X-Men: Dark Mirror by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

will take us all night," Kurt said. Rogue walked close beside him; Jean thought it was in case his leg gave out. He was trying not to limp, but she remembered that blow to his knee, his high cry.
    "Yeah," Logan said, and Jean knew there would be no discussion about whether Kurt could handle the distance.
    They had to keep moving; first, to locate Jonas Maguire, and if that proved unfruitful, then somehow to find a way home, and fast.
    Scott brushed up against her side. She glanced down at him—and oh, that was strange, being taller than her husband—and said, "Hey."
    "Hey," Scott said softly. "How are you feeling?"
    "Okay," she said, sensing his discomfort. Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of night, and she slowed her pace, creating some distance between themselves and the others. "How about you?"
    He smiled, grim, and ran his fingers through his hair. A familiar gesture, one that made her heart jump, her stomach twist. She reached out and touched his face. Just a slip of her fingers against his cheek. Her hand was large and dark against his pale skin, but it was becoming her hand, her body, and though startling, she could breathe now when she looked at herself. She could accept her new form, even if she desperately wanted her old one back.
    Scott's breath caught. Jean said, "Close your eyes," and he did. She brushed her fingers against his lips, running them across his throat, and he swallowed hard.
    "It's still me," she whispered, aware they were falling even farther behind the others. She did not care. She had to make sure he understood, that whatever else happened, he could live with the changes between them. She hoped it was not permanent, but if it was . . . oh, God, i f...
    Scott opened his eyes. Brown eyes, rich dark eyes. Not his eyes, though. Jean wished they were. He grabbed her hand, held it against his face, and said, "I know."
    Do you, really? Jean wondered, aching for her powers, that sweet comfort of knowing his thoughts. A burden, too, but now that she was without the ability, she knew better than to take it for granted. She was appalled, too, at how vulnerable she felt without her gifts. Surely, she was stronger than this. She had to be.
    A smile flickered across Scott's mouth. Jean said, "What?"
    He shrugged, and tucked her much larger arm against his side. "It's ... funny. There's no way in the world anyone could mistake you for my wife—"
    "Oh, really," Jean drawled.
    "—but there is something of you in this man you're wearing. I can see it. I can see it so clearly when you look at me."
    Jean smiled, and this time it was genuine: a first, since waking up in her new body. Scott gazed up at her and quietly said, "There. There it is. My Jean."
    She did not know how much she needed to hear diose words; she took a deep breath, savoring the unexpected looseness in her chest, her gut, and held on to the look in his eyes, trying to memorize the moment so it would always stay fresh inside her heart.
    "Scott," she said. "What if I stay like this? What if we're both ... stuck?"
    He did not look away. "Do you know who I am, Jean?"
    She smiled. "Is that a trick question?"
    Scott stopped walking. He reached up and touched her cheek, brushing his thumb over her lips. Jean wanted to close her eyes, to pretend he wore a different face, but that would be a disservice, and Scott's eyes were open. He was not pretending.
    He drew close, and this time it was Scott who fit into her body, Scott who was small and lithe and feminine, and his small hand touched the back of her neck. They both hesitated, staring at each other: those strange faces housing familiar hearts.
    "You don't have to," Jean finally said, when the silence stretched too long.
    "I know," he said, "but I want to. You're still my wife, Jean."
    He stood on his toes, and Jean bent down and closed her eyes. He kissed her, soft, on the lips. His mouth felt odd, but the passion was still there, and after a moment she gave herself over to the comfort of being