County Fair

Posted on Thu Feb 29th, 2024 @ 12:34pm by Scott Summers & Bobby Drake & Jean Grey & Hank McCoy
Edited on on Thu Feb 29th, 2024 @ 12:35pm

8,641 words; about a 43 minute read

Mission: Episode 0: X Lang Syne
Location: Fairgrounds
Timeline: 1985

Why?

Why had Hank allowed his friends to talk him into this? He hadn’t left the mansion grounds since the incident that had turned him blue and furry. He was, of course, self-conscious, as any teenage boy in his position would be. He wanted to avoid the stares, the whispers. And he could feel both on him right now.

“This was a mistake,” he groaned, trying to make himself look small.

“No, It will be fine.” Jean attempted to console Hank as they walked through the crowded fairgrounds. But her encouragement was hard to accept, Jean’s mutations were hidden and she always passed for ‘normal’. Even today, wearing a pale green dress and her thick red hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she was the embodiment of what many would consider a high school sweetheart to look like rather than the latest scare that humanity faced.

The best Jean could offer was solidarity, proud and fearlessly she walked next to the shrinking Hank. Her green eyes effortlessly finding the gaze of anyone who dared to comment or gawk at him. Her sharp glare was enough to make most people uncomfortable enough to at least momentarily stop their bad behavior.

“You can’t just stay at the mansion forever. Besides, I'll melt their brains if they’re mean to you.” Jean smirked at her own joke despite a small kernel of truth in her comment and what she was capable of. Hank’s large furry blue frame wasn’t what they should be afraid of, people were shallow enough to only look at the surface before forming an opinion.

“Plus you all worked so hard on that car, it would be a shame to not see what happens today.” News of a demolition derby had made its way to the mansion several months ago and they couldn’t resist the opportunity to find a junkyard car and fix it up enough to enter it into the event. The prize money of five hundred dollars for the winning car wasn’t too shabby either.

“Scott said we would find him in the staging area behind the arena.” Jean looked for a sign that pointed them in the correct direction as she navigated through the sea of people eating fair food and waiting in line for carnival games and rides.

Scott was going to drive in the derby, requiring him to arrive earlier in the day in order to check himself and the car in for the event. Bobby couldn’t help but go with him, the opportunity to spend an entire day away from the mansion was too much of a temptation for him.

As Jean and Hank rounded a corner, the crowds thinned and a backlot full of horse trailers, trucks and most importantly, a field full of shabby cars waiting for the derby this evening. There were far more competitors than she had anticipated.

“Gosh. There are so many of them, I didn’t think that this many people were interested in smashing old cars into one another until they stopped running.” Jean raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the rows and rows of rusty, dented cars.

~* ‘Where are you?’ *~ She telepathically asked while she searched. Jean could tell Scott was here, but the crowds made it harder to pinpoint his exact location.

“If you see them, let me know.” She verbally asked Hank, hoping that doing something would help distract him from his discomfort.

Hank scanned the much thinner crowd. Though most initial reactions were shock, fewer scowls appeared on the faces. In fact, other than a few double takes, most of the demolition derby crowd seemed indifferent to him. That was improvement, at least. But he saw no sign of Scott or Bobby. He began looking for the car, but he didn’t know the difference between cars and they all frankly looked the same to him aside from the colors. And blue seemed to be a popular color. “There are a lot of cars here,” he commented vaguely.

~We're number 63~

Scott couldn't see Jean but her mind was both a lighthouse beacon and a loudspeaker for him. If they were here, he was confident she would pick up his thoughts. Their psychic attunement went both ways. Jean would pick him out of the crowd in short order.

"Hello, McFly!" Bobby shouted at Scott. "You getting another mind-blow from Jean or is it just cold feet?"

"Easy, there," Scott said, blushing at the crass remark and being mildly offended at the same. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

"Duh! That's what made it funny." Bobby kept laughing at his own joke. "Now you gonna' get your head in the game or what? I asked if the gas was topped or not."

Scott nodded, turning his attention back to the competition. "Sure, yeah, that's done. Let's double-check the radiator fans. I don't want to overheat in the first collision."

"You know if I was the driver, that wouldn't be a problem..." Bobby cocked his head and gave a coy waggle of his eyebrows.

"No cheating," Scott said, "and that means no ice blasts from the rails either."

Bobby turned sullen and kicked the dirt. "Yeah, yeah, whatever..."

“Number 63.” Jean said to Hank but he could tell by the way that she moved that Jean had already found them. It only took a word from Scott and she was able to find him, easily navigating through the aisles of cars until they were in plain sight. Her face lit up when she finally saw him, if anyone needed confirmation about how Jean felt about Scott that look on her face said it all. Excitement and joy along with endearment, she was head over heels for him.

“Hey you two.” Jean greeted both Scott and Bobby as she approached. They had the hood of the car up as they were starting to examine something. “Are you ready?”

"Just about." Scott wiped his dirty hands on his pants and swept Jean up in the air for a quick twirl before setting her down with a quick peck shared between them. He wasn't always so demonstrative, especially in public, but his excitement was getting the better of him. "Doing one last once-over now."

Jean softly mewled in approval as he swept her off her feet. She knew it was silly to say that she missed him during their morning apart from one another but she had. Scott’s excitement over the demolition derby created enough flourish in his greeting that it attracted a few additional sets of eyes to car sixty-three, which then lingered on Hank for a moment longer than was necessary.

"Blech!" Bobby started pantomiming exaggerated gagging motions while pretending to wretch.

Jean looked over at Bobby and scrunched her nose in disapproval of his reaction to their brief moment of affection. An immature reaction to his own.

“Is there anything we can do?” Her face returned to its typical serene expression as her gaze turned to Scott. “I know I’m not that much help...” Jean’s idea of helping Scott was sliding under the car along side him and asking what every car part was until he gave up and paid attention to her. “But Hank sure is.”

“Only because I know which end of wrench to use and where to find the fuse box,” put in Hank, still glancing nervously around at the people milling about, somehow still expecting someone to attack him or even just scream and faint.

"Is there something wrong with the fuse box?" Bobby asked with sudden concern. "I checked them all fifteen minutes ago and they were working!"

"Cool your jets, Bobby. Hank was just bragging." Scott chuckled at his friend and rival who acted more and more like a little brother every day.

"I'm just sayin'—"

Scott interrupted Bobby. "While you're just sayin', why don't you and Hank tighten down the fender one more time while Jean and I do a rear tire pressure check."

"Rear somethin' check," Bobby muttered, not nearly as stupid as he presented himself. "Come on, Hank."

In spite of his uneasy mood, Hank grinned. “I’m sure the fender is as tight as it’ll go,” he said vaguely. “We’d need power tools to get it any tighter.”

With her hands behind her back, Jean took a few large steps towards the back of the car, Scott following behind her. The cadence of her walk was light and playful, the buzz of his excitement and his enthusiastic hello had an effect on her mood. Jean turned on her heels to face him once they reached the rear of the vehicle, her high ponytail swishing over her shoulder from the sharp movement.

“Show me how to check tire pressure.” There was a very specific type of smirk on her face as she looked up at him that told Scott it was over for him before it even started.

"It's called a tire kick." Scott did just that. The toe of his shoe bounced off the wall of the tire without an ounce of give. "Pressure's good."

Without further wasted time, Scott pulled Jean into his arms and planted the kiss he had held back earlier. His hands splayed across her back before bracing her against him. There were nerves. There were hormones. There were butterflies. All the things that Scott could either stand around and think about or throw to the wind and take action. He chose the latter.

Jean stood up on her tiptoes and eagerly met him halfway as Scott turned his head down to kiss her. The feel and the taste of him combined with the hormones and butterflies shared between them was enough to make Jean weak in the knees and grateful for Scott’s hands holding her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in even closer to her. Scott’s reward for his reckless behavior was a wanting Jean who matched his fervid kiss.

A catcall of approval was heard from an older man who was working on his own derby car several spots away. The shout was distracting and embarrassing enough to break up their moment of heated affection. Scott felt a pang of Jean’s desire followed by her disappointment in letting him go. Things escalated so quickly between them these days that it was getting harder and harder to remain cool and collected.

“Let’s go get something to eat, or play some of the games.” Jean sheepishly attempted to return the conversation and activities to something more amicable. “There are rides and exhibits too.”

There was a clear conflicted expression on Scott's face. Part of him wanted to make absolutely certain their project was ready to go. Other parts of him were lodging their protest to that mission on account of the gorgeous redhead who demanded his full attention. It was a real pickle.

She leaned to the side so she could look around Scott and towards Bobby and Hank. “What do you guys think, do you want to look around for a little bit before the derby starts?”

"Hell yeah!" Bobby said. "We're just spinnin' our wheels here." He paused and laughed at his unintentional pun. "Ha! Literally! But seriously. Let's party hardy!"

Well, that cinched it. Hank was not going to sit around here all by himself. The stares of the many while surrounded by his friends was better than the stares of the few when he was alone. “Yes, I suppose we might as well,” he sighed anxiously.

“Great!” Jean said with an enthusiastic smile, it was rare that they got to do anything like this and despite Scott’s desire to continue fiddling with the car and Hank’s hesitation to be out in public she was optimistic that they would all enjoy themselves. “Let’s go then.”

The quartet made their way back to the busy fairgrounds and the swarm of people. The grounds were organized by activities. Rows of food trucks hocking fried foods, greasy meats on a stick, and sugary desserts and drinks lined the side of the grounds, filling the air with sweet and savory aromas. Beyond the food trucks were the barns and showing rings where the livestock was being displayed and judged, the smell of hay and animals present the closer one came to the area. The carnival games and their barkers loudly invited any passersby to try their hand at a game of skill, from winning goldfish in bowls to oversized teddy bears, each promised a prize if the player had enough talent to win. Past the games were the rides, jerky roller coasters, bumper cars, a fun house and a ride where spinning cages turned upside down, all of which had that touch of danger in their assembly that made them thrilling to ride. But the star of the fairgrounds was the sky high Ferris wheel, its multicolored cars gently rocked as the large wheel rotated and provided the riders with a bird’s eye view of the bustling fair.

Jean took Scott by the hand and laced her fingers with his as they walked through the crowd, they looked like any other pair of teenagers enjoying a day out together. A luxury that now eluded Hank as he walked with them, eyes lingering and a few voices carried comments on his appearance but none were brave enough to act upon their mumbled fears and distrust of an obvious mutant.

“What do you want to do first?” Jean asked her friends as they neared an intersection that could take them to any area of the fairgrounds. “Rides? Horrible fair food? Games? I don’t know if anyone wants to look at cows.”

"What? Does Warren know his mom is here?" Bobby cackled at his joke.

Scott flicked Bobby behind the ear. "Come on now. Let's not do that today, okay?" He had picked up Hank's discomfort and was surprised Bobby hadn't.

~* ‘You too.’ *~ Jean mentally chided Scott for flicking Bobby’s ear. The two of them would goad each other all day if given the chance, obviously a morning with just each other for company had already turned them into petty siblings. Jean was sure Scott could use a break from Bobby before the demolition derby started. Her thoughts drifted towards a ride on the Ferris wheel.

“I like cows,” said Hank vaguely. At least cows didn’t judge him for how he looked or whisper and giggle about him behind his back. Cows were better than humans right now, at least to Hank.

“All right.” Jean agreed with Hank’s soft spoken request, understanding his desire to leave the crowds and the busy midway. “I guess we’ll head to the barns first.”

While the livestock show had once been the highlight of the fair, it had now become the least popular attraction. Mainly occupied with the exhibitors and judges, there were hardly any patrons in the barns. Leaving it mostly empty aside from the rows and rows of animals waiting for their turn in the arena.

Sheep, cows, pigs, and goats were separated into individual stalls while the rabbits, chickens, and ducks were housed together.

Jean cooed over a handful of baby animals on display as they walked but for the most part she seemed only slightly interested in the animals. Exploring the barns had been more for Hank than for her.

Eventually they found the educational section where a blonde haired and sun kissed teenage girl stood next to a docile and dark brown dairy cow.

“Hey everyone!” She said with a wide and hospitable smile. “Would any of you like to try and milk a cow today?”

That was not what Scott expected to hear. He chuckled at the question out of sheer surprise.

Bobby was about to say yes, but then Scott chuckled. That made him feel embarrassed for his enthusiasm. "Uh... yeah, I bet Scott here could handle those milkers like a champ!"

"No, thanks," Scott said all too quickly. "I've, uh, already milked today..." Restating the predicate of Bobby's nonsensical quips was one of his default canned responses, but the context of the situation was a drastic departure from anything appropriate. Scott could already feel Jean's reaction radiating from her without having to even look. "Why don't you show the rest of us how it's done, Bobby?"

Jean let go of Scott’s hand and defensively folded her arms across her chest, she was seething over his comment as her narrowing green eyes looked over at him, a scowl on her face.

~* ‘Really?’ *~ Even her mental tone was laced with outrage ~* ‘Maybe you should milk the cow next, it’s the closest thing to action you’ll be seeing today.’ *~

"Fine..." Bobby wasn't going to let Scott get away that easily. If he wanted see milking, Bobby would show them milking. "Just... grab and pull?" he asked the farmgirl.

The girl standing next to the cow momentarily paused, forgetting her rehearsed speech thanks to the dialogue that had just occurred. “No, not quite.” The blonde turned her attention towards Bobby. “You’ll hurt her and you won’t get any milk.” She gestured for him to sit down on the stool next to the cow.

“Don’t pull on anything, place your hand like this…” She reached out next to him and demonstrated, gripping the teat like it was a mundane task. “With your thumb and index finger high up at the base. Pinch it off first and then use the rest of your fingers to squeeze.” The farm girl effortlessly produced a stream of milk into the bucket. “Then you release and do it all over again until she’s empty.”

Whatever anger was inside of Jean immediately left her thoughts as she watched this demonstration in animal husbandry. Her own teenage immaturity took over and she had to bite her lower lip and stare at the straw covered ground to keep herself from devolving into a fit of laughter.

Whether it was the fact that he had grown up in a rural area and seen at least seven hundred cows in his childhood or the fact that he was Henry McCoy, Hank could never think of the girl’s instructions as anything other than milking a cow. Teenager or no, another thought simply never crossed his mind. He grinned at the cow’s bright eyes and reached out a hand towards her. She pushed her nose into his hand and he obliged her with a nice pat. “Go on, Bobby,” he said. “She seems docile enough.”

"Alright, already!" Bobby tried not to blush at the pretty farmgirl's demonstration. That's not even a real tit, he told himself. He knelt down under the bovine mass and tried his best to work the udder the way he was shown. While he'd expected something more rubbery, this texture was... well, he didn't quite know what to think of it. Force of habit and manual muscle memory made him pull slightly as he squeezed, making the cow moo in discomfort. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, blushing at his mistake. But he soon got the hang of it. Ounce by ounce, milk started to come out. "Hey, I'm doing it! I'm really doing it!"

And then, Hank couldn’t help it, he started laughing. “I’m the only one who grew up around cows and somehow I’m not the first person to milk one,” he said, still laughing.

"That's great Bobby." Jean's voice was strained as she struggled not to laugh, but Hank wasn't helping. She didn't want to laugh, from a sensible and mature perspective there wasn't a reason to laugh. But she felt her cheeks becoming hot as she continued to suppress her desire to at least giggle and she knew she was flushing to a shade of pink. Jean buried her face in Scott's chest as she attempted to hide failing composure.

"See! It's not so hard to do once you get the hang of it." The farmgirl smiled at Bobby as she stood up straight and noticed that Hank was petting the cow. She didn't look at him with fear or outrage, her friendly demeanor continued. "She likes you." She commented on how the cow leaned into his touch seeking more attention. "Her name is Fern, and I'm Trisha."

“It’s nice to meet you, Fern,” said Hank to the cow, too distracted to really notice that the girl was unfazed by him. “And- and Trisha, of course,” he added quickly, almost forgetting his manners.

Scott was doing his level best to maintain his composure and Jean was not helping one bit. Every repressed giggle she pushed into his shoulder only stoked the fire of his own rude instincts. "You're a real natural at this, Bobby," Scott said, pressing his lips together in a firm line. The compliment almost broke the dam but he kept it together.

"Yeah, it's not so bad once you get the hang of it." Bobby even had a touch of pride in his voice. "Might even say I'm legen-dairy!"

Hank rolled his eyes. “Forgive my friend,” he told Trisha. “He’s…” he gestured wordlessly for a moment. “Well, he’s Bobby,” he finished as if that should explain everything.

Trisha glanced over at Bobby and smiled “I don’t mind, I find it a-moo-sing.”

"See?" Bobby beamed a boastful grin at his friends. The farm girl was clearly in to him.

Jean began to shake as silent hiccups of laughter moved through her. This was all too much, the awkward innuendo, Bobby’s clumsy attempt at milking a cow, then the innocent and corny banter to follow. She knew laughing would spoil it so she continued to hide her face and be as quiet as possible, at least only Scott would have to endure her bad behavior.

“They make all of us in the FFA take turns at the booths.” Trisha continued as she looked back at Hank. “I’m just grateful to have something interesting happen during my shift, most of the time people just walk right past and you end up sitting here bored out of your mind the entire time. Do you go to school around here?”

"Yeah, we go to Xavier's outside town," Bobby said, switching to the next teat. "It's–"

"–a boarding school," Scott interrupted, not trusting Bobby to hold his tongue. "Bobby here is an honor student."

That was absolutely not true, but if they were going to have fun at Bobby's expense, they might as well make him look good in the process.

Bobby shot Scott a mischievous grin in thanks for being a good wingman. "Yeah, that's right! Me and Hank were just talking about our honor's project." His voice dropped a bit, hoping Hank would catch the hint. "Weren't we, Hank?"

“What?” said Hank, confused. But, then Bobby’s words and tone caught up with his brain and he said, “oh! Yes. Yes, that’s right. Uh… I suggested a study on the effects of Mozart's music on the growth rate of tomato plants under controlled laboratory conditions. But, Bobby’s idea was much better, I think.”

"No way..." Bobby said, not expecting Hank to throw the ball back in his court. "I, uh, thought that, uh, maybe the moon's...phases... could, uh, affect the rate of growth rate of hair follicles with it's, you know, tidal waves. But it's still a work in progress."

Scott couldn't hold it back anymore. He covered his mouth and began snorting laughter through his nose.

“Bobby!” said Hank exasperatedly. Then, to Trisha, he said, “sorry, he tends to get flustered around pretty girls and then tries to sound smart only to sound ridiculous. The actual study is on the potential influence of the moon's phases on nocturnal insect activity, specifically focusing on changes in the abundance and behavior of certain insect species during different lunar phases. Right, Bobby?”

At first Bobby looked confused, but in the end he followed Hank's cue. "That too!" he agreed, smiling and nodding.

“Oh, sure.” Trisha nodded her head along with them but there was a tone of uncertainty in her voice. The poorly worded experiments, the backpedaling, the laughter, it made her feel like they were lying to her which in return made her uncomfortable.

Trisha bent down and collected the pail of milk that was resting below the cow. “I should put this away and then put Fern away too.”

While Jean had been laughing at first, the mood of the conversation suddenly shifted and it was enough to sober her. She turned to face Trisha now that she was no longer at risk of laughing. Every interaction they had with people, it colored their opinion of mutants and it was their responsibility to provide a positive experience, to change minds one person at a time. A hard request to make from a group of teenagers that simply wanted to be teenagers sometimes.

“Thank you for your time and hospitality Trisha, we all appreciate that.” Jean’s trademark sincerity delivered the words. “Regardless of how poor our behavior has been, it’s been nice to meet you.”

"Yes, you were really great," Scott said, prompted by Jean's example. They were like good will ambassadors. Being childish chuckleheads was supposed to be beneath them. "If we wanted to get more information about the local FFA chapter, how could we do that?"

But the look on her face was so disappointed, Hank couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s a school for mutants” he confessed before he’d even stopped to think about it. “Obviously,” he added, gesturing to his own face. “But we get so many judgmental glares from people that we sort of try to hide it.” He paused for a moment. “We apologize for the subterfuge. And as Jean said, thank you for your time. And thank you, Fern, for being so kind,” he added, giving the cow’s muzzle another rub.

“I know you’re a mutant.” Trisha said to Hank, the only one of them with any obvious mutations. “My brother is a mutant and he looks different too. He doesn’t like to come into town because people are nasty to him.” She paused for a moment and shifted the heavy pail of milk from one hand to the other. “When I saw you come in, I knew how much it meant to have people to be kind and friendly because most of the time they aren’t.”

Trisha slouched a bit as she looked down at the ground. “I tried to be nice to you…” She turned to leave but remembered Scott’s question “There is a table by the east side doors, there are pamphlets about the Future Farmers of America on there, including how to contact your local chapter. Have a nice time at the fair.”

"But... wait... can I... get your number?" Bobby jerked his head and body like a bad and unintentional William Shatner impression. By the time the question fell out of his mouth, he already regretted. "Oh..." he groaned.

"It's okay, Bobby." Scott clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You tried. You're done. Time to go."

Hank watched Trisha walk away. She was a good person and what had they done? “I am never lying again,” he vowed. “And hang the consequences. It’s not worth it.”

"They can always tell," Scott whispered to Hank. "Telepathy or not, they can always tell."

“She already has a boyfriend.” Jean commented to the crestfallen Bobby. “His name is Ryan and he’s waiting for her behind the horse trailers, along with a few of his friends.”

A sudden realization that this day could have gone differently, if Hank or Bobby had followed her they most certainly would have had to deal with Ryan and an undisclosed number of other farm boys.

“He bought her a bracelet from one of the vendors here and he’s about to give it to her, so don’t worry, Trisha won’t be upset for very much longer.” Jean shared a snapshot of their lives, mostly to help them feel better, or at least less guilty.

“Come on, let’s go eat some sort of fair junk food.” Jean suggested to the group.

“I suppose an elephant ear could make us all feel a little better,” replied Hank. “Or those salt and vinegar fries.”

Scott wrapped his arm around Jean's shoulders and pulled her close. "Whichever line is shorter. Jean and I have an appointment with the Ferris wheel before the derby."

"Oh, gag me with a spoon," Bobby moaned.

“The day you fall in love, Bobby Drake, I am going to ruthlessly torment you as payback for all your years of immature behavior.” Jean half scowled and half smirked as she teased him, making sure he knew that she wasn’t serious with her threat. She briefly leaned into Scott as he placed an arm around her in subtle approval of his affection.

“Let’s get out of this barn, the hay makes my nose tickle.” Jean declared as she returned to holding Scott’s hand.

They returned to the sunshine and the crowds, slowly perusing the food trucks as they went. Jean settled on popcorn, it was easy enough to eat without making an absolute mess.

“Do you two want to go on some rides while we go on the ferris wheel? Or there’s carnival games? I think there’s even a science expo in one of the buildings.” Jean desperately tried to find something for Hank and Bobby to do while they attempted to sneak off for a moment alone together.

But Bobby had already wandered off, drawn in by the try-yer-luck chatter from the carnival barker at the milk jug toss. It wasn't long before he was digging through his pockets for loose change.

Hank knew that Jean and Scott wanted some alone time, so he started after Bobby. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble,” he called over his shoulder. “Bobby! Wait up!”

"Well, looks like they're sorted out," Scott said, slowing redirecting their steps toward the Ferris wheel. "Come on, Jean.”

“I was just making sure.” Jean laughed a little as he guided them towards the line for the ferris wheel. She was always torn between inclusivity and exclusivity, feeling selfish for wanting time alone with Scott but also desperately seeking it.

They stood in line for only a few minutes before being directed into one of the caged buckets of the ferris wheel. With their door locked, they were cleared to begin a slow descent upwards as they continued to fill the ride. Jean rested her head on his shoulder for a moment before placing a hand on his chest and sitting up straight to look him in the eyes. “Aren’t I supposed to still be mad at you?”

"For what?" Scott teased, playing dumb. "I think you're supposed to swoon at the view until I work up the nerve to make a move."

“You’re terrible sometimes.” Jean softly chortled, she wasn’t really upset with him, at least not anymore. “And you say stupid things.” She returned her head to his shoulder and watched as their view was slowly and systematically shifting from fairgrounds to blue skies. “But I guess I’ll cut you some slack since you’re nervous about the demolition derby. You can fly a jet and you’ve stopped terrorist attacks and yet you’re worried about smashing junkyard cars into one another.”

Scott let his head rest stop hers. "Well, I dedicated the derby to you," he said nonchalantly, "so I have to win. I've never dedicated a mission to you before."

“What?!” She laughed in dismay but it was an easy and relaxed sound that matched with the hushed tones they spoke in when they were close like this. Jean’s hand moved from simply resting on his chest to idly caressing him.

“I take it back, that's a lot of pressure, you should be nervous.” The tease and subsequent grin on her face filled every word. But he knew the truth behind her jest, he felt that ache of her heart as it swelled a little from the incredibly sweet gesture, Jean swooned over him rather than the view. Her attempt at making light of it was to take some of the pressure off that he had placed on himself. “But in all seriousness, you don’t have to win. It wouldn’t matter because I don’t think I could love you anymore than I do right now.”

Maybe it was the telepathy. Maybe it was just her natural panache. Somehow Jean always knew just what to say. Somehow it always put Scott at ease and stole the words out of his mouth at the same time. For the moment, he smiled at her and soaked in the press of her body against his.

"When I'm with you," he said at length, "I already feel like I've won every contest there is to win in the whole world. When you're right, you're right.”

Jean lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at Scott with a content and serene expression, he could lose himself in her eyes, especially when she looked at him like that. These stolen moments between them always had a way of becoming something special. She leaned forward and kissed him and Scott felt his words confirmed in her touch. Their mutual adoration for one another created a euphoric rush of excitement that invited them to drown out the world and focus solely on each other.

Meanwhile, as Hank idly stood buy and watched Bobby lose round after round of games of chance and skill, he felt a few pairs of eyes lingering on him for a long time, long enough to confirm that he was being watched and followed.

“Bobby,” Hank said nervously to his young friend. “We should probably go.”

"No way!" Bobby shouted. "I almost had it that time!"

“We’re being watched, Bobby,” hissed Hank. “I don’t want this getting out of hand.”

"I know because I'm awesome," Bobby said dismissively. "You should watch too. I'm totally getting that bear!"

“Bobby, that’s not what I mean,” replied Hank shortly.

"Dammit, Hank, you made miss!" Bobby rummaged through both pockets and came up empty. "Aw man! Hey, you got any cash? I'll hit you back next week!"

“No, Bobby, come on!” snapped Hank, nervously eyeing someone who was nervously eyeing him.

Finally catching Hank's tone, Bobby turned more serious. "Alright, Hank, what's up?"

“We’re being watched,” Hank hissed to him.

“Hey!”

Hank turned to see the guy running the booth they had just been at watching them. He slowly rose about a foot off the ground and then lowered back down. "We got yer back,” he said.

Of course carnies would be mutants! That made Hank feel a little better, but he was still nervous. “Thanks,” he said. “But I think we’re just going to get out of here.” He turned to walk away, but the guy running the next booth had balls spinning above his head. The girl to his right was bathed in an ethereal light that flashes a couple of times. “In second thought maybe we just stay right here.”

"Seriously, dude, what the hell is going on?" Bobby was still playing from behind. "If we're about to rumble, could you at least call a target?"

“They’re not the problem, Bobby,” Hank said as the carnies abruptly went back to barking as if nothing had just happened. “They’re our backup. The problem is those guys over there and that one over there, and probably a few others I haven’t spotted yet.”

"Okay, so let's make like a tree and get outta' here." Bobby smirked a little. He'd been waiting weeks to use that line.

“We have allies here,” Hank pointed out. “Let’s wait for Jean and Scott.”

"They could suck face for hours, dude, let's just go." Bobby put his hands in his pockets, not wanting things to get physical.

Hank glanced nervously at the nearest carnie, who gave him a single very deliberate nod. An obvious mutant like him would be looked after anywhere they went. “Okay,” he said, still on edge. “Where exactly are we going?”

"I don't know!" Bobby said with a bit of exasperation. "I wasn't even paying attention!"

“Mutant freaks!” An angry voice could be heard from the section of the midway where the carnies had foolishly made a very public display of their powers.

“Did you see what they did?! Threatening people.” Another voice added in and a buzz of hostile energy rippled through the crowd.

A commotion erupted as the people of Salem Center began to riot against the mutant carnival workers that were dumb enough to flash their abilities in a town already hostile and fearful of mutants. The agitation in the crowd and Hank’s furry blue body suddenly made him a walking target for any additional backlash fueled by the angry crowds.

Hank was about to make a run for it, but just as suddenly as it had started, the riot stopped. The rioters seemed confused and bored. And then, one by one, they began leaving the area. It looked as if they were headed towards the nearby parking area. Were they leaving?

Hank glanced sideways at Bobby. “What is happening?” he asked.

“You didn’t think we’d be so brazen without an ace in the hole did you?” said the nearest carnie.

“But, who…” he started to say, looking around.

“Never you mind.”

Hank glanced around at those who were left- which was most of the people; the rioting hadn’t spread far. There were still glares, but they seemed halfhearted. “Come on, Bobby,” he said. “Let’s go find Jean and Scott.”

Scott and Jean had just gotten off the ferris wheel as Bobby and Hank approached. Scott’s arm was draped across her shoulders while Jean had an arm around his waist, coy smiles on their faces as they continued to cling to one another while walking together. Hank’s large blue frame was easy to find in a crowd, drawing their attention from each other to their friend who was looking for them.

“Are you okay Hank?” Jean asked as they approached, her brow knitted a little with worry. “What’s bothering you?”

"I'm not sure what the hell just happened," Bobby said. "One minute I'm almost winning a game until Hank bumps me and I miss my toss, next thing I know he's saying there's bad people around and everyone starts to rumble!" Bobby threw his hands up all exaggerated. "Except then they just stopped and left. I don't know what the hell is going on anymore. Maybe we should just get back to the derby pit."

“I think everybody working this carnivals is-“ Hank started, but he stopped himself and glanced around before lowering his voice. “Is a mutant. There’s a powerful empath or telepath around here that either made them disinterested in everything or convinced them to leave.” He glanced around again. “It’s making me uneasy,” he added.

Scott listened to both of his friends and took their personal perspectives together into a moderate version of events. "Whatever the case, I think Bobby's right," he said. "Let's get back to the derby car."

"Finally!" exclaimed Bobby. "'Bout time somebody listens to me." Oh, the irony.

“Are you kidding me right now?” said Hank in an aside.

Back at the derby pit, the quartet came upon a miserable scene. It was difficult to tell at first glance since their suped-up junker already had the windows smashed out of it, but even a cursory inspection showed the car wasn't going anywhere. The tires were slashed. The chains holding up the heavy-duty front and back fenders had been cut. The front fender had been rammed through the reinforced grill like a battering ram. Hoses and fittings lay strewn about the undercarriage, at least one of which was identifiable as the fuel line. And if all of that was too subtle, the epithet spray painted over the 63 on the both doors made the message all too clear.

FUCK MUTIES!

"Fuck muties?!" Bobby said in an incredulous shout. "Fuck muties?! Who the fuck did this?"

In an uncharacteristic fit of rage, Hank kicked the car hard enough to leave another dent in it. “I shouldn’t have come!” he growled. “It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t been here nobody would have known the three of you are… are like me,” he finished more quietly. He didn’t need to shout that they’re all mutants, after all.

Jean flinched from Hank’s outburst, not from the anger but from the self-deprecating comments that came with it. She moved to place a hand on Hank’s shoulder. He was already so withdrawn since his accident. “It’s not your fault Hank. You didn’t do anything wrong, it's the hateful people who are to blame.”

Scott allowed himself one angry kick at the front slashed tire and a fist bump against the rooftop. "Does it matter? We can't enter this now. There's no time. We're disqualified." He looked at Jean with a forlorn grimace. "Let's just go home."

“Oh Scott, I’m so sorry.” Disappointment resonated in her voice, not for the car but for what he had planned to do for her at the derby. Jean had told him that it didn’t matter, that nothing would change between them, but she still felt how upset he was. She returned to his side and took his hand in hers, squeezing it tight before she agreed with him. “Let’s go home.”

The three of them followed Hank back out to the parking area where the Professor's old Studebaker was waiting for them.

Bobby raced to the front seat. "Shotgun!" he shouted.

Scott and Jean stepped more deliberately toward the backseat. Opening the door, Scott let Jean slide in before him.

Jean let go of Scott’s hand and started to get into the car but she paused and looked up at him. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon with his face stoic, his tense body language caused her to frown. Jean placed her hand on his chest and a silent, telepathic conversation occurred between them. Whatever was said, it made Scott’s hard edges soften a little before they both slid into the backseat of the car together.

As the door closed and the engine fired up, Scott let his stony demeanor crumble away. The lights in the parking area faded away, leaving only light from the moon to reflect from Jean's seafoam eyes. As always, they held him captive until he could do no other but take her lips into his own.

The smacking from the backseat made Bobby feel awkward as hell. "Come on, Hank, let's beat feet." That filled him with sudden inspiration. Desperate, much-needed inspiration. "Flintstones! Meet the Flintstones! They're a modern stone age family!"

Scott and Jean ignored Bobby's offkey caterwauling. There was some urgent business needing conducted between them and it just couldn't wait.

Jean began to slowly recline, taking Scott with her as she sunk into the leather bench seats of the back of the Studebaker. They disappeared from view but the sounds of their affection filled the car.

He had been so despondent from the vandalism of the derby car, a handful of his own bullying memories had come to the surface combined with the destruction of a sincere gesture he wanted to perform. But Scott found comfort in her presence, in her touch. Jean’s affection reminded him of all the good things in his life, so she indulged in that affirmation with him. His hand found the length of her bare thigh and he ran his hand up and under the hem of her dress.

“Stop.” Jean protested but her word was laced with flighty, girlish laughter, a sound that Bobby or Hank had never heard from her before. “Not here.” There was no real request for him to slow down but the demure part of her enjoyed the game of it. Jean laughed once more as her lips returned to his and their heady kisses continued.

Nothing excited Scott more than Jean's teasing. He couldn't resist the allure that pulled his hands toward places they didn't belong. A grunt of sadness turned to desire bubbled up from his throat and vibrated through his lips into Jean's. He almost forgot that their two oldest friends were in the front seats.

"FROM THE TOWN OF BEDROCK..." Bobby paused when he glanced back and couldn't help staring. His eyes went wide at the wanton PDA happening back there. He gulped deeply and tried to ignore his own biology. "THEY'RE A PAGE RIGHT OUT OF HISTORY!"

Hank sighed, half exasperated, half amused. “Seriously, you two?” he said. “Can’t even wait for privacy…”

While Scott enjoyed the playful goading Jean provided there was something incredibly satisfying about provoking her. His hands remained over her clothes but his touch found a place that excited her. She timidly moaned against him, a quiet sound of both worry and pleasure. Hearing Jean’s flirtatious giggles had been one thing but this was completely different.

She wasn’t bold enough to open paw at him, but Jean’s telekinetic touch was happily inclined to roam across him. It lacked the tender warmth of her physical touch but it still managed to provide a thrill as hungry phantom hands caressed Scott. Maybe it was thanks to her telepathy or something as primitive as hormones but they were lost in one another, barely aware of their surroundings.

“Bobby,” said Hank conversationally. “I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but sing louder!” And then he joined in with him. “LET’S RIDE WITH THAT FAMILY DOWN THE STREET! THROUGH THE COURTESY OF FRED’S TWO FEET!”

Scott let out a gasp when Jean's phantom hands reciprocated his own forward gestures. It quickly broke up into swift, shallow breaths. "Jean..." he whispered softly before he buried himself against her neck.

"Oh damn..." Bobby said after he tried and failed to resist another peek. "Uh... When you're, um, with... the Flintstones..." His song faltered along with his ability to remember the rest of the lyrics.

“If I ever get a girlfriend,” Hank said loudly, “I’m going to do this in your back seat!” Then he shook his head. “Who am I kidding?” he said scornfully. “I’ll never have a girlfriend.”

Bobby let out a sigh. "Dude, tell me about it..."

Sounds from the backseat became impossible to ignore. If Bobby didn't know better, there was a dog back there vigorously cleaning himself. The tittering, the moaning, the popping, clicking, and slurping all came to a head.

It all made Bobby close his eyes and shout, "HAVE A YABBA-DABBA-DOO TIME! A YABBA-DOO TIME!"

Hank joined in for the last line. “WE’LL HAVE A GAY OLD TIIIIIIIIIME!” they sang. And then, once again loudly, he jokingly said “yanno, maybe that’s our problem, Bobby! Maybe we should have boyfriends!”

"Gay old time?!" Bobby gasped in horror. "I'm not gay! You're gay! Who's gay? Not me! No boyfriends, no way..."

“It means happy in the song, Bobby,” Hank pointed out. “And anyway, who would care if you were? I certainly wouldn’t.”

"Doesn't matter anyway because I'm not." Bobby folded his arms and looked out the window. "You can be though."

“I don’t believe I am,” said Hank, still too loudly. “Although perhaps I have simply not met the right guy, yet. I do find girls attractive, however, so if anything, I would have to be bisexual.”

Jean closed her eyes and tilted her head back to expose more of her neck to him and the heated kisses he placed on the sensitive skin. Scott’s thoughts had become tunneled and singular, fixated on her and only her. He loved her with such sincerity and commitment and after such a disappointing day it felt good to feel like this. His focused thoughts had an intoxicating effect on her until Jean was drunk on him.

“I love you.” Her words were barely above a whisper, lost to Hank and Bobby who’s banter now filled the car. But those words weren’t for them, they were for Scott who heard them perfectly. Her edict came with a surge of her emotions, that aching and profound devotion for him. Most teenagers loved wholeheartedly and they were no exception, but in moments like this it was the most genuine and powerful feeling Jean had ever experienced.

Scott melted away in the flood of their affection. The interchange between them pulled out the inner lover who normally stayed hidden behind the walls he sat stop as a vigilant watchman. In this moment, he was a tender lover who transcended his prosaic facade to express what he felt in his heart of hearts.

"I love you, Jean." His whisper cracked with emotion. "More than anything."

Jean placed a hand on his cheek and directed his head towards her. Her lips found his again but this kiss wasn’t one of lust and physical desire, it lacked the lascivious sounds and frantic groping. It was gentle and nurturing as it reinforced everything that they felt for each other. It changed the tone coming from the back of the Studebaker to something less perverse but maybe more uncomfortable for the two in the front seat of the car.

"Would it kill you to wait five minutes?!" Bobby yelled.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hank was pulling into the garage at the mansion. He hurriedly put the car in park and killed the engine, adding the parking break for good measure. “Race you inside, Bobby!” he exclaimed, jumping out of the car. Really he just wanted to get away from the two lovebirds in the backseat before they took their clothing off.

It took several moments before the lovebirds pulled apart. Their faces may as well have melted together. But for Scott, he had reached his fill of one emotion and tipped over into another.

"That was fun," he said with bated breath, "but maybe we should get out of the car now."

Jean looked up at him with a satisfied smile, taking a moment to examine him physically and mentally before answering him. The old Studebaker lacked interior lighting making their faces shadowed and obscured but even still the deep red of Scott’s glass brought color to his face. The clenched jaw and carried tension were gone now, causing his handsome face to return to its more relaxed appearance. His thoughts were no longer dampened with sadness and anger, his mind once again in its resolute and confident state that she found so comforting.

Was it inconsiderate and brash to act that way in the back of the car? Yes. But when Scott was wounded, when she felt pain or sadness inside of him, it was impossible for Jean to ignore because it hurt her too. If she could ease or stop his heartache, she always would, a priority for her that never faltered or waivered.

“Yeah, let’s get out of the car.” Jean agreed, her voice tranquil and content. “And let’s not go to the county fair again for a really long time.”

 

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