Disclaimer: Don't own it, wish I did, same as everyone on this forsaken website.

A/N: I don't really have much to say at the moment, so I'll make this quick. Don't get the wrong impression from this first chapter; I'm a 100 percentRomy fan, so there is nothing between Jean and Gambit. I just needed someone who would actually help him out (othewise I wouldn't have a story), and Jean was that person. Her character's actually pretty fun to write.

Here's a shoutout to my lazy bum of my sister, who I have to thank for saving this chapter on the computer with a printer before my own computer died, and also pretended to edit my story but only ended up changing two things.

Prologue:

Prelude to a Murder

Jean Grey had been the kind of person that was easy to envy. She was the former star of the soccer team. She had outstanding grades. She was one of the most beautiful girls in school—long red hair, a delicate-yet-determined face, good fashion sense, and a nice body. Her ex-boyfriend was the captain of the football team. She had been popular. Even people that hated her—for example, her team-mate Rogue—could only find fault in the fact that she was so darned perfect.

Keywords: had been. Right up to the point when the world had discovered that she was a mutant.

Not to say that she regretted being a mutant. Certainly she had those days when she wished that her powers would just go to hell, but most of the time she didn’t particularly mind, and there were occasions that compensated for the trouble they gave her. It didn’t matter whether or not she liked them anyway—they were there to stay, and nothing she could do would change that. So she tried to look at the positives rather than the negatives whenever she could.

But at the moment the negatives were pelting her with spitballs, so she was finding it rather hard to look at the positives.

It had not been a good day for Jean Grey. She had woken up to find that she had overslept her alarm and only had ten minutes to get ready for school. Then someone—she wasn’t naming names—had bampfed into the kitchen a little too close for her liking and had caused her to completely drench the front of her white shirt in milk. Right in front of Scott. She had had to go change, then had ended up taking her own car to school because a.) she had been volunteered to pick up a few things at the store after school and b.) even if she hadn’t, she had missed her ride with everyone else. Following being late from school, other unpleasant events included: falling asleep in the middle of a test, having forgotten an essay for English, having a few of her textbooks go conspicuously missing (she had found them in a trashcan in the girls’ bathroom), and being pushed into a puddle during gym, which would have been fine other than the fact that she had lost her balance and now her butt was soaking wet and it looked like she had lost control of her bladder. And now this.

“Come on, mutie, why don’t you fight back?”

“I bet she’s scared of us normal people.”

“She should be! Once that mutant registration law is passed, she’s gonna be in deep shit.”

Jean gritted her teeth and looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the group of punks that was intent on harassing her all the way out the doors of the school. They were immature little bigots, she reminded herself firmly. She knew that they wanted her to react, that getting angry would just be playing into their hands, but it was getting pretty hard to continue pretending that they weren’t there. In fact, she was sorely tempted to use her powers to deflect the projectiles right back at them, but that would set a bad example for the younger students. Sometimes it was a real drag to be so responsible—there was so much pressure on her never to do anything wrong that the idiom “To err is human” seemed obsolete. Besides, she wasn’t technically human, so it wasn’t really applicable anyway.

A spitball suddenly stopped its rapid trajectory, hovering at eyelevel an inch away from its target, similar to the way many of its brethren halted in their flight wherever they happened to be. To heck with showing restraint. She had just stepped out of the doors to the school, and she supposed that it wouldn’t be such a crime to defend herself outside. She let the projectiles drop to the sidewalk around her and turned to face her tormentors.

“Grow up,” she instructed. “If you want to go around making fun of people because of the way they were born, that’s your business. But one of these days you’re going to make fun of the wrong person. Not all mutants are as nice as I am.”

She turned back around abruptly and made a beeline for her car. At the moment she wished that she could go straight back to the mansion with the others, but she had promised to pick up a few things from the store before she went home. That was the price you paid for being a nice person, she reasoned. Sometimes it really sucked, but somebody had to do it.

She slammed the door behind her and fired the ignition. Jean wasn’t nearly as cool and collected as everyone made her out to be. If one of her friends had been able to see half of the thoughts that went through her mind, they probably wouldn’t believe it was her; she didn’t even want to know how much the Professor saw. She had a pretty bad temper, actually—she just had to be careful to keep it under control. There was no telling what would happen if a telepath got really mad, so she did her best to make sure that she didn’t get too carried away. Sometimes though, she couldn’t help being irritated, and today had been a bad day for her, starting from the moment she had woken up.

Her mood didn’t improve when she was forced to park in one of the parking spaces that was nowhere near the entrance of the store. She went in and out as quickly as she could manage, nearly running over several customers as she tried to find the locations of the various necessities she had promised to buy. Unfortunately, her luck had not improved since she had left school, and the checkout lines were unbelievably long. The redhead sighed and waited as patiently as she could manage for the little old lady in front of her to finish loading her selections onto the conveyor belt, then pay, then get everything back into her cart. Finally it was her turn, and thankfully there was no trouble paying for everything. When she finally made it back to the car, she was so relieved to be able to go home that she simply sat behind the wheel for five minutes not doing anything but being relieved.

With a lift in spirits Jean finally turned the key and headed out of the parking lot. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all, maybe when she got back home her day would get better…

An explosion several streets down caused her to slam on the brakes.

…or maybe not.

In her mind, two factions warred: the responsible part of her wanted to go see what was wrong, see if she could do anything to help; the selfish part just wanted to go home and relax. Much as she hated it, the responsible part inevitably won out.

Jean parked the car at the side of the street and took off running in the direction of the explosion. There was no doubt in her mind where she was going, especially since a number of smaller explosions continued to erupt as she made her way to the trouble area.

She turned a corner and it became immediately obvious what had been causing the explosions. Or rather, who had been causing the explosions.

It took Jean a moment to recognize all of them; one of them, a feral man with long, tangled blond hair, was easy: Sabertooth. The other two she knew to be Magneto’s as well, but she needed to think a moment to be able to know Pyro (the one with the yellow and red costume, gas tank on his back, and fire) and Gambit (the one with the long trench coat and the black and reddish costume). Coincidentally, Gambit was also the one with exploding playing cards.

After that first moment of recognition, it took Jean another moment to realize that they weren’t destroying anything purposely. They were fighting each other, Pyro and Sabertooth against Gambit.

“Gambit don’t want to fight you, homme,” the Cajun was saying, trying to appeal to his team-mate while also trying to dodge Sabertooth’s attack. The telekinetic could only assume that he knew better than to bother with talking to Sabertooth, and mentally applauded his common sense.

“Sorry mate, I don’t wanna fight you either,” the one who was named for his obsession as well as his power professed. “But you know how it goes. Boss-man says the word, and who’m I to disagree?”

“You don’t have t’do dis,” Gambit tried again, sending one of his signature playing cards in Sabertooth’s direction.

“I wouldn’t if you came with me peaceful-like,” Pyro retorted, at the same time calling a ball of fire into his palm.

Jean did not like where this was going. Certainly Gambit was one of the X-men’s enemies, but something was wrong here. From what she gathered, Magneto was having Sabertooth and Pyro force Gambit to come with them, and that did not sit well with her. Why would Magneto have to force his own Acolyte to work for him? Yes, something was definitely wrong here. The question was, what could she do about it?

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she muttered before stepping into full view of the street just as Pyro let loose a jet of flame at the other Acolyte. Without a second thought, Jean brought up her hands, palm outward, and held them there. Immediately the fire halted in its tracks, so much like the spitballs that had annoyed her earlier that afternoon. She would have laughed at the comparison, but now the attention of all three men was focused on her.

“Oy, what’s with the sheila?" Pyro wanted to know. Of course, this was just the distraction that Sabertooth needed. Before the “sheila” could react, he roared and stabbed Gambit in the stomach with some sharp object that she couldn’t make out from here. Even as the seemingly betrayed man yelled in pain and doubled over, she took action.

With a sweeping gesture, Jean threw both of her opponents against the brick wall of a convenient building, then violently into a nearby dumpster, and mentally slammed the lid. She knew that it would not hold them for long, and that she should probably do a more thorough job of at least knocking them unconscious, but at the moment she knew that Gambit probably needed medical attention.

Still holding the lid of the dumpster closed with her mind, Jean ran to where her former enemy was doubled over in pain. Slightly hesitant and unsure of what to do, she offered him her hand. He looked at it strangely.

“Look, that dumpster’s not going to keep them forever,” she told him, forgoing pleasantries. “I know you’re hurt, but we’ve got to get out of here as quickly as we can.”

After another moment of hesitation, Gambit grabbed her hand with the one not clutching his stomach and allowed her to pull him up. Without waiting to ask for permission, he slung his arm around her shoulder to use as a crutch.

“Why you helpin’ Gambit?” he asked suspiciously as they made their way to Jean’s car. She thought for a moment before answering. Why had she helped Gambit? At the moment it had seemed like the obvious thing to do, but now her own reasoning was unclear to her.

“Because you needed help,” she told him simply. Soon she realized that this would not be enough. “You were being attacked by two people that are supposed to be on your side. That makes me think that either you or the other two changed your minds about working with Magneto. I’m taking a chance and guessing that it was you.”

“Dat be a good guess, mademoiselle. Dat be a very good guess,” he told her noncommittally as she helped him into the passenger’s seat, although she chose to hope that he was agreeing with her. She got behind the wheel and started the engine, ready to rocket; she was willing to bet that Sabertooth had managed to break out of his odorous prison by now, and Pyro with him.

“Where you goin’?” he asked as she stepped on the gas.

“To the Institute,” was her immediate response. Although she couldn’t tell while watching the road, Gambit narrowed his red and black eyes.

“Why you doin’ dat? You not afraid dat Gambit’s gonna spy on you?”

“You need medical attention,” she informed him. “I don’t think that you’re going to find it in too many hospitals around here, not with eyes like those. Besides, you’re not in any shape to spy at the moment.”

There was silence for a few minutes as Jean neared the entrance to the giant estate. Remembering that it might be a good idea to explain why on earth she was helping one of Magneto’s lackeys onto Institute grounds, she reached out with her mind.

Professor? She inquired tentatively, hoping that she wasn’t catching him at a bad time.

Yes Jean? The response came almost immediately, and she felt the tiniest bit of relief sweep over her.

Professor, Magneto’s men were attacking one of his Acolytes, and he’s badly injured. I’m taking him back to the Institute with me, if that’s alright with you.

One of his Acolytes? But why… the Professor’s mental voice trailed off, apparently deep in thought.

One of them mentioned that they were supposed to bring him back to Magneto, she offered, hoping that what little she had in way of explanation would be enough. I get the feeling that the one they were attacking—Gambit—had decided that he didn’t like Magneto’s dream after all.

Indeed…Yes Jean, you may bring him here. I’ll send Logan to help you bring him to the medical bay. Just try not to let any of the other students see him. I’m not entirely sure how they will react to one of the Acolytes being with us, if only for the time being.

Thank you Professor, she told him and cut off the link just as she drove through the gate. She brought her car around the circle and as close to the front door as she could manage and shut off the engine. If the Professor didn’t want Gambit being seen, then they should probably wait in the car until Logan came down to take the man to the Med Bay. The wait wasn’t long, and soon the gruff Canadian opened the door. Just as he did so, Gambit chuckled a little bit. Jean looked at him, surprised that he could laugh in his condition.

“What are you laughing about?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“m just t’inkin’ dat de River Rat not gonna be too happy t’ see Gambit again,” he told her with a lopsided grin. She furrowed her eyebrows, still not sure what was so funny when Logan jerked the passenger door open.

“We can do this one of two ways, bub,” he growled, suspicious of the Acolyte despite the Professors good will. “You can walk or I can carry you. What’s it gonna be?”

“Gambit will walk, t’ank you,” Gambit told him with all the dignity he could muster as he got out of the car. Jean grabbed her bags and stepped out as well. As the two men walked away, Gambit leaning heavily on the X-man, he paused for a moment and threw over his shoulder, “I t’ink you call er Rogue.”

Jean stopped in her tracks and watched Wolverine help Gambit inside, too stunned to do anything else. How could she have forgotten? Her memories of the “kidnapping” flooded back to her, and she came to one very important conclusion.

Rogue was going to kill her.

Her day just kept getting worse.