitantly leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
Jubilee said nothing for a second. Then she jumped up. “Well, we’d better get going. It’ll be dark soon.”
She pulled him to his feet and led him down the hill.
Dear Jubilee:
Europe is so awesome! I got to see everything this time! The museums are incredible! So are the palaces, and the cathedrals! Everything’s so beautiful! I saw the Mona Lisa yesterday. It was unbelievable! To actually stand in front of the real thing after seeing so many pictures of it... it made me feel alive. I love this stuff. I think I want to become an art critic!
I haven’t been using my powers much, but I don’t hate them or anything. Maybe in a few months I’ll go back to your school and take some lessons. But I’ve been in athletics training my whole life, so there’s no hurry. My coach is still fighting the federation. I want to win, but at least now my life won’t be over if they never let me skate again. I still miss it, but it hurts a little less nowadays.
Thanks so much for everything. I’ll never forget you.
Love, Chris
Jubilee read the letter one more time, then folded it up and pocketed it in her yellow trench coat as she headed toward the Danger Room. I am so over you, she thought. Besides, she had other things to worry about. Magneto was up to no good again, they’d just gotten back from Genosha, and there was that Legacy Virus . . .
Iceman met her in the corridor, going the other way. “It’s all set up in there for your session. Wolverine is waiting,” he said. “Oh, by the way—do you still want me to look into converting the pool to an ice rink, now that it’s winter?”
Jubilee paused for a moment. Then she said, “Yeah, sure. It’s too snowy for rollerblading. No sense wasting that nice skating dress Jean got me.”
Okay, so maybe I’m not completely over you . . .
“Hey,” Bobby said, “I could go skating with you.”
“Wouldn't you rather skate with Remy, instead? You two made such a lovely couple.”
“Nah. He always wants to lead.”
They chuckled for a few minutes before Jubilee continued on to the Danger Room.
Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of
Robin Wayne Bailey
Jean Grey sat at her small writing desk addressing a stack of wedding invitations in the early Sunday quiet. Steam curled upward from a cup of black coffee she held in her left hand, while with her right she dipped the nib of her pen in the well of a Parker Ink jar and scrawled another name on a vellum envelope. With a flourish, she set the pen aside, screwed the lid on the jar, sat back, and sighed.
Her desk calendar still showed the date as December 6th, and she ripped the page away, crumpling it before dropping it into her trash can. So much remained to be done, so many preparations. How would she ever be ready in time?
The morning sun streamed through her window, pleasantly warming her face, a relaxing sensation. She closed her eyes and listened as the opening strains of Sammy Kaye’s Sunday Serenade began on the NBC Red Network, to which her Philco radio was tuned. The soft music, so deliciously romantic, only added to the sense of contentment that filled her, and she fingered the invitations, wondering if she dared take time to address just one more.
A glance at her wristwatch brought Jean upright in her chair. Only thirty minutes before her work shift began! Slamming back the last of her coffee, she rose and smoothed the wrinkles of her white uniform. Near the room’s only door, a rectangular mirror in a wooden frame hung on the wall beside a picture of the American flag. Pausing before it, she twisted her red tresses into a tight bun, checked the gold lieutenant’s bars and the caduceus pin on her collar, then pinned her nurse’s cap in place.
Outside, a low-flying plane passed, its drone surprisingly loud. Her back to the window now, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the craft in the comer of the mirror, then a sudden bright flash. Sunlight on metallic wing, she assumed, until she heard the explosion that followed and felt the shock of it.
Jean Grey whirled. In the distance beyond her window, fire and smoke roiled up from the area of the men’s barracks. Before she could
move, another fireball blossomed into the air, vast and scorching. Her window cracked, and the splinters flew toward her. With a scream, she flung herself down, covering her face while her room seemed to buck and tremble.
A moment of tense silence followed. Jean shrugged off broken glass as she got to her feet. She didn’t bother to check herself for cuts, nor did she spare more than a despairing glance at the invitations now scattered on the floor. Instead, she snatched up the blue cloak that lay folded on the foot of her bed, flung it around her shoulders, and fled her room.
All the nurses in the barracks were awake, shouting questions, demanding answers, wide-eyed with fear and confusion, in various stages of dress. They congested the hallways. “Get to the hospital!” Jean called as she pushed her way through them. “Be ready for casualties!”
A young army nurse just coming off shift stood petrified in the entrance, one hand still holding open the screen door. “No warning!” she wailed. “No siren! Jean, the sky’s full of planes!”
Jean shoved by her and stepped outside. Already, smoke filled the air, and fire heat blew in waves across the field. A second massive explosion knocked her off her feet as one of the hangars exploded and flames engulfed a pair of mustang fighters parked before it.
Overhead, yellow-winged aircraft strafed the men’s barracks. Another building, a machine shop, geysered upward in a terrible shower of brick and board and fire. Beyond it, more mustang fighters and cargo ships, all lined up so neatly on Hickam’s airfield, folded like balsa toys under the unheralded attack.
Jean heard her name. A sprawling lawn separated the nurses’ barracks from Hickam Hospital. A tall man in flight surgeon’s uniform ran toward her. Again, he called her name, his expression grim, determined, heedless of the bullets that chewed the ground behind him.
“Scott!” Jean waved her arms, attempting to warn him as she struggled to her feet. He jerked and twitched wildly, then froze for a moment, his shoulders slumping, and looked at her like a little boy who knew he’d done something horribly wrong. Then he crumpled like a broken doll.
A scream ripped from her lips, and something churned inside her mind, something dark and frightening that stirred and came roaring awake, something powerful and angry. It reached out from her, enveloped the yellow-winged plane, seized it in midair, then crushed it like a thing of paper. Fuel erupted, and a second bright sun hung briefly in the sky and then smashed into the earth.
Jean stared at the wreckage on the lawn, stunned, feeling the power, whatever it was, recoil inside her and knowing that somehow she was responsible. But she couldn't think about it now. Instinct and impulse only drove her, and she ran to Scott, threw herself down by his side.
All around her people ran now, but no one stopped to help. On the rooftops, some soldiers were firing back with machine guns or pistols. A plane tried to take off, then veered sharply off the runway as a massive four-engined B-17 attempting to land came screaming through the air, a blazing torch from mid-fuselage to tail section. The yellowwinged warplanes swarmed like bees around it, scorching the air with tracers. It smashed into the runway, cracking open, and the forward half skidded to a stop while the rear splinte
red and burned.
Scott’s blood stained Jean’s hands as she cradled his head. “Stay with me, Scott!” she begged. “Help’s on the way! Don’t you leave me!”
With a gasp, Jean Grey bolted up in the bed, her body trembling, drenched in a clammy sweat. Beside her, Scott Summers also snapped awake and slapped the switch on the bedside light. The low wattage glinted on the slender goggles of ruby quartz in which he slept.
“The dream again?” he questioned, his voice alert, concerned.
Jean nibbed her temples as she climbed out of bed, crossed the floor of the room, pushed back the drape over the window, and stared beyond it. The moon shimmered on the lake outside the converted boathouse they called home. A gentle August night wind shivered through the pines. All seemed at peace on the Xavier estate.
“Different,” she said as her trembling subsided. She let the curtain fall back into place. “But the same, yes.” She turned to face her husband, and despite her unease, she smiled at the way the pillow had mashed his thick brown hair into a crooked coxcomb on one side of his head. The book he’d been reading when he fell asleep lay open on the floor. Without comment, she lifted it telekinetically, closed it, and placed it on his nightstand next to a pair of glasses made from the same ruby quartz as his goggles.
“Almost every night this week,” he said, sitting up and drawing his knees to his bare chest beneath the blanket.
“I can’t figure why,” Jean answered. Remnants of the dream yet lingered, troubling her. She remembered the desk calendar and its glaring date in red letters and numerals: December 7, 1941. She knew that date: Pearl Harbor. The Day of Infamy. Yet she’d never had any particular interest in World War II, and no connection at all to Hawaii or Hickam Field. She tried to shrug off the images. “It’ll be dawn soon,” she said, pushing her feet into slippers. “I’ll make some coffee.”
With eyes squeezed shut, Scott traded the goggles for his glasses. “I’ll fry the eggs,” he said.
Scott served breakfast on the dock and as they ate they watched the sunrise through the whispering trees. The dream melted away, and Jean relaxed as the sky brightened. Three weeks married, and she never felt closer to Scott than at this moment, nor more at peace. Peace was a rare and precious thing for the X-Men, for the world feared and hated them, branded them outlaws, mutants.
Legends Page 23
