3 2 . f l a v o r s

32 Flavors
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: "and god help you if you are an ugly girl / of course, too pretty is also your doom / 'cause everyone harbors a secret hatred / for the prettiest girl in the room / and god help you if you are a phoenix / and you dare to rise up from the ash / a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy/ while you are just flying past"

Notes: Thanks as always to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete for beta'ing and kicking my ass when I whine. I may never be a member of PETJ, but I am working on my Jean issues. However, I will never resolve my Celine Dion issues and you can't make me. ;p On to the dreaded songfic.

To see the lovely graphic Märrie made for this story, click here.

Date: May 2001

< > indicates thoughts

Jean loved Christmas. She loved the red and greenness of it; the scent of pine and frost in the air; the happy sounds of children. She especially loved the happy sounds of the children at the school, because for so many of them, it was their first real Christmas -- their first real holiday without fear, without hate, without shame. And she loved being part of that.

She sat, curled up on the sofa, watching as Scott handed out gifts to everyone. He looked so handsome in his red plaid flannel pajama pants and white t-shirt. He managed to make the scene look like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad without even trying. That was just Scott, and it was one of the things she loved about him -- how naturally that aura of confidence and stability came to him, because she'd had to work so hard for hers.

He called her name, then, and she leapt eagerly from the couch, a big smile on her face. Of course, she loved presents. Who didn't?

She sat back down and looked at the tag. In neat, girlish script, it said, "To Jean. Merry Christmas. Love, Rogue." Her eyes teared a little.

She had tried so hard to be a friend to the enigmatic girl with the two white stripes. She had done everything but come out and tell her that while, yes, she was attracted to Logan (and who wouldn't be? Even Storm had commented on his finer attributes, and the weather witch was not known for such racy talk), she loved Scott with her whole mind, her whole body and her whole soul. And there was something vaguely blasphemous about that, she thought as she turned the brightly wrapped package over in her hands.

"Come on, Jeannie," Logan grumbled. "That's the last gift. Sooner you open it, the sooner I can get the hell outta here."

"Hold your horses, Logan. Maybe I want to make this last a while." She smiled at him before noticing that Rogue's expression had turned sad at their easy banter. Her smile dimmed. "What can it be? What can it be?" she murmured teasingly and the younger children eagerly gathered round her to see.

She carefully slid a nail underneath the tape and pulled the paper back slowly. The skeletal face of Celine Dion stared back at her. "I hope you like it," Rogue said softly. There was no malice in the girl, Jean knew, but she felt stricken, nonetheless.

"It's, it's wonderful," she replied, turning over the two CDs, hours and hours of the Canadian diva's greatest hits.

Her eyes scanned the room. Rogue had obviously done all of her shopping at J&R Musicworld -- Scott got the latest U2, Logan, a Janis Joplin box-set, and Ororo already had her Nina Simone CD open and was reading the liner notes. Rogue had hit the perfect note for each of the other teachers, down to a recording of the "performing version" of Mahler's uncompleted Tenth Symphony for the Professor and the Brandenburg Concertos for Hank.

How could Rogue have known exactly what everyone else liked, and gotten her so wrong? But she had long ago learned to control her expressions, even if she couldn't control the swirl of emotion that moved through her, so no one except Scott knew how disturbed she was by the gift.

<When exactly did I turn into my mother?> Jean wondered, idly picking out constellations in the winter sky. She sat on the roof, her favorite hiding place when life at the mansion crowded in. She loved her life, loved living amongst people who needed and loved her, but sometimes the strain of keeping them out of her head became too much, especially when there was so much excitement, as there was on Christmas day.

She lit a cigarette -- a remnant of her secret past as a wild child -- the Jean Grey only Scott and the Professor knew, back before she was a leader, a doctor, a woman. <A woman who obviously has no cool,> she thought wryly, amused at her induction into the ranks of old fogies. It was as if this gift, this offering, was a signpost -- she was no longer that shocking girl who heard voices and spat profanity, begging for the noise to stop.

Maybe if she'd held onto that girl a little longer, a little tighter, she'd be able to reach Rogue. She didn't like to admit it, but it bothered her that she was unable to get close to the one student she felt she had the most in common with. She knew what it was like to have strangers in her head, to have to fight against the voices to find her own. She wanted to share that knowledge so badly with the other girl, but Rogue had built her walls strong and high. She didn't want help, didn't want pity -- especially not from the one she viewed as a rival for Logan's affections.

Jean knew that what Logan felt for her wasn't love. It was pure animal lust -- and the desire to get a rise out of Scott, who played so neatly into his hands. She sometimes thought Logan could see past the façade of Dr. Jean Grey -- that he could see the scared and lonely girl she'd been, tormented by voices and unable to block them out even to sleep at night. And that was part of the attraction as well -- his desire to protect and defend. It came out most clearly when Rogue was threatened, though he'd adopted some of the other girls as protégées as well. Kitty, Jubilee, Rogue -- an unholy trinity in orbit around the man known only as Logan.

It was easy to see the difference though, in the way his eyes followed Rogue across the room, and the way his hand would tangle in her chestnut and silver hair while they watched hockey together. He was biding his time and using this flirtation with Jean as an amusement while he waited for Rogue to grow into herself. And Jean didn't mind at all. It was always flattering to have an attractive man pay attention to you. He made her feel like a woman, not just the poster girl for mutant rights. And she needed that sometimes. She needed to forget Dr. Grey for a while, and just be Jean.

Especially now, when she was feeling twice her thirty-three years, wondering when Celine Dion had replaced Ani DiFranco in her record collection.

She heard the noise and started, before she realized it was the object of her thoughts, creeping silently out onto the roof beside her, six-pack in one hand, cigarettes in the other.

"Oh," Rogue said, startled. "I'll just, you know, go."

"Don't," Jean said, smiling. "I could use a beer."

"Oh," Rogue repeated. "Um, okay, I guess." And she settled down on the blanket next to the redhead.

"So, was it a good Christmas?" Jean asked idly, blowing a perfect smoke ring and feeling the resentment roll off the girl in waves. Resentment tinged with something else -- fear? Regret? Hmm.

"Yeah. Last year--" she broke off and Jean put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. Last year, Rogue had been on the road, alone on this day that everyone should have someone to be with.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes, feeling the awkwardness, each wondering how to break it.

Then, "I don't hate you."

Jean sucked in a breath, hiding her surprise. "I know," she answered. And she did.

"It's just -- you're everything I could ever imagine being -- everything I never can be."

"Rogue, I--"

"Please," Rogue said, "let me finish. This is hard enough without having to drag it out. I don't hate you. I know you don't want Logan. It's not that. It's just -- you're beautiful and perfect and you have Scott and everyone loves you. It's like there's not enough air in the room for the rest of us when you're around.

"I don't hate you," and this time there was quiet conviction behind the words, "but sometimes I resent the hell out of you." She took a long swallow from her bottle of beer and wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself as the breeze picked up, reminding them that it was December in New York and that cold beer on a cold night wasn't necessarily her first choice in amusements, just something else that she'd had to make her own after the Statue of Liberty.

"'God help you if you are an ugly girl, / of course, too pretty is also your doom / 'cause everyone harbors a secret hatred / for the prettiest girl in the room,'" Jean sang softly.

Rogue darted a startled glance at Jean, and then her voice, untrained, off-key, joined her in the next lines, "'And God help you if you are a phoenix / and you dare to rise up from the ash / a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy/ while you are just flying past.'"

"Oh, God," Rogue muttered, embarrassed. "I can't believe I bought you Celine Dion. I didn't know."

Jean shook her head. "Why would you? I don't --" she stopped, thinking of her own culpability. "I don't share myself with you. I want to. I try but..." she trailed off.

"You only want to share what you think will help us, what you think we need," Rogue finished. "Not anything that would let us know you -- the real you." Jean thought of herself at seventeen -- wild, angry, drinking and smoking and taking drugs to make the voices go away. "All we ever see is Dr. Grey, X-Woman." The younger woman took another long sip of beer. "I can't be friends with her," she said, shaking her head. "Not while I want so badly to be her."

Jean sighed. "I went to my first concert when I was fourteen. U2 -- the Joshua Tree tour. My mutation hadn't manifested yet. When it did, later that summer, I was a wreck. I heard voices, saw things move -- it was like being in a cheap rip-off of _The Exorcist_. Only it was real, and it was happening to me." She chuckled. "I tried everything to get them to stop. My parents -- they wanted to believe there was nothing wrong that a good long chat with a therapist couldn't cure. They thought I was acting out. Looking for attention." It was as if she'd forgotten Rogue was there. "I was the ugly duckling, the gangly middle child with the carroty hair. And then I had all this other stuff to deal with on top of that."

"I, I didn't know," Rogue said again.

Jean smiled sadly. "No one does. Except the Professor and Scott. And by the time Scott was actually able to see me, I'd grown out of the awkward stage. I was lucky, though. I knew he loved me before he ever saw me."

"Thirty-two flavors," Rogue murmured.

"And then some," Jean replied. "We all are." They were silent again, this time comfortably. The wind blew and Jean shivered. "What do you say we head in and listen to my new CDs?" she asked after a while.

"Um--"

"I'm joking, Rogue! We can listen to your new CDs."

"Okay then. And, uh, I can return the Celine Dion stuff, if you want."

Jean thought about that for a second. "No. I think I should keep them. They can remind me that you only get back what you give."

The two women went back into the mansion, each with a little more understanding of the other than they'd had at the start of the day.

End

32 Flavors - Ani DiFranco

squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I'm beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you're going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said

both my parents taught me about good will
and I have done well by their names
just the kindness I've lavished on strangers
is more than I can explain
still there's many who've turned out their porch lights
just so I would think they were not home
and hid in the dark of their windows
til I'd passed and left them alone

and god help you if you are an ugly girl
course too pretty is also your doom
cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room
and god help you if you are a phoenix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying past

I'm not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
i'm not saying that i'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say

squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I'm beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you might find you're starving
and eating all of the words you said

~*~

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~*~

Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and/or Fox. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on their copyright. "32 Flavors" belongs to Ani DiFranco and Righteous Babe Records.