—Jean Elaine Grey 'The Phoenix'—
It was midday—bright, warmer than usual—and Jean woke up drenched in sweat. Her clothes clung uncomfortably to the curves of her body, and her hair looked even worse than it had the night she collapsed into bed, half-drunk and barely conscious. Or maybe it hadn't even been night when she passed out. Hard to say.
The curtains were drawn, but judging by the heat and the way the sunlight bled through the edges, it had to be well past morning.
'Water?' She blinked groggily and looked around. No glass, no bottle. Not even a half-empty cup from last night. Great. She'd have to leave the room for it—exactly the kind of heroic journey she didn't feel up to.
'What day is it?' She fumbled around for her phone, eventually finding it on the floor, screen cracked and battery at 3%. 'Thursday.'
Not her hero day. Then again, she hadn't done much last week either. She owed the team some hours. Guilt nudged her, but not hard enough to stop her from shuffling out of the room, sweat-slick and dressed in nothing but an oversized T-shirt—no bra, no shorts. Just cotton and skin.
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed in around your skull and made you aware of every thought you didn't want to have. Which, of course, was why she drank herself into unconsciousness in the first place.
Dragging her feet across hallways and staircases, she finally stumbled into one of the kitchens. What she expected was a fridge.
What she got instead… was him.
"Oh?" a voice spoke—smooth, amused, and unfamiliar. "Are you also one of the X-Men?"
Her eyes narrowed instinctively against the bright light, struggling to focus. At first, all she saw was movement, a blur of muscle and motion as someone tipped back a jug of water like it was nothing.
And then the blur clarified.
A tall, huge man—built like a sculpture and just as shirtless—stood before her, drinking straight from the jug. His body looked like something out of a Greek myth. Chiseled chest. Carved abs. Biceps that made Scott's look like noodles. And that face? Way too handsome to be a hallucination.
She briefly wondered if the lack of sex in her life and excess of alcohol had finally made her start conjuring imaginary men.
"Rough night?" he asked.
His voice—deep and real—dispelled the thought.
"Very," she muttered, dropping into a chair like it owed her rent.
"Water?" he offered, nodding toward the same jug he'd just finished guzzling.
She stared at it for a second, then wordlessly extended her hand. She was parched, and he was hot, and she couldn't bring herself to care about germs right now.
As he passed it over, her eyes lingered. She wasn't subtle, but neither was he. His gaze drifted too, tracing her bare legs, the hem of her shirt. She noticed—but she didn't mind. She had been ogling him too, after all. If she'd been sober, maybe she'd have been embarrassed.
But she wasn't.
"There's not much left," he said.
"It works." She downed the remaining water in a few desperate gulps, exhaling like she'd just survived a desert trek.
For a second, the silence returned, but now she was more curious than thirsty.
"Who are you?"
"Shouldn't I get an answer first?" he replied with a smirk. "I did ask first."
Ororo would've rolled her eyes at that, but Jean couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'm Jean," she said, brushing her hair back, finally feeling semi-human. "Jean Grey. And yeah, I'm part of the X-Men."
The words came with a hint of guilt. She hadn't exactly acted like an X-Man lately.
"Daniel Hayes," he said, returning her smile. "Apparently a possible new recruit."
That made her blink. "Possible?"
Daniel shrugged. "Something about me being a Beyond Omega potential has them unsure. Too strong for a team slot, too old for a student. Stuck in limbo, I guess."
That pulled her attention fast.
"Beyond Omega?" she echoed, suddenly wide awake. "Are you serious?"
"Beyond Omega potential," he clarified. "But yeah. Not joking." He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, his tone casual, like he wasn't dropping a mutant nuke.
"The machine they used to scan me started beeping like crazy. Now Storm, Professor Xavier, and Hank are off in the lab trying to figure out what the hell I am."
Jean groaned softly, rubbing at her temples as her headache flared.
"A Beyond Omega Potential," she muttered. "Of course everyone's missing."
She could still remember the chaos Xavier stirred up when he first scanned her. The surprise, the concern… the awe. It felt like a lifetime ago, stepping into the mansion for the first time—quiet, reserved, too afraid to trust anyone.
'Trust,' she thought bitterly.
Back then, it was about survival. About physical safety. Now, it was emotional. And she wasn't sure which was harder to protect.
"You'll make it," she said softly, her head tipping back against the rigid frame of the chair.
"I believe so," Daniel replied, calm and composed, as if he wasn't carrying a title that would shake the mutant world. "I've survived this long. No reason the future should be any different."
She huffed out a laugh. "Yeah… you'll be fine."
She didn't even know why she said it. But somehow, she believed it. As irrational as it sounded, there was something about him—steady, unshaken—that made her trust he'd land on his feet.
It was that gut feeling again. The one she usually nailed... except in relationships. In those, she was almost always wrong.
"How is it?" Daniel asked, breaking the pause between them.
"How is what?"
"Being an X-Man. And... well, being a famous one."
She blinked at him, momentarily unsure if he was messing with her.
"A minute ago you didn't even know if I was an X-Man," she pointed out. "Now you're saying I'm famous?"
He didn't deny it. Just smiled knowingly.
She didn't correct him either. Because—well, he wasn't wrong.
Among the team, there were those known for their powers. Scott with his visor. Logan and his claws. Kitty and her phasing. But then there were a select few whose reputations extended beyond their abilities.
Their looks.
Ororo, with her stormy eyes and ethereal presence and Jean—Jean was known not just for telepathy or telekinesis, but for the way heads turned when she walked into a room. Fiery hair, striking features, presence.
She was one of those faces.
"So, you're not popular?" he teased. "You didn't exactly deny it."
"I didn't," she admitted. "But you still haven't answered my question."
He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "When average-looking girls can turn heads, I imagine someone like you has no trouble stealing the spotlight."
He pressed his hands against his thighs, flashing a cheeky grin. "Pretty people tend to get noticed."
She didn't answer—just studied him. It had been a while since someone flirted with her so directly, so confidently. Scott was all quiet intensity. Logan barely spoke unless he had something to growl. Duncan had swagger, but it often veered into frat-boy territory.
The rest? Too intimidated by her powers. Or too respectful to try anything.
But Daniel? He wasn't shy. He wasn't overly cocky either. Just… smooth. Comfortable in his skin.
And that? That was new.
"Careful, Daniel Hayes," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Words like that could land you in trouble you're not ready for."
To her surprise, he didn't falter.
"Some trouble's worth it."
She should've shut him down. She could've stood up, thanked him for the water, and gone straight back to bed. But she didn't.
Instead, she stayed. Sat. Smiled.
She was enjoying the moment—him. And she wasn't sure if it was the Beyond Omega thing, his ridiculous good looks, or the fact that he could actually hold a conversation without tripping over himself.
Maybe it was everything.
'God, I've lost it,' she thought.
She was attracted to a guy she'd known for barely thirty minutes. Someone who wasn't even her type, not really. She didn't go for the handsome ones. They were usually too full of themselves.
But Daniel? He didn't lean on his looks. He leaned on wit. And she liked that.
It felt strange. Natural and unnatural all at once. Like some unseen force was nudging her forward… and she was letting it.
Which is probably why, before she could stop herself, the words just slipped out:
"Are you trying to get in my pants?"
The question caught even Daniel off guard.
"I think I am."
The bluntness of his answer matched her own—and surprised him just as much. He hadn't planned to say it. It just... slipped out. And now it hung between them, suspended in the air like a dare.
He braced for a slap. Or at the very least, an eye-roll followed by a biting remark.
But instead, she just looked at him—eyes narrowed with amusement, her teeth gently tugging at the corner of her lower lip.
"You know what?" she said, voice light. "How about I give you a proper tour? I doubt they showed you much of the place in the short time you've been here."
Daniel blinked. Was this her way of changing the subject? A deflection? He wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it was better than being labeled a creep.
"Sure," he replied, his grin easy. "I can't imagine a superhero mansion being boring."
He had once imagined it like something out of a fantasy novel—moving staircases, secret trapdoors, maybe a talking wall or two. Jean had thought the same when she first arrived, and while reality hadn't lived up to those magical expectations, she let him hold onto the wonder a little longer.
She showed him around—the library, the med bay, the dining hall. Functional spaces with little flair. The game room and training halls were more engaging, earning his admiration, but he stayed mostly quiet, polite. Curious, but not nosy.
That changed when they reached the members' floor.
"So this is where the X-Men sleep," he said, scanning the hallway.
It split in two directions—east wing and north. Jean explained the layout: women on the east side, men on the north. The rest of the floor had shared spaces—training rooms, lounges, private practice areas.
"Unfortunately, everyone's out today," she said, tossing a look over her shoulder. "So I can't really show you their rooms. Not that they'd be thrilled about someone poking around, anyway."
He nodded, understanding.
"But," she added with a mischievous lilt, "if you're curious, I can show you mine. The layouts are pretty much the same, only the decor changes depending on the person. Yours would be similar—assuming you actually join."
Daniel raised a brow. "You're offering to show me your room? After that question?"
Her smirk was unapologetic. "I'm either brave or stupid. Guess you'll find out."
He chuckled. "Well, I'd love to see it. Being homeless isn't something I want to continue."
The comment made Jean glance at him, curious. But the softness in his tone hinted at a weight she didn't want to prod at. Not yet.
She decided to leave it be.
"Third room's mine," she said as they walked. "Being the first girl to join gave me dibs on any room. Naturally, I chose the one with the best lighting."
At the door, she paused.
"Just a warning—it's a mess."
"I don't mind," he said casually. "Saving the world and cleaning your room don't always mix."
But the moment the door swung open, Daniel was hit by a wave of surprise.
This wasn't just a mess—it was chaos.
The bed was unmade, sheets wrinkled and half on the floor. A throw blanket was crumpled in the corner. Takeout containers littered the floor and desk despite the available kitchen downstairs. And the smell—while not unpleasant—was… intense. A heady mix of sweat, perfume, and something distinctly her.
It wasn't gross. Not to him. If anything, it felt… real. Lived-in. Intimate.
Feminine.
"Well, this—"
He started to speak, maybe make a joke, but the words never made it out.
Because before he could finish, before he could process what was happening, he was frozen. Not by fear. Not by psychic powers.
By lips.
Her lips.
Jean Grey—the Jean Grey—had closed the distance and kissed him.
And all he could do was stand there, stunned, as the fire ignited behind her kiss.
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