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Down Under	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Het - Male/Female Views: 6656 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the various incarnations of the X-Men, or any characters appearing in any of their titles appearing herein. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2: Not in Kansas Anymore

Dark… so dark… where am I?

Galaxies spin beneath her. She outshines them. She feels their pulse, their energy, their life.

Life… so much life…

She rushes through the void. Stars whiz past. Civilizations rise and fall before her eyes, before she can name them, before she blinks. They reach for the stars, but they cannot grasp.

She can. She does. It sits in her palm, a marble of primordial radiance.

She clasps her hand. The flame winks out. She opens her hand. The flame springs forth.

To create; to destroy – these things stand beyond…
Let there be light. Light yields life. Where there is life, there is hope.

Someone reaches for her. She knows this person; she knows he will fail. She wants him to succeed. She cannot permit him.

The flame, the light, the life – they call to her. Must she answer?

For life to continue, I must.

She plunges into the heart of the flame. Clarity ignites her every sense, mundane and extraordinary, until her very soul feels aflame. The name of he who reached for her crystallizes.

Oh, Scott…

Jean awoke to find herself levitating several inches above an unfamiliar bed. The ceiling above her spun, and nausea wracked her stomach, whipping into a veritable tempest inside. She lowered herself onto the bed, only for the vertigo to intensify. On wobbly legs she fought every step of the way to the bathroom.

She barely made it.

Minutes later, Jean slumped against the side of the tub, covered in a cold sweat, shaking. Her eyes glassed over with tears and soon overflowed. Soon she began sobbing from the intensity of the dream.

The beauty… the grandeur… that wasn’t a dream, was it? It had to be a… a memory… a memory?

Jean loosened her ponytail, glad that the rubber band had helped keep her fire-engine red mane out of the way just now. The sobs had quieted to sniffles, but she just couldn’t, despite her best efforts, manage to fully calm herself. The fragmented images, so vivid in her mind’s eye, triggered a cascade of other, less pleasant, memories.

< She wears a jet-black leather bustier and matching thigh boots. Her arms bear elegant violet opera-length gloves, and a velvet cape in matching violet billows behind her. A short satin loincloth hangs between her thighs in front and back.

She feels not an ounce of shame from displaying her body so brazenly.

A most dashing man – a seeming relic from Jane Austen or Voltaire – touches her hand, kisses her cheek, ignites her nerves, her senses, her passions. He craves her, she him. She savors his gentle voice in her ears as though it were warm honey.

She undresses him, he her. He lays her back. She shivers in anticipation.

They consummate their love. They gasp and moan together in ecstasy. Their names escape one another’s lips at the height of climax. Bliss, immeasurably delicious, permeates every fiber of her being.

He introduces her to his friends and colleagues, the Inner Circle. They welcome her with open arms. They encourage her to embrace her passions: her lust, her greed, her avarice. She smiles, for she has already sampled the merest taste of the feast they offer. She looks forward to slaking her thirst for more sensation.

Interlopers arrive. They accuse the Inner Circle of abducting her. One in particular claims to be her true lover. Her lovers duel for her, a battle of wills. Her Inner Circle lover emerges victorious; the interloper lies near death but clings stubbornly to life, stubbornly to his conviction that she is his wife, he her husband.

The others battle the Inner Circle and lose. To celebrate their victory, they squabble like children for scraps of power, paltry in its scope, far beneath the threshold she needs for satiety.

She confronts her victor when he suggests they celebrate her liberation from the meddlers. She pierces his deception and casts aside the veil of illusion he wears. Before her cowers a hideous troll of a man, shorn of his disguise.

He disgusts her with his pleas for mercy. She tells him so. She removes his capacity to disguise himself, condemning him to ugliness, to the revulsion of others, for the rest of his days. >

The memories of her joyous but stressful days as the Phoenix had been resurfacing steadily over the last few weeks, prompting her to book this vacation, so she could… reintegrate herself. I was more prepared to contemplate death, and resurrection, she cried inwardly, not… this.

Jean curled into the fetal position, bawling into her knees with shame and humiliation at the memories of Mastermind’s manipulation and violation of her. Bad enough he used my body and mind, she lamented, but he tempted me with pleasures I had only shared with the man I loved. Jean held her legs tighter to her body. I… I stood by while my friends tried to rescue me… and did nothing to help them.

More of these dark experiences began to emerge from their dormancy. Immediately after her… falling-out… with the Inner Circle, she battled the same X-Men who had attempted the rescue – who were, in fact, still attempting to rescue her, from the Dark Phoenix entity still sharing her consciousness. She had defeated them and fled to the stars, yearning for freedom…

< Through the void, she soars unfettered. Neither space nor time can bind her, nor does she suffer them to. She slips from star to star at the speed of thought.

A red giant catches her eye. Only broken asteroids orbit the great crimson furnace. She alights and observes the churning, roiling surface.

She feels its pulse, its energy, its life.

Life gives way to death. Even the brightest lights dim, until they fade into darkness. Darkness consumes.

To create; to destroy – these things stand beyond good and evil.

The flame, the light, the life – they call to her. Must she answer?

She hungers. She can glut herself. She will.

She plunges into the heart of the flame. Desire burns through her veins. The core of the star is a mere morsel of fusion, a snack to be devoured at her leisure.

She feeds. >

Jean barely resisted the urge to vomit again.

In her mind’s eye she saw the red giant bloat itself to bursting as she siphoned off the energy from nuclear fusion that had fueled it for eons. Finally the great celestial engine erupted into supernova around her, dissolving every asteroid, every rock, every speck of dust in the system. She had relished their annihilation.

My God… I… I obliterated… a whole star system… merely to see how it would feel? Jean wondered, physically dumbstruck, shaking all over from the shock of the thought. What if… what if it had been our sun? Would I have savored the deaths of everyone I know and love… and everyone I don’t?

Her tears resumed afresh. She turned on the shower with but a thought, not yet able to trust herself to move. I feel… so dirty… I must get clean. How will anyone ever forgive me for what I did?

Spurred into motion, she swiftly shed her clothes, discarding them haphazardly throughout the bathroom. Jean dared not look at her reflection, too disgusted with herself to see the face of a monster.

How will Scott ever forgive me?
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