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Firebird Rising	By : Jenskott Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Scott/Jean Views: 3256 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
<><><><>

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott
Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise
from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own
version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.
Notes: The chapter�s title was suggested by a friend of mine (in fact it
was a suggestion to name the series, but I had already made up my idea). Thanks,
Slickboy!
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their
true parents.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. Please, I need reviews! English
isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

<><><><>

Part Ten. Ashes to Life-

Massive trees lifted theirs broad and rough maroon trunks towards the
sky. Entangled and entwined, theirs gnarled branches of dark hues formed the
skeleton of a green canopy the wide leaves wove. Beneath that verdant dome, the
oaks and birches grew lightly apart, forming a little glade, a patch of fresh
ground strewn with slabs of polished stone and carpeted with dried leaves and
bright moss. Iridescent lichens sprouted among the roots and fungus grew below
the reddish foliage.

Light, tepid wind blew past the oaks, bringing the sound of forest
animals, of mammals scurrying around in the underbrush, of birds trilling, of water
streaming far away. Then the noise of footsteps blended with the remainder
noises, and the grove fell silent.

Sidestepping the tall trees and dodging the cobwebs wove the hawthorns,
Scott and Jean trod on the shaded clearing. Both of them bore backpacks and
wore baggy pants and trekking boots, but Scott dressed a sweater whereas Jean
donned a light sleeveless shirt.

She never was cold.

Lifting her chin up and spreading her arms, Jean inspired deeply and
purred. "Mmmmm. The
fresh scent of wood and grass and ground feels like-"

"The Hell." Scott muttered
somberly. "Give me concrete and pollution any day of the week."

Jean smacked his neck's nape. "Shut UP, darling. We're camping in
the mansion's grounds, not journeying through Brazil. Don't spoil the
moment."

"But Jeaaaan" He whined, tilting his
head in a deliberately infuriating way. "If I don't spoil the moment...
who will do it? And I'd NEVER mistake this forest with Amazonian jungle. This
place has actually trees."

Jean giggled. Contrary to popular opinion, her husband had a humor
sense. A very dry and biting one. And she'd missed it.
"Let's set up the tent. It's lunch time and I'm starving."

<><><><>

A while after a brown tent was erected among the round boulders and both
spouses were kneeled on a tablecloth, among forks and plates and glasses of
plastic, finishing the last remains of the potato omelet Jean had cooked -Mrs.
Summers had evicted her husband from the kitchen after he had managed
successfully burning water-. Around them the birds had restarted their songs.

"It's tranquil here." Jean uttered fondly, her hand combing
her shoulder-length red locks. Absent-mindedly she recalled why they were
short. And she flinched. "I can't remember the last time we felt such
peace."

"Alaska." Scott
mumbled wistfully between munches. "Before the Professor
called us to attend Joseph's funeral."

"I suppose it helps" his wife stated sadly as she sipped a
swallow of water "we have barely talked with someone these days, hence we
haven't found out of whatever the last menace is. The last gossip I've heard is
Warren and Betsy have flown to England to visit her
brother, and Hank is now Headmaster. It's like if we're dodging them. Perhaps
we don't want to know."

"You know what the last menace is" He sneered sarcastically. "Another
spandex-clad nutcase wants ruling the world for some obscure whim, another
idiot group of idiot bigots wants to exterminate mutants or humans... Megalomaniac,
racists, revenge-thirsty loons... Everywhere hurting, enslaving, slaughtering
people not matter what efforts we do. And it NEVER stops. It only... gets
worse. I... I'm so sick from it..."

His voice darkened and waned as he spoke, until going wholly quiet. His
wife took a napkin, wiped clean his mouth's rim and laid the crumpled cloth
piece back on the mantle. She clasped together her hands and waited.

"Maybe you're right." He mumbled sullenly. "Perhaps we
don't want to know. Perhaps we're dodging our friends to hide us from the
troubles. Or perhaps... I'm not feeling how talking to
someone else right now."

Scott put aside his plate, no longer feeling appetite, and gripped her
soft hands. His redhead wife acknowledged that grim expression and listened
attentively. "You know the orphanage and the streets taught me harsh
lessons: Don't trust anybody. Don't care for anybody. All you love will leave
you behind. That's what I learnt, and although the Professor and the guys told
me otherwise I'm not sure yet of being wrong. My mother died and my father spends
his time traveling across the universe. My brother has tried killing me, and my
children can't be bothered in looking or talking to me, unless I'm apparently
deceased. And my few friends always need I fit into a role. Truthfully, the
only person I've ever needed... is you."

Hotness reddened Jean's cheeks. His hands slid up her arms, clasping her
shoulders softly. Her breath turned rougher. "Scott... I... But you had stopped being so introvert
and loner long ago."

Scott blinked behind his shades. She was right. He was raised to be
quiet and moody, but he wasn't so shy since his adolescence.

He recalled an incident had happened many months ago, when Cassandra
Nova had been defeated and the Professor reopened the school. The whole teacher
staff was supposed to have a group photo taken, but he refused flatly. Later
he'd wondered because he had felt so scared and reluctant. It was a simple
snapshot. Crowds didn't frighten him since he was seventeen. Why hadn't he
wanted to participate?

Maybe because someone was trying insolating him from everybody, Scott
pondered ruefully. He considered smacking himself. There and then he should
have understood something was seriously wrong in his head, and it wasn't only
Apocalypse.

Heavy gloominess settled around him. And then two warm hands rested
gently on his cheeks, hauling him out of the abyss of his misery. His face rose
up to meet emerald eyes, glittering with moistness.

"Scott, stop it." Jean commanded, her voice oozing deep
emotion. "You couldn't have known. SHE made sure the thought, the doubt,
the suspicion, never crossed your mind. Literally. You
aren't responsible for it. Hell, not even that hoe is responsible if that
bastard was manipulating her..."

"But-"

"Scott, I don't blame you." She uttered. "Don't blame
yourself."

"I can't help it!" He shouted. "I brood endlessly over
everything, dwelling on what I could or should have done, and I can't think it
isn't my guilt or my responsibility or my sin so I must forget it! We can't
forget it and pretend it never happened, because it happened! I can't permit
something like that happens again! I... I only want proving you can trust me
how you tried always proving me I could trust you. I... I just want finding one
way."

Feeling miserable, he kissed her. Something sparked between both and the
tender kiss evolved in anxious lips' merge. Reluctantly they parted theirs
mouths, glistening with moistness, and Scott could see the fierce emotion shone
in his wife's eyes.

Jean exhaled a steamy gust of breath, sensing his emotions rekindling
old embers in her. "Take me." She whispered huskily. "Please,
take me now. I need to feel your love."

Scott nodded, overflowed by a hunger had nothing to do with food, and
laid her back over the cloth. Yanking her shirt off, he kissed her as his hands
fumbled with the bra's clasp.

He vowed not letting that something came between them ever again.

She vowed not letting him alone ever again.

<><><><>

Jean lay back, quiet and motionless; silent, except for the faint moans
escaped from her lips, as intense caresses sent shivers along her spine. Soft strokes, kneading and massaging. Pleasuring and
teasing. Sending her in blissfulness.

She groaned weakly, faintly. Paralyzed as his mouth tasted hers fervently,
placing wet and hot kisses on her lips, eyelids, cheeks, temples and hair. Motionless
as his hands groped tenderly her cotton-covered breasts, fondling and stroking
with thorough slowness. Unmoving as he took her still again.

Theirs different personalities clashed even in their lovemaking. Scott
was always disciplined, controlled. He always led. He was always active, not
matter the position. And he loved touching. He felt the physical world
intensely due to his mutation. In the old days he needed touching her
constantly, feeling her presence like a constant, reassuring solace. And God,
how much she loved his strokes. And how badly she'd missed
them.

On the other hand she was impulsive and passionate. She was glad to lie
tranquilly as he pleasured her and himself. Besides, she was a psychic and
she'd never been very certain of what doing with her body. She felt her flesh
like a cage; a bothersome, heavy shell. So she preferred reclining her body
lazily as her spirit searched his mind and entangled around it, feeling and
tasting his emotions. But he always shrunk away from her and never let his
control go fully. He was incapable of being wholly open with someone. And it
hurt.

Even now she could feel him repressing his urge for ripping her bra with
his teeth, wanting to tease her, tickle her, drive her
gradually crazy. He was in control, and he enjoyed him. She could practically
feel his smile as his tooth nibbled her throat.

Of sudden one thought pierced the haze of lust fogging her mind.

"Scott, stop."

"Uh?" His voice sounded thick and
hoarse and muffled, like if he was talking through a gag.

Her hand touched gingerly his red shades. Then she focused and removed
the device.

Scott averted his face automatically, shutting firmly his eyes with
anguished expression. Still no beam erupted from them. He could sense the
crimson energy being restrained, dispersed, gently
dissolved to nothingness.

He looked down to his wife, a red flare still clouding his blue eyes. "Thanks."

"Those stupid glasses are annoying. Still..." Her voice
trailed off hesitantly. "I'd like test an idea of mine, Scott, but I'd
have to go into your head... If you consent..."

Curious despite his wariness, Scott nodded. Her eyes narrowed and her
consciousness filtered into his mind. He flinched, slightly unsettled, feeling
mental eyes looking for something through his brain, feeling soft fingers
probing for something in his head. Then a familiar pressure in his skull's
rear... stopped.

Intense, blinding light dazzled him abruptly. Startled, he covered his
face with his hands. But when his eyes filtered the excessive brightness, he
realized he was seeing.

Green, blue, maroon, red, amber. Colors. Spreading around him.

His eyesight swiveled back to Jean �gasping for an instant at her green
eyes and fair skin- and he wondered, marveled and shaken "What have you
done to me?"

She smiled to reassure him. "It's an idea I've been thinking of for
a while but I've never got one chance to try it. You should be able to turn on
and off your powers at will, right? But you can't because the brain damage.
I've found the switch in your head and I've pressed it. So I shan't be worried
about losing my telekinetic hold while we ma..."

Her voice trailed off. Wetness had splashed her cheek. Droplets of cold
tears trickled from his eyes, rolled down his cheeks and dribbled on her face. He
was weeping.

He was weeping. God, she had never seen him weeping. She had seen him
grieving, crying, sobbing. But never weeping. The
crimson blasts also destroyed the tears.

"Thanks, honey. Thanks." He sobbed. She
rose lightly and kissed the moist trails dampening his cheeks.

"They are for nothing, darling. I wish I'd thought about it years
ago. Now go on. Right?

He nodded. Grabbing her wrists he pinned her back on the ground. Jean
breathed roughly. The motion was rough but his grip soft. And his stare -his
beautiful blue stare, free of those damned glasses- irradiated powerful emotion
took her breath away, at once contemplating her with awe and leering at her
with lust. How that man managed being tender and rough at once she would never
know.

And then he pounced on her, kissing her lips ravenously. His hands
grabbed roughly her bra and tore the soft fabric. Her breasts writhed slightly
with the brusque movement. Cold air caressed and hardened her stiff,
pebble-like pink nipples.

Jean whimpered. She couldn't endure it anymore.

His hands grabbed tenderly his flesh globes, palpating them and weighing
them like if he was carving their shape and tact in his memory. Never stopping
his kiss, he rubbed, stroked and massaged the breasts, his fingertips brushing,
nipping and tweaking the erect tits.

She panted quietly, roughly, warmly as his mouth left her face and
traveled downwards leaving a trail of purple bites along her collarbone and
another of damp licks along her cleavage. His right hand released her left
breast and his tongue's tip skimmed over the areola. A slight cry flew past of
her lips and she shut her eyes in intense pleasure as he swallowed a mouthful
of her bosom and sucked it delightfully, licking her rose nipple and nibbling
it slightly.

Searing desire swallowed her with hot-melting flames, and she arched her
back, pleading more. Of sudden she felt a hand unbuttoning and unzipping her
trousers, slipping stealthily between them and her panties. Skillful digits
rubbed the soft fabric, eliciting short gasps from her.

Her soft moans pervaded the glade. Helpless to move, she gazed fixedly
at the green foliage as her husband drowned her in ecstasy. His lips switched
to her second breast, sucking hard the nipple, and after slid along her stomach
and underbelly, pausing to poke her navel with his red tongue.

With evil slowness he lowered her pants, contemplating her wrinkled,
soaked briefs. His thumb slid over the white fabric, over and over. Jean
quivered tremulously. Then he hooked his forefingers around the elastic rubber
and tugged down. Now her nether region was bare, and Scott gazed at it
ravenously. The sight, the musk arose in him a painful, unquenchable craving.

His fingertips traced circles around her slit, approaching but never
touching, teasing rather pleasuring, and Jean trembled and squirmed beneath
him, protesting weakly. At last he ducked and licked slightly her nether lips. Jean
stifled a sharp shrill and he smirked. As his hands stroked relentlessly her
inner thighs, his mouth licked greedily her quivering, drenched vagina. His
tongue sneaked into the burning crevasse, licked thoroughly the walls and traveled
slowly up to wrap around her throbbing clitoris.

He was eating her anxiously when an invisible force levitated him and
laid him sideways on the wrinkled sheet. Jean lay next to him, gazing with
pleading eyes, glowing with wetness.

"Please, Scott." She moaned as placed a hand on his crown's
head and drew him in a deep kiss, her second hand's palm rubbing the hard bulge
had grown between his legs. "Please."

She repeated her plea until her husband nodded. Then she laid him on his
back and straddled him. Her hands grabbed his shirt's handfuls and yanked
upwards, revealing his muscled chest, his broad pectorals, his
hard abdomen. Steamy breath clogged her windpipe and she swung around, her eyes
facing his crotch. Wheezing roughly, she fumbled with the trousers. Then she
lost her patience. Her hands ripped the zip, pulled down the leggings and torn
mercilessly his boxers.

His member snapped upwards, long and hard, swaying slightly. Jean ogled
to the rose skin, the bulged veins, the purplish head
and licked her lips. She moved closer, stroking tenderly the shaft with her
fingers. That soft skin was driving her crazy. Her hands continued rubbing the
length, feeling how his flesh shuddered with her touch. Then her tongue
caressed the tip and Scott let out a guttural moan. She smiled. Her digits
keeping on brushing his shaft and squeezing the balls, but her tongue licked
meticulously the swollen glans, the taut foreskin,
the reddish rim, the central rift.

She wrapped her cherry lips around the tip, nibbling lightly as she got
used to the sensation. Slowly she swallowed the entire penis and started
bobbing up and down. Of sudden she felt a mouth kissing her lower lips, a
tongue licking her slit, teeth nibbling slightly her clitoris, digits fingering
her vagina.

Husband and wife went on pleasuring at each other, feeling arousal and
desire streaming along theirs veins like liquid lava, and their intense
pleasure approaching to the peak. Both moaned and groaned heavily and Jean felt
a soft warm flowing into her and her muscles tightening as her orgasm built up.

Abruptly Scott pushed her and rolled away her. Jean gaped, feeling
coldness surrounding her, a stark contrast to the hellish, sweet heat. She
kneeled, staring at Scott with disbelief. She didn�t know whether feeling hurt
or furious.

Scott talked swiftly before she chose the second option. �This isn�t a
simple reconciliation party, Jean. I don�t want simply fucking you. I want
making love you.�

Steadily calm he sat cross-legged, his throbbing, long penis rising
upwards like a spear. Jean felt happiness exploding inside her and washing
over, but she masked it, aiming at him a wrathful glare could have crumbled a
mountain to dust.

�I can�t decide whether smacking or smooching you.� She growled, shaking
her head. �Given that I�m still horny, I�ll have to choose the former option.�

She crawled as far as him and kneeled, still fuming and giving him an
absolutely venomous glare. He smiled, knowing she was laughing inwardly. His
hands massaged and kneaded her chest and back and she groaned in pleasure. Her
grim scowl had vanished.

"My wife. My
beautiful wife. God, I�ve missed you. I love you, Jean. I need
you."

She felt deep emotion inflaming her and chocking her. Fighting back
tears, she embraced him. Her hands roamed over his body, matching his caresses.
Sluggishly she propped up herself on her shins, and employing one hand to open
her slit and another to guide his erection, she lowered herself slowly.

She halted abruptly. "Are you sure of Emma didn't infect you with
any disease?"

He almost slapped his forehead. "NO."

Jean smirked and impaled herself. Her jaws clenched in slight pain,
feeling the huge member stretching her walls. Scott shivered too, feeling her
narrow vagina clamping brutally his penis. Both remained in that posture for
several heavy pants. God, it had been a while.

Jean started rising and lowering her body. Slowly her pace sped up, and
she rode him up and down frenziedly. Her bright-red locks fluttered around her
head like a halo of orangish blazes, and moist tears
trickled of her eyes and blurred her vision. Her body swayed unsteadily, and
Scott hugged her firmly. At once he thrust up and down, matching her slams.

Feeling her climax building, she draped her arms around his neck and
both fell backwards slowly, landing on his back. Scott rubbed her thick red
hair and fondled her buttocks to jam more deeply his member into her. Jean
answered banging her body on him, covering his rough cheeks with his hands and
kissing passionately his stern mouth. Around them the world faded in the heat
of their shared passion.

Overflowed by her burning emotions, her telepathy burst out of control. Her
consciousness poured through the link and two souls met, light entangling in
light, passion and desire mingling. Though he didn't retain his control, didn't
shun her touch, didn't keep a piece of his mind insolated from her. This time
he lowered his shields fully, allowing she got glimpses of everything he had
never shared with her, the deeds he was too ashamed to talk about, the memories
he hated recalling.

This time he opened his mind wholly to her. Without
barriers, without doubts, without fears. Only love and
devotion and trust. And theirs minds merged and theirs perceptions,
memories and feelings overlapped, and then they couldn't tell who was who
because only existed an 'us'. And the fire fueled them, scorching away all
rational thought, erupted like a volcano.

Bright red light flooded them. Filling them with a
wonderful sensation. A deliciously illicit pleasure.

Slowly they regained their senses, waking from a blissful drowsiness. Jean
was collapsed over his torso, limp and motionless, her chest swelling and
lowering steadily, too exhausted to move. He gasped roughly and raggedly,
gazing dimly at the brown branches overhead.

"Wow."

"Yes." Jean muttered, still breathless from the earth-shaking
orgasm. "Feeling you inside me again... Wow."

She propped laboriously on her four limbs, despite her sore and aching
muscles, and kissed him tenderly. The sensation was sweet and comforting and
warming. And arousing. They tried breaking the kiss.
But they just couldn't. The kiss ignited again their desire's embers and fueled
them in consuming blaze. They rolled over the floor and lay sideways, kissing
as their limbs entangled.

"Again?" She whispered
faintly. He nodded.

She moved away him reluctantly and propped her palms and shins on the
ground, swaying her hips suggestively. Scott didn't miss the meaning of the movement.

"Do you really want that?" He inquired incredulously. They had
practiced anal sex very few times. Scott knew she wasn�t fond of it, and he
didn�t press her in doing it. But now she�

She just nodded without looking back at him. "I want feeling yours,
Scott. All of yours. I need feeling you over me, under
me, inside me, around me. I want screaming your name and begging being
fucked."

She blushed. Was she really telling that? What if Scott thought she was
a slut?

Her fears vanished when gentle hands rubbed soothingly her back,
kneading and smoothing her strained muscles. Comforting warmth melted her
tension and soreness, transmuting them in relaxation.

"Nobody can insult my wife. Understood?" He mumbled. His hands
traveled downwards and fondled gently her firm butt. His mouth licked slowly
and carefully her soft buttocks while his wriggling digits massaged her
vagina's folds, moist again. He coated one of them in saliva and slipped it
into the cleft. Jean groaned slightly and he inserted more fingers, widening
slowly the opening.

As his left hand explored the writhing tunnel, he palpated his member. He
was ready again.

Scott rose up and groped her butt, ready to penetrate her, when out of
the corner of his eye he glimpsed theirs tent�s curtain flapping and something
tiny and shining darting outwards.

The object landed on his hand. His eyebrows arched and he sniggered. "Did
you bring these things? Did you actually expect we'd have sex?"

His wife shrugged awkwardly. "You're always telling a good
tactician must anticipate any possible outcome. Now put it in your cock. Anal
sex is not hygienic without using protection."

Scott blushed. His fingers stretched the latex and sheathed his penis
into it. Again he rubbed, massaged and scratched Jean's damp vulva, eliciting
hoarse, soft moans from her, inflaming her lust. Carefully he plunged his shaft
between her twin buttocks.

Dizzy pain fogged his mind for one second. It was incredibly tight. He
began pumping in and out, arching his head backwards and groaning as the hot
fleshy walls squeezed his penis as a steely vice. His wife's loud moans
increased his passion, and her oozing musk intoxicated him with desire.

"Rise up." He commanded. Shuddering violently with pent-up
passion, Jean rose and kneeled on her shins. He embraced her tightly, pressing
his chest, his stomach, his penis on her back, and he slid his hands over her
breasts. Her slick hair brushed and tickled his bare facial skin and he almost
lost his mind.

Jean gasped warmly, feeling his body slamming on her, his desire
slamming on her. The air stroked her sweat-drenched hair, her steaming skin,
her rigid nipples, her juice-dripping slit. She was
gasping, feeling her slick crotch aching, when his hands covered her large
breasts and played with her stiffened nipples, rubbing, tugging, pinching and
twisting the sensitive areolas.

Jean felt her endurance ebbing away quickly and tilted slightly her
head. Scott stopped licking her exposed white neck and kissed her. Theirs
tongues dueled ravishingly, coiling like snakes as theirs bodies approached
rapidly the climax.

Finally their arousal reached the peak, and they came simultaneously,
Scott firing his seed into her anus, Jean feeling her muscles clenching and
slackening straight after. Hoarse, ecstatic groans erupted from theirs mouths
and they fell limply on the rumpled tablecloth, drenched on theirs own juices.

<><><><>

The air was humid and biting, licking her skin with waves of unpleasant
coldness, but she didn't notice it. Inwardly she burnt. With
a blissfully searing hotness.

Worn off the desire and the need had driven them like a drug, a drowsy
languor numbed their minds and muscles. Jean was lying facedown, supporting her
head on her folded arms, and Scott was sprawled over her, massaging her sore
shoulder plates. She moaned softly.

God, it had been really a while, she reflected.

Scott cuddled her lovingly while his wanderer eyes marveled with the
blue of the sky, the green of the leaves, the maroon of the trees, the brown
and grey of the ground and the rocks, the pale rose of her skin. God, he
couldn't believe it yet. She had slid into his mind and her telepathy had
turned off his optic beams. His power was locked. For first time in years he
could simply open his eyes without fear.

Nobody could understand that relief.

Nobody could understand that elation.

Nobody could understand the joy of recovering something everybody takes
for granted.

As his skillful fingers worked his magic on her muscles, his mouth
kissed her neck's nape, following the curve of her cervix. Next to her earlobe
he whispered "I'd forgotten how wonderfully good you are. Thanks for
showing me my folly."

"Don't talk about it now. My mood is too good. Your backrubs are as
amazing as ever." Phoenix drawled, picking
tiny specks from dirt of the wrinkled linen. "So who is better in the bed?
Emma or me?"

"Jean!"

"What? It's a fair question."

Scott bit his lower lip in chagrin. He just knew she was smirking. "You. Glad now?"

"Not at all. I should have bet
money." Jean clicked her fingers in annoy. Scott rolled up his eyes and
went on kneading her muscles as she traced lazy circles on the mantle. "But
you've just given me a pretty gift. This is the first time you've been
completely open with me. You lowered fully your shields and allowed me peek
into. You let me see everything you never wanted sharing, too afraid of
rejection. Thanks."

"And you didn't it? You've given back my eyes, my sight. I can't
even start to describe you how much I love you." He pressed his lips on
her collarbone. "I... thought I had to trust you -completely- so you could
trust me. I've always been too frightened and insecure to open myself to
anyone, including you. I didn't want recalling Sinister's
orphanage or talking about my life in the streets, and I was afraid of you
wouldn't understand. But if my fear can be used like a crowbar to pry us
apart... I don't want it. I don't want keeping frightened."

"Neither I do it." Jean muttered
quietly. She shut her eyes and hummed pleasantly as he squeezed the knots in
her tight muscles and undid them. Then she felt his hands roaming downwards,
circling her sides and rubbing tenderly her smooth, flat belly. Sensing his
blossoming arousal, she chuckled. "Do you want doing it AGAIN? So soon?"

"It isn't my fault you are so sexy and gorgeous. But your months of
unwilling celibate ARE my fault, and I have to atone for it. Right?"
His forefinger poked her navel, tickling it ruthlessly, and she giggled. "But not, not so soon. Funny how-"

"Funny how romance novels use to forget
some facts of human physiology. Like muscular soreness or physical
exhaustion." Jean yawned languidly and blew a red strand away her lips
with a tiny gust of breath. "A lovemaking scene in a forest would be
depicted like an idyllic and perfect moment. No writer mentions it can be
uncomfortable and filthy and your back feels every pebble on the floor."

"But it was worth."

"Definitely."

"I wouldn't mind remaining here several days, away concerns, away
grudges, away fights. Just eating, sleeping, talking and making love."

Her right hand brushed her short red strands idly as she pondered over
it. The prospect brightened up her face with a wickedly wanton grin. "Why not? We have food, we aren't being expected in the
mansion, and other people can perform our functions anyway. But
Scott... You know we have to talk about it sooner or later. About... our lives. About the
future."

"Yes. I know." He muttered flatly. Bearing a scowling
expression, he sat on the mantle, crossing his legs in lotus position. His mood
had darkened quickly.

Jean sat awkwardly onto his lap and leaned backwards, feeling his
muscled arms embracing her waist. A soft rustling sound, like pieces of fabric rubbing
together, came from the tent, and a folded blanket floated out of it. It
levitated towards them, unfolded itself and wrapped tightly around theirs bare
bodies.

Jean tucked up both with the beige cover as her husband stroked her and
caressed like a potter molding clay. She arched her head backwards and groaned,
just incapable of moving, as he touched her body in ways just could know
someone who had been doing it for nearly three decades -counting their
honeymoon-.

"So... What do we do now? Because our options are staying or
fleeing, not matter what happens." She muttered, closing her eyes and
dozing in contentment.

Scott paused for a thoughtful second. "I don't know. All of this
happened because many things in my life had been going wrong for years. Seeds
planted into me, like my inability to trust people, awaiting a rain to
germinate. Apocalypse stripped me from my self-deluding lies and showed me the
ugly reality. Unluckily I drew the wrong conclusions. And I mistook many of his
thoughts for mine own, too."

He shook his head in despaired irony. "He showed me I'd been for so
long trying being the hero and role-model the Professor needed, that I didn't
know any more whether it was an act or not; whether Cyclops was my mask or my
face. I've been fighting so many years I don't know make something else. And
I'm worn off. I'm tired of bearing this burden, of feeling guilty for being
tired, and of feeling angry for feeling guilty. I can't go on like this,
committing the same mistakes that led me to this mess over and over. For that I
tried overcoming my fears with you. And I'd like... I'd like leaving the X-Men
but I'm frightened of being incapable. I'm nearly thirty and I've spent the
half of my life playing superhero. I'm so entangled in it I don't know how
abandoning it, how being a normal person. Battling wars is my only skill, and
I'm not even good in it."

"Scott, you can't mean that." Jean swiveled her head at him. Her
eyes irradiated deep alarm. "Don't you remember you worked in a radio station?
And flying planes through Canada when you worked
in your grandparents' company? You have a journalist degree and you're an
experienced pilot. I have my degree on Psychology, I've been model and I can be
a good teacher. We can leave and live in the real world if we want; simply, we
don't dare."

He cradled her in silence, his chin resting on her shoulder. "True.
You know I feel still a responsibility towards the Professor. In my experience,
rich men didn't... fetch runaway orphans from the streets without ulterior
motives. But he gave me food, home, scholarship and he tried being a father for
me when nobody else wanted, and he acted out of generosity. Right, probably he
hoped I'd be his first Xavier's Man, but still... So I can't help feeling I'm
betraying him, wanting giving up and starting my own life."

"Scott... Do you truly think he'd feel betrayed because the
famished kid he saved from the streets has healed and grown up? Do you believe
he wishes you remain until our home becomes a jail and your job a noose
tightening around your throat and strangling you slowly until every breath
becomes an unbearable torture? Do you think so badly of him?"

Silence.

"I mean.... I'm angry and resentful with him right now,
but..."

Scott growled lightly. "I'm recalling that time I told him I
wouldn't leave your side in the hospital to fly to Ireland and save the new
X-Men as you weren't out of danger. Besides he and I knew I'd never be on time
anyway! He went mad and even tried slapping me, calling me... which was the
word... ungrateful cur."

"He was distraught and distressed those days, Scott. And let's
think of it, maybe he was jealous of you were choosing me over him. I don't
think he had told such things otherwise." She steepled
her hands underneath the covers and paused, peering glumly at the sunrays
dancing over the green leaves. "I know you've felt cheated for him many
times. When he let you believe he was dead -and I know perfectly well you were
crossed with me for knowing it and not telling you, but never you said anything
and forgave me knowing I had no choice-, when he put Magneto in charge of the
school, when he spawned Onslaught... I've often felt deeply hurt, like you, but
I love him still like a father, like you. And a father can't regret his
children have grown up or resent they become emancipated. Don't you think?
Besides, he's retired himself. Thus how can he begrudge we take the same
decision?"

Silently he tucked a red strand around her ear. His tongue licked
playfully the curvy earlobe. "Do you remember what you told me when you
proposed, Jean?"

"This is our life, Scott. We belong here." She replied
seriously. "I didn't want committing the same dumb mistake that mare-
forgive me, your first wife did, forcing you to choose between two obligations
and making you feel guilty for neglecting both."

"Yes, but..." He muttered wearily, his breath ruffling her
flaming strands. "You also were wrong then. You shouldn't allow me indulge
in self-destructive behavior. The X-Men can be part of our life but they CAN'T
be our life, because if the team fails, we fall apart."

Jean mulled over his words mutely. Far away, a jay chirped among the
foliage. Near from them a green-scaled lizard slithered among red toadstools. And
the thicket rustled with the swift sprint of a fox.

"Perhaps that is the answer. We can stay for some days, observing
how the group is coping with the last changes, and helping if they need. And
then, if we aren't comfortable with it, if we aren't happy, if we feel we
belong here no longer... Then we leave. Without putting off it due to the next
crisis, without acting like if they were poor souls incapable to survive
without us. We leave. Without ands, ifs or buts."

Her husband didn't reply right away. "I'm still fearing we make the
same mistake again at the end; stay because we don't know another life, instead
of the right reasons. And the team, the school will worsen our troubles...
again. We could barely see at each other because the classes and the missions. We
couldn't even talk about our troubles because we were too busy-"

"That is bullshit and you know it", answered his wife with
steely fierceness. She turned her head to glare to him. "We were using the
classes to avoid at each other, not the other way around. We had found time if
we had wanted. But we didn't want. We were too busy dashing towards a cliff and
leaping headfirst in the abyss."

Scott lowered his head.

"If it gets worse -and you KNOW it always gets worse-, we go out of
here. I hate giving up, but... I'm sick of being the main support of the entire
team... and I imagine it can't be easy to you either."

"As long as I'm your support, only, I have no complains. I'm your
wife, console you when you're grieving, cheer you when you're brooding and
shout you when you're being stupid is my job. But I can't aid everybody, or
resolve everybody's problems. I have a family takes priority over everything
else."

She ensconced sideways on his lap. Her hand caressed his cheek as her
green pupils bored in his eyes. Intense, mesmerizing eyes of
deep blue color. She gawked, breathlessly enthralled in the emotions
glowed and sparkled in them, emotions concealed from her because those damned
red-quartz shades.

"Don't worry. If we stay, it'll be under our conditions. We shan't
sacrifice our happiness anymore. We have to think of ourselves and our
baby."

He blinked. "Our... baby..."

She nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, our baby."

Scott gulped hard. "B-b-b-but when..."

"If you don't get me pregnant in our vacation, I'm asking Hank
about in vitro fertilization. I want CHILDREN before being thirty, damn
it."

"B-but I'd be a terrible father-"

His wife shot him a smoldering glare. Scott believed melting. Then she
spoke, her voice dry like dead leaves. "Oh, right. I forgot you assume
your fatherhood skills are awful, basing on the terrible lives your children
have led. The fact of they were happy until the fourteen years and you had NO
control about what happened afterwards don't deter you. Neither
the fact of you didn't raise Rachel. Oh, no, obviously that means you
have been a pathetic, lousy father in every timeline. It's funny how you can
simultaneously consider you aren't responsible of your daughter's happiness but
you are guilty of her misery. I envy your selective reasoning... Darling!"

Scott winced, watching in her pupils her temper rising, shimmering and
flaring. "It's only that... They deserved a better life. That was their
right, and my duty was providing it. And I failed."

Her finger traced a path from his right temple to his chin. And he knew
she was no longer angry but caring. And mournful.
"Scott, listen to me: a man who has repeatedly risked life and limb -and
soul!- for his children, can't truthfully tell he
hasn't sacrificed everything for them. It's true they've led hard lives, but
you can't blame yourself for it, unless you have mastery about the multiverse and the timestream.
Actually, if they have survived through horrific experiences... Who do you
believe is responsible? Who do you believe taught them to never give up, to
fight tooth and nail, to cling to life, to maintain
love and hope in ages where people only remembered hate and war? Who do you
believe instilled into them that strength, that spirit, that courage, Scott?
You gave them more you will never know!"

He lowered his head. "I wish it had been more."

"Everything you were capable, darling, even when it was another
you." She stated seriously, draping her arms around his upper waist.
"You're a fine man and a good father. And if you can't do it alone, I'll
help you... every step of the road, whether winding or straight. We're a team,
aren't we?"

"Yes." He whispered, his lips brushing her hair, his hand
clasping tightly hers and pressing it on his cheek. "I'd all but forgotten
that."

"Bad movement. Together, we can
stand anything. Apart... where would have we ended?"

"Oh, that is easy." A vicious, humorless smile brightened up
his features. "I'd be an emotionless robot and you had cracked the planet
in burst of rage."

"Yes. Together we can become... more human."

Her husband nodded. Both remained motionless, cuddling and stroking
quietly at each other, enfolded by the blanket and warmed for the sunlight
pierced the verdant foliage.

"I can't believe yet it is finally over."

"Tales aren't over until the charming prince kisses the princess
and they faded to black to live happily after."

He placed his hand on her cheek and drew her face to his lips.

With that simple, sweet kiss, the Phoenix ended its final song.

<><><><>

- I don't remember the issue where happened the photo's incident (New
X-Men 12-ish, I think). A friend
commented fans raved about Morrison depicting amazing characterization in one
single scene when, in fact, he set Scott�s personality back to early sixties. I
quite agree with that interpretation, and besides it served me to prove further
the brainwashing. It�s amazing how my theory fits in with the original issues,
isn�t it?

- I've paid tribute to the famous 'Jean stops Scott's beams', scene,
giving it my own twist. Given that we've seen telepaths freezing theirs enemies
or blocking their powers, she uses her telepathy here. I don't see why Jean
can't do that (I figure Marvel doesn't want, since Scott could actually being
happier and we can't have that, can we?). Besides, Phoenix Endsong
2 pissed me off. Emma CAN'T stop his beams. She isn't powerful enough. Only
Jean is capable. She did it in UXM 132 and 296 (so nobody can use Phoenix Force to
contradict me).

- My guess is Scott and Jean met when they were over fifteen. Jean was
twenty-four in Dark Phoenix Saga. Giving them several
years more and adding the twelve years they spent in the future raising Nathan,
I think nearly three decades is a fair estimate. Feel free to correct me if I'm
wrong.

- Wow! I can't believe yet it's over! Since my friends in Jott Forum encouraged me to write my own version of PE, and
I put off the stories I was already making, many months have passed. Months of
writing, rewriting, plotting, correcting... It's been hard, but it's been
worth. Really I think this is my best fic so far. And
the wonderful reviews I've got made up for the effort.

- Thanks to the readers reviewed my story in FF.Net: Pinkchick,
Angelechicka, Slickboy444, Alrischa,
Ultimate X-Men Fan, Summers Groupie, Sailor Phoenix, Phoenix11, Foenixfyre, Illmantrim, Lil Jean, Queen Peacock, Griever, Phoenix83ad, Goblyn-Queen, Wen1, Tashafic, Roquetshipper, Lili, Granny
Angel, Lavender Gaia, Ingrid, Strayphoenix, Eternitygoddess, Corpus and Amazing Redd
Phoenix. I hadn�t been able to pull it out without you. And thanks to the
remainder Jott Forum�s members and all who read my
work but didn�t review.

- There will be a sequel? I'm not sure. A sequel must be as good as the
original story, at least, and right now I haven't good enough ideas. Besides,
I've fulfilled all objectives I'd proposed: write the last Phoenix story -since this
was a Phoenix Endsong version, and Marvel announced
PE would be the last one-; bring Jean back; bring old Scott and his moral
credibility back; and get them together again. In a nutshell I did all Marvel
could have done... and didn't.

- However, it's possible I can think about new stories to develop
further this universe. Maybe I can be blackmailed in writing more (especially
if I have enough reviews). I have projects and ideas for future fanfics, comicverse and Evoverse, but right now I need resting. Anyway, if someone
else wants writing something based on my work, I'll feel much honored ^-^. Only
warn me, please.

-This is your last chance! Don�t left without reviewing! I�d love
hearing your comments and opinions! ^_^
- 9
- 10
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