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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
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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.
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 Four. Love and Hate-

Fire. Fierce. Radiant. Burning. A whirlpool of blazes flooding
everything. Crackling tongues of amber flames curled around him during his
descent, enveloping him and stroking him. Never harming him.

A cold gust in that Inferno's core grazed his rough cheeks of sudden. He
peered downwards. Far below him rotated a pit of the deepest blackness,
gleaming in the eye of the blazing typhoon. Without hesitation, he dove into
the vast and swirling darkness.

Shadows surrounded him. Chilling him. Oppressing him. Asphyxiating him.
A realm with no warmth, no light, except for a tiny dot of brightness that
twinkled in the distance. Like a dawn. He levitated at it carefully.

And then he knew.

Nathan Summers shivered dreadfully.

<><><><>

A wave of dizziness crept over him.

His brain throbbed like if a steel claw was tightly clenched around his
skull. A black haze clouded his vision and his awareness. His legs faltered and
his body swayed and tottered dangerously.

Two slim arms wrapped hurriedly around his torso, stopping his fall. Scott
clung stubbornly to that light physical touch to chase away the migraine
smashing his skull and the drowsiness numbing his limbs. His eyelids fluttered
weakly to clear his blurry eyesight and he glanced at his rescuer.

Jubilee gazed at him with concern glimmering on her pupils. She let go
of him warily. "Are you ok, Cyke?" Her hand combed her raven curls in
nervousness. "You seemed seriously sick for a second."

Scott forced himself to smile. "Thanks for the concern, Jubilee,
but it isn't necessary. I was feeling somewhat dizzy, that's all. I suppose I
have much sleep to catch on."

He nearly chuckled in bitterness. Plain insomnia wasn't what was wearing
him down. Nightmares about Jean's appalling death haunted him. They didn't let
him sleep. Voices whispered in his mind's fringes. They didn't let him rest. And
since Colossus had reported Jean's grave was empty... he felt as though he was
teetering on the edge of a bottomless cliff.

"Uh, uh." The Chinese girl muttered skeptically. Her worried
glance hardened in a piercing stare. Scott grimaced, realizing she didn't
believe him. But he couldn't explain the pain and remorse poisoning him like a
slow disease. His team trusted him, relied on him. He had to be strong for
them. Keep the leader fa�ade.

The violent sound of a door banging noisily into a wall saved him from
further interrogation. Scott Summers and Jubilation Lee swiveled their stares
at the direction where the noise came from.

Warren Worthington was storming out of a bedroom. His fists were firmly
clenched and his visage was distorted with fury... and something else.

Scott arched a slim eyebrow, acknowledging the grieving pain mingled
with anguished anger on his face, but he said nothing. He just sidestepped
swiftly, gazing with questioning but silent compassion. Warren gave him a
sidelong look of pained gratitude as he hurtled past him.

Jubilee peered at the winged mutant as he scurried rapidly out of the
hallway and turned to Scott. She was amazed over the fact that he hadn't
stopped him. "Shouldn't we go after him? He seemed seriously pissed
off."

Cyclops shook his head sadly. "No. I know my friend and that's the
last thing we must do right now. Whatever has happened, he won't listen. We can
be more useful somewhere else in the meantime."

"Uh? Like where?"

Scott raised his arm towards the door left ajar. "That is the
bedroom Warren and Miss Guthrie
are sharing these days, isn't it? I bet they have just gotten into one huge
fight-"

Jubilee was darting hastily at the room before Scott finished his
sentence. He trailed behind her grimly.

An un-breathable tension gripped them when they stepped into the
bedroom. A boiling distress poisoned the air with an unmistakable scent of
murky gloom and sorrow. The rarefied atmosphere was stiffened with silence,
except for the sound of shaky, woeful sobs. Paige Guthrie was sitting on the
bed, her hands shielding her gorgeous face to mask her weeping. Anguish oozed
from her and pervaded the ambience.

Horror and pity dripped from Jubilee's face. "Are you ok,
Hayseed?" She voiced, revealing her presence.

Paige's head jerked up. A hostile glower burnt on her face. "Yes.
Go away."

Jubilee shook her head and sauntered into the room. Scott stayed behind
and shut the door gingerly. They didn't need an audience.

"I don't think I'll be doing that, Guthrie." The Chinese girl
plopped down beside her partner. Her arm drifted over her backside and kneaded
tenderly over her shoulder plate. "What were Wings and you arguing
about?"

"It wasn't an argument. It was a difference of opinion." Paige
retorted fiercely.

"Whatever. What was your difference of opinion about?"

"Nothing. It's only that-" Her haughty tone cracked and Paige
shut her eyes painfully. Her pretense of nonchalance was futile, she realized.
Especially with Jubilee. She read uncannily through her masks, and she always
read too much. "Have you ever gotten into one of those fights where it
starts with one simple disagreement about clothes or meals but unexplainably grows
until it becomes a huge, ugly monster?"

Scott shuddered, recalling one time when he was shopping for clothes
with Madelyne and he asked her opinion about one pair of jeans. The situation
had degenerated quickly after his brilliant idea and he barely walked out of
the mall alive.

"Suddenly we were shouting at each other. Trying to HURT each
other." She sobbed, recalling how they had stabbed at each other with
cruel words of sharp edges, until their hides were bleeding. And how cruelly
she had twisted her dagger. "When he yelled I was too young to understand
him I yelled he... didn't want to get his hands dirty with a farmer girl
instead of a scantily-clad, purple-dyed vixen. Then Warren g-glared at me with
an expression... like if he was really seeing me for first time... and hating
immensely what he saw... He narrowed his eyes and stalked off."

She looked at Jubilee tearfully.

"God, I... don't know how I could say that to him. I was so...
furious. Fire burnt in my veins. He was having doubts about me, our future, our
feelings... but above of all I was enraged because... Deep down in my heart I
couldn't disagree with him."

Scott chose that moment to break in the conversation. "Sincerely,
Miss Guthrie, I was stunned when I heard both of you were an item. And it
wasn't cause of your age difference." He added swiftly before Husk
retorted with a scathing insult. "But because Warren is just as
screwed as me. And more jaded."

Paige blinked in bewilderment.

"Why do you think we've become such good friends? Did you know his
uncle killed his father and tried to marry his mother?"

"Uh? Wings Hamlet is not."

Scott snickered. "Be careful, Jubilee. If you keep slipping, you'll
give away there's an intelligent young woman hiding beneath the teenage
prankster mask."

Lee let out a heartily, wicked giggle. "Earth would blow up. I'll
have to be more careful."

He nodded and stared at Paige again. Kindness shone through his visor. "Most
people regard Warren like a pampered,
shallow, rich boy. They have absolutely no idea. They don't know he'd give up
his entire wealth for parents who cared for him, friends who loved him, people
who wouldn't force him to hide his wings.

"He was virtually an orphan. And he never had any real friends
until he enlisted in the X-Men; only hyenas who hated his guts and wanted
something out of him. So he was wary of getting emotionally attached to someone
and resorted to date half-witted bimbos who only loved his hair and his bank
account. When he became an X-Man he played that farce of a superficial,
cheerful, carefree boy. But he deceived neither of us. And the team gave him
something that I also yearned for: a family to love and be loved
unconditionally.

"He's changed hugely since then, but I've seldom seen him happy. He
never was close to his parents, but he suffered badly when they died. Since
then he's been wondering if he couldn't have acted differently to save them. And
even though he's dated many women he's failed in all his relationships. Hank,
Bobby, Jean and I believed Betsy would be 'it', but..."

Scott's voice trailed off in a meaningful silence.

Paige had lowered her head as Cyclops spoke and was studying the flurry
carpet mutely. Grief, despair and anguish were ripping her apart and eating her
alive.

"I didn't know any of that." She stammered among shivers.
"I love him, but... I never really knew him. And how can I claim loving
him when I've never known anything about him?"

Lee grasped her hand and squeezed firmly. "There're many ways to
love. Wolvie is like a father to me, and I love him; but I'm not in love with
him. I thought I did because I liked him: he's hot, cool and witty. But then I
realized that's a teenager crush, no true love. And I learnt loving the real Logan, not my
fantasy."

Paige gazed bleakly at Jubilee, feeling an itch on her eyes. Unbidden
tears trickled down her face. Her friend placed one hand on her damp cheek and
stroked it soothingly, trying infusing solace.

"You haven't to be tough or strong or brave with me, Hayseed. Let
it out. It'll cleanse your soul."

The young girl stared at her friend through a moist sheen. Slowly she
draped her arms around Jubilee's neck and slumped over her. Repressed shudders
rocked her body and she started to cry. Lee hugged her fiercely, tightly, as
she sobbed like a wretched child, drowned by overflowing sorrow.

Scott sneaked quietly out of the bedroom.

<><><><>

Nathan looked around. He had traveled from one end to another from the
time, visited distant galaxies and witnessed the birth and death of alternate
realities.

And he had seen no place like the depths of that mind.

An utterly unearthly landscape expanded around him. The atmosphere was
misty, unbearably thick, and the sky was dyed with the purest and prettiest blue
hue he'd ever seen. A sky without sun, clouds, moon or stars. The barren land
around him was strewn with strange mounds of cobbles: irregular cones of jagged
rock protruded from the craggy ground. Countless triangular spikes spread as
far as his sight reached in long rows and columns, resembling a weird...

Graveyard.

Nathan repressed an uneasy quiver and walked onwards. The line of
stalagmites ended right in front of him. Beyond the tombstones the terrain was
sandy and littered with round pebbles. Like a sea's shore or a river's bank.

Along that riverside a large stream stretched like a snake, flowing
peacefully towards nowhere. The waters welled quietly without the barest
murmur. No wildlife stirred the surface and there weren't signs of plants. Nathan
narrowed his eyes but his enhanced sight couldn't reach the opposite bank.

Bloodcurdling wails and appalling howls grated his ears. He noticed he
wasn't alone; actually he was a droplet in a sea of people. A multitude of
haggard persons trudged, limped or crawled towards the river, moaning awful
laments. Some dove in the waters and were dragged by the waves; other people
huddled together in the shore, as if waiting for something. Or someone.

Nathan frowned thoughtfully. This setting was a psionic mirage,
projected by her mind. But why was that vision engraved in the memories he was
trying to unlock? When he was a newcomer in that century he had read old
legends and ancient fables enthusiastically. And that vision reminded him of
the afterlife according to Greek Myths. Perhaps it was the allegory of a
remembrance?

He was pondering its meaning when his eyes spotted a familiar figure. Painfully
familiar. A flare-haired, lean woman strolling calmly at the wide river with
heavy steps. All souls scurried out of her way, stricken by a nameless horror. Never
did she spare one glance at them, though, like they were insects beneath her
notice.

Fright struck Nathan and he bolted onwards, trying to reach her. A
bulwark of bodies blocked his path but he shoved them aside violently. The
ghouls roared in fury and hundreds of them lunged at him. The herd of unliving
beings covered his frame and clung to him like hungry leeches. He could feel
the weight of their corpses latching around him, the touch of their scrawny
fingers tugging from his vest, the reek of his flesh clogging his nostrils.

This was too sinister. With a grunt of disgust, he tapped in his power. His
self erupted abruptly in flares like a golden sun and the blast flung away the
corpses harassing him. The cadavers that hadn't flown off squealed in abject
dread and ran away from the light and the warmth.

Nathan reabsorbed his energy with a smirk. They wouldn't bother him
again. Nevertheless his satisfied grin mutated in horror when he saw she had
already reached the Styx's bank. Now she stood still
in front of the river. Peering glumly in the distance. Waiting.

A steady lapping echoed. Like the splashing of oars hitting the water. A
dim, blurry shape appeared among the thick billows of steam floating over the
stream. A boat was sailing at the riverside.

Slowly the ship emerged from the vapor and Nathan saw its pilot. Surprisingly,
it wasn't Caron the Boatman but a woman. A redhead woman with a striking
likeness to his mother. She rowed determinedly towards the beach, approaching
steadily until the prow ran aground in the wet mud.

The boatwoman disembarked from the vessel. The woman's features
brightened with giddy joy and she dashed at the newcomer. Both women merged in
a fervent, crushing, loving embrace.

"Have you come to fetch me at last?" She whimpered among tears
of sorrow and happiness.

Her interloper shook her head ruefully. "No. I'm sorry."

Abruptly startled, the woman gasped and stepped back. She didn't break
her hug, though. "B-b-but Sara."

"Your time hasn't come yet."

"Then when will it come?" She burst into glistening tears. "I
can't do this anymore, sister. I'm sick of living to suffer and dying to live
again! I want to pass away like any normal person and rest at last! The fights,
the deaths, the pain... I could bear it as long as we were together! B-but he
d-doesn't love me anymore and I haven't any strength left! I'm tired, Sara.
Tired of seeing blood and violence, of enduring pain and hatred... It's too much!
Too much! Please, carry me with you. I want to meet Annie and our
grandparents..."

"And our parents don't matter to you anymore?" Sara retorted
viciously. Her voice turned harsh and her glare stern, and her sister felt the
sudden sensation of holding a warm less obsidian chunk. "Or my children?
Or your own offspring? Or your husband? How can you be sure of he doesn't love
you now? You didn't exactly try patching up your relationship; you ran away
from each other instead of confronting your troubles. Just like you ran away
from dad, mom and me when your powers emerged and you realized we were
frightened of you. You're ALWAYS running away, dear little sister. With any
excuse."

She lowered her head gradually. "I'm exhausted, sister. I need to
stop my walk and rest. Is my wish so selfish?"

"Of course not, Jeannie." Her sister temporized. "But
your task is far from over. Live, Jean. Please. Live for me. Live for our
parents who need their daughter. Live for my kids who need their aunt. Live for
your children who need their mother. Live for your husband who needs you
whether the stubborn boar realizes it or not. Live for all the people who need
your help. Live for proving someone has ever lived."

Jean didn't answer; still there was an odd glow shimmering in her eyes. Slowly
her skin gave off a golden radiance. Charring cosmic fire bled from her body
and crystallized in the shape of a rampaging bird of prey. Abruptly Jean arched
back her head, spread her arms fully, uttered a piercing shriek and took off
skywards, illuminating the whole mindscape with the blinding brightness of a
star.

Nathan watched attentively her burning figure as she vanished in the
firmament releasing a challenging cry. He had seen. And understood.

His soul faded in a golden flash.

<><><><>

A gelid, biting breeze ruffled his feathers and tickled playfully at his
bare skin.

Angel smiled with the nice sensation of the wind blowing gently on his
face. With a delighted shout he soared upwards and pierced the blanket of wooly
clouds like a spear. He emerged out of the sea of whiteness and spread his
wings widely to greet the sun. Bright cerulean sky surrounded him everywhere.
He hooted a shout of freedom and dashed up, down, right, left, diagonally. Sheer
exhilaration throbbed inside him and flowed along his veins.

Pangs of hunger in his stomach informed him he had depleted his
energies. Reluctantly he maneuvered downwards. But as he left the skies he
couldn't quite wipe the regretful displeasure off his face.

With skillful and experienced flaps he swooped towards the mansion and
landed in front of the kitchen's backdoor. He glanced at the doorway and
sighed. There he was, just like he expected.

Scott tilted his head slightly and smiled. Warren was SO
predictable.

"Are you feeling better now, Wings?" He queried, using Warren's old nickname
intentionally. Perhaps it was emotional blackmail, but he wouldn't hesitate in
using it to extricate him out of his shell.

"Save it, Slim," Warren bristled
exasperatedly, turning his back. He tried pretending serenity, but his wings'
nervous twitch betrayed his inward agitation. "Let me guess: you've talked
with Paige and now you want to talk with me about my feelings. And if I don't
cooperate, you'll push my buttons. Fine, screw you and your fucking mind games,
Summers. I'm not in the mood for this."

"Fair enough," Scot replied. He approached Warren and laid a hand
on his taut shoulder. "I'm not in the mood either."

Scott kept quiet. Awkward but intense silence shrouded them.

Warren gazed wistfully
at the rolling clouds and shut his eyes. He needed to get off his chest the
stone that was nestled on it. "You'd think I'd already learnt my lesson
after so many heartbreaks, but I always commit
the same mistake. I always fall in love. And what for? I've never
managed to keep one relationship. Perhaps I should stop trying it, but I can't
live without loving. I need someone. I need..."

He shuddered, struggling for spilling out a long-time denied truth. "I
need Betsy."

Scott opened his mouth but he stopped himself. If he told him he needed,
missed and loved Jean, Warren would throw Emma
on his face. And then they'd engage in a pointless brawl.

He stepped around and embraced the winged mutant. "Bar?"

Warren nodded. "Bar."

Both friends longed in the comfort. For an instant the resentment, the
rage and the regret that had plagued and tainted their friendship for months
had vanished.

<><><><>

Smothering weight.

It was always the first sign of the return to the material world. The
sensation of the soul encased in a shell, protective but heavy like lead, and
of the weighty air coating the body and filling the lungs. Senses overloaded
the brain with physical perceptions so abruptly that they provoked momentary
dizziness.

Nathan groaned, feeling itching cramps stinging his sore muscles. He
blinked to focus his eyesight.

A vague shape stirred clumsily in front of him. The woman prostrated on
his bed propped on her elbows and cocked her head slightly.

"Have you found out anything?" She queried. There was a mix of
curiosity and apprehension in her voice.

Nathan swayed hesitantly on his chair. He gazed at her with weariness. And
sorrow. He had sneaked into her mind to find the key of her locked memories. And
now he knew.

"Yes. I have... Jean,"
He stated.

<><><><>

"May you remind me again why we are here, Warren?"

"Because we needed to have some male bonding," Warren
Worthington explained, munching a piece of his pastry.

"Fine. Then why did we bring along Hank?" Scott replied,
aiming across the table with a spoon.

"Because he saw us driving out of the garage and he thought
something was amiss. Besides, any excuse is good for hauling Victor
Frankenstein out of his lab."

Henry McCoy huffed with all the indignation he could muster. A roguish
smile lit up Scott's face and he sipped his black coffee. "Okay. Then why
is Bobby tagging along?"

"Because Drake needs a break. Besides, do you want to leave him
loose and unchecked in the school?"

Bobby glared up from the huge sundae he was engulfing. Instantly he
plunged his spoon into his multi-colored ice cream and catapulted a scoop of
frosty vanilla at Angel. Warren shielded his face
from the assault with an ashtray and reached for his own food.

Hank burst out in guffaws. His cheerful, uninhibited laughter melted
away the strain. "I don't remember the last time we enjoyed our leisure
with such good spirits."

Bobby twirled his spoon on the ice cream, shaping a whirlpool on the
bowl. "It's true. When was the last time we hung together, boys?"

"Without concerns, without fights?" Scott muttered
plaintively. Sadness and longing colored his voice. Since when did they need a
reason to go out together? "It seems like forever."

A heavy silence settled on the table.

Warren shook his head.
"Do you remember the post-study nights when we drove down to the village
to hit on the girls? I drew them with my smile, and Hank made them dizzy
quoting Shakespeare, Byron or Keats. And then they sat around Bobby and spent
the whole night fawning to Drake. 'What a cutie! He looks like my little
brother!' " He mimicked.

"Alas, we knew any fine woman was peeping stealthily at our leader.
But Slim never noticed it. He remained in our booth, gazing perpetually at his
redhead companion."

"And then some waitress annoyed him, he pissed her off and we got
lousy service." Bobby chuckled.

Scott raised his chin and sniffed disdainfully. "Pissing people off
is an art that requires maintenance. If I don't practice with any idiot that
pesters me, I'll mellow in my old age." His hand clutched his mug
thoughtfully. "And those waitresses were really annoying. Blonde,
superficial bimbos bore me."

Beast elbowed Bobby, silencing him effectively. With a heavy sigh he contemplated
his bubbling drink, trying very hard not to peek sadly at Scott.

He knew what Bobby was about of tell him. Emma Frost was a fine example
of the kind of women Scott used to loathe with ardent passion. The White Queen
wasn't by any means a bimbo - she was evil and ruthless; but she was very
clever, arrogant, spiteful and very controlling.

It was another of the deep, radical changes he had observed in Scott. And
he was afraid of it.

Warren had devoured his
morsel and now fiddled with his fork, drawing idle spirals on the tiny plate. "What
has happened to us, boys? We used to be friends."

"Jean." Hank mouthed. That hushed whisper started another
pregnant silence.

Scott's eyelids shut behind his shades. He tipped his head backwards
lightly, feeling a familiar chill. Like a beast, the hurt crawled beneath his
hide, gnawed his bowels and sliced his heart into bleeding shreds. He moaned
inwardly and struggled to grasp the reigns of his heartbreaking torment. Wasn't
the pain supposed to be less heart-rending after a while?

Bobby contemplated his bowl. Remnants of the ice cream smeared the
glassy walls, thawing gradually and sliding down. The tiny rivers of chocolate,
cream, coffee and vanilla blended in a gluey lake of sugary sweetness on the
bottom. Long ago he had licked the recipient thoroughly, flaunting his scarce
regard for evil proudly, restrictive table manners. But he didn't want to now.
Since his frozen self had become permanent, childishness was no longer
appealing. He missed it, but he had lost its cheerful temper.

However, there were some things he didn't want to risk losing.

He raised his sight and opened his mouth. He hesitated awkwardly, but he
forced himself to go on. "Scott, I... I'm sorry for the other day."

Angel and Beast glanced confusedly at him. And Scott pierced him with an
intense gaze. "What are you exactly sorry for, Iceman? You know what you
said."

The tone was acid, harsh. Bobby gnawed his lower lip. He felt his temper
heating, but he needed to remain... cool. "Yes, but... I don't..." He
sighed in deep frustration and began again. "Yes, I'm angry with you,
but.... We've been friends for... how long? And you were right: My outburst
wasn't about Jean, but about Emma. And I don't want to be fighting with you for
Emma."

Iceman quivered. He seemed really miserable and hopeless. Scott stared
at him with chagrin. He wished to soothe his friend's hurt, encourage his
spirit. But what could he tell him? That he wasn't in love with Emma? Oh, yes,
Bobby would feel way better.

"I have a hugely lousy record where women are concerned. On the
other hand you got lucky, met someone and wasted it. And now you're romping
with a woman that I... And worst of all is I know Emma wouldn't glance in my
direction even though you broke it off."

Scott looked away. "I can understand you're upset about the
situation. But my current state of affairs" That word. Cyclops cringed. "isn't
open to discussion. It's my business, Bobby."

Iceman frowned and clenched his fists defiantly. "All right. But I
have a right to be angry too. Jean was my friend and I think you're betraying
her..."

Scott slammed his palms on the table. Blinding red light blazed behind
his shades. "You think that, right? You think you KNOW what Jean would
feel, think or say. Don't you?" He growled.

Bobby recoiled in fear, not expecting that display of frosty and once
boiling rage.

"Listen well, Drake. When I believed Jean died in that volcano I
shut down my heart to bear the pain. I was emotionally DEAD - a fucking walking
and breathing CORPSE - and everybody thought I was cold and heartless. When I
watched Jean dying on the Moon I cried and wallowed in grief and despair and
everybody were glad, convinced of I was mourning properly. I have news for you,
pal: when Jean returned, she wanted to kick my butt for doing something so
stupid. My suffering DIDN'T make her happy." Scott paused. "And right
now everybody is downright disgusted because I'm trying to restart my life
instead of falling apart in the seams and drawing up suicide notes. I'm sick of
brooding to please someone else's self-righteousness and I'm sick of hearing
people claiming to KNOW what my wife would feel."

Warren and Hank exchanged helpless stares. The former bit his lip with
mortification. He hadn't really dwelt in Scott's feelings before judging him. And
he should have.

"Perhaps we think that because you're sleeping with another woman
shortly after Jean's death." He stated somberly. "Perhaps it
suggested to us that you weren't so hurt since you'd healed so fast."

Scott's fury evaporated like dew. "I know that, Warren. I know it's
too soon to move on, but..." He felt weary. Very, very weary. "I
don't know why I'm doing the things that I do. I don't-"

His voice trailed off abruptly. A hot-melting golden flame had slipped
into his mind. Nathan.

"Scott, we have to talk." His son's powerful voice
reverberated through his skull.

As Nathan spoke, Scott blanched.

<><><><>

A loud chorus of deafening screams erupted in the hangar.

Scott Summers clenched his jaw. Usually he was patient, controlled. But
nowadays his patience was thin and his control brittle. And that mayhem was
grating his nerves. He inhaled deeply.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" He shouted in infuriated frustration.
Silence. He breathed out, relieved.

Focus. He needed to focus. Wrap his emotions in tiny packages and build
a fortress around his heart. Or else his inner turmoil would shatter his sanity
like a fragile glass.

His unreadable mask of aloof emotional detachment was again raised.

"Thanks. I'll repeat it again. We --" He waved at the group
formed by Angel, Beast, Iceman, Havok, Polaris, Storm, Wolverine, Colossus,
Nightcrawler, Shadowcat and Marvel Girl "-- shall fly to Switzerland to
see my son. You will stay here and protect the school."

He turned around to stare sternly at Gambit, Rogue, Bishop, Jubilee,
Husk, Northstar and other X-men. Remy was exhibiting one of his infuriating
smirks.

"Never I'd have imagined you'd put me in charge of something,
Summers."

"This is an era for wonders, it seems," Cyclops rebuked dryly.
"Try and keep the mansion whole and everybody alive until when we
return."

Gambit grinned with smug sarcasm, but he didn't reply with any obnoxious
remark. Scott blinked. Had he read a
glimpse of comprehension on those red-and-black eyes? And respect?

Rogue sensed his hesitation and stepped forward. "Don't worry,
sugar." She beamed reassuringly, wrapping her arm around Gambit's elbow in
the process. Her lover smirked. "I can't promise anything bad won't
happen, but we won't permit any asshole to harm our kids."

Elation and good mood eased Scott's heart slightly. He smiled weakly.

Meanwhile his team's members were observing him quietly. With weariness,
doubt or even concern. But all keeping a respectful silence. Especially Logan.

Scott, he reflected, seemed agitated. Reckless. Uneasy. He was trying
very hard to hide it, but his stiff stance, his fidgety movements and the acrid
stench of anxiety betrayed him.

Wolverine understood him perfectly.

Finally Scott spun around and strode towards the X-jet. His team was
gathered in front of it, waiting for their leader. Just like the old times, he
thought. A smile lit up briefly on his lips, only to be replaced swiftly for a
grieving expression. The old times were gone long ago; was scurrilous
pretending otherwise.

His stare shifted towards the shining, sleek plane. He missed the
Blackbird greatly. He had experienced very good moments flying that plane. The
X-Jet was easier to fly, cheaper and lighter. But it wasn't the same. It never
could be the same. And he longed for his black lady.

He wondered briefly where his compulsion for establishing analogies
between planes and women - or between his life and a plane crash - came from
and shook his head sadly.

"Let's go," He mumbled softly. That line-up would be tricky to
control - too many hotheaded tempers - but he'd selected them carefully. If
Nathan had truly run into Je-

Heartache speared his chest. He gulped hard.

Focus. "Board the X-jet now. We have no time to lose."

"That's very obvious," Emma Frost barged into the hangar
suddenly. Fury clouded her bluish glare "since you haven't bothered in
warning the co-headmaster of your unscheduled departure to a new mission that
has forced you to rearrange the teams without her knowledge."

"Emma." Scott grimaced. "We weren't operating behind your
back. Something has transpired and have forced us to act rash-"

"Scott, shut up." She seethed. "Now I demand to know
exactly what is happening."

Alex frowned. He leaned over Wolverine and whispered. "Have you
ever seen my brother tolerate someone undermining his authority or questioning
his command in front of the team?"

"Never," Logan muttered back. Scott had put up with scornful
attitudes more times than he could count -some originated from Logan himself -
enduring them with nonchalance or mild anger. However Logan learnt very soon
that Scott tolerated disrespect to himself, but Cyclops never permitted disrespect
to his command. It made sense; if they didn�t trust their leader they might end
up killed. Charles had understood that, and he'd never disagreed publicly with
Scott in a hostile way.

Nonetheless Alex was troubled by something else. He'd never seen his
brother cowed or scared. Never. And now he was shrinking back from the woman he
supposedly loved.

He didn't like it. Not at all.

<What is your trouble, Havok?> A voice seethed in his mind. <Would
you rather a redhead sister-in-law?>

<Trying to use Madelyne to taunt me> Alex sneered back, his shock
concealed with undaunted scorn. His countenance never betrayed his surprise and
he didn't even glance at Emma's direction. <How predictable>

He knew she could see through his deceit, but he'd be doomed if he
showed any weakness.

<I wasn't trying to be particularly witty with you, Havok. Now mind
your place and step down>

<><><><>

"Your name is Jean Grey."

"Jean Grey," The redheaded woman of sullen stare muttered. The
name sounded so... oddly alien on her lips.

She glanced downwards and blew the steaming coffee cup her hands held
shakily. A shadow dulled the erstwhile sparkling brightness of her emerald
irises.

"You are Jean Grey," Nathan repeated patiently. "You're
married to Scott Summers."

"Scott... Summers..." She breathed out. The words felt...
warmly familiar on her lips. The very name stirred something within her.
Powerful emotions. From love and longing and yearning. But she also could sense
black, seething feelings fluttering and brewing into her belly. Grief, rancor,
betrayal, hat-

NO!

She shut down her emotions, squashing them down with determination. She
couldn't lose the control. She oughtn't to lose the control. She didn't dare
lose the control.

She tasted hastily a gulp of her infusion and basked in the heat sliding
in her body.

Nathan paused. A glint had flashed on her eyes for one second, piercing
the bleak darkness. "My name," he stated finally, "is Nathan
Christopher Summers. I'm your son. Sort of."

Her face reflected confusion. "Sort... of?"

A familiar thunder rumbled outside of the cottage, rattling the windows
and saving Nathan from a very long-winded, convoluted and embarrassing
explanation. "They're already here," he stated.

He rose up and headed hastily for the door. She followed him silently.

The breathtaking, vast scenery of Swiss Alps unfolded around of them; a
wintry world of cobalt skies and jagged mountains blanketed with ivory snow. Windstorms
swept languidly over the rocky peaks and battered the sheer slopes. Glaciers
and blizzards had carved and molded that landscape for hundreds of millennia.

A black shadow was slowly descending in front of Nathan's lodge. The
X-jet. The aircraft landed vertically onto the foothill, enveloped in a tiny
tempest of snowflakes. The hatch slid open automatically and several glum, mute
figures hopped out of the flight's bowels.

Jean felt her heart burning and choking with anxiety as they trekked up
the hill. Slowly the group climbed the slope and came close. She saw them, she
saw theirs faces tinged with disbelief, amazement, joy or even fear; but her
attention was only drawn by a tall man.

He stepped past his teammates and stood in front of her. She felt a
complex blend of love and happiness, resentment and pain tearing her apart.

"Jean," he choked out. His heart writhed in his ribcage. A
powerful emotion was smothering him.

"S-Scott?" She stammered hoarsely. Her heart thumped
violently. Warmth spread into her chest, light banished the darkness.

Time stopped.

"Hold on a minute!" Shouted one voice, breaking the silence.

Jean's breath stopped. A knot strangled her windpipe.

A blonde woman stepped forward.

Jean's eyes widened when she saw that person. Something in her snapped.
Something ruptured and bled in her chest, as broken scar tissue of a deep
wound.

The woman placed one hand on Scott's shoulder to push him aside.

Jean's eyes narrowed. Dangerously. Red haze colored her vision. Red as
searing fire.

That face inflamed burning emotions in her. The sight of her hand
touching him cracked the dam enclosing them. And they invaded her like an ocean
of liquid flares.

Sadness. Sorrow. Grief.

Disdain. Spite. Contempt.

Fury. Rage. Wrath.

Disgust. Loathing. Hatred.

Hatred. Whispering into her. Filling her. Flooding her. Feeding her. Fueling
her. Driving her. Dominating her. Possessing her. Becoming her.

Blazes hissed in her mind, pleading her release. She let go of her
control, she let it go; and blistering, hellish fire engulfed her and swallowed
her, consuming her humanity in a pyre.

An ear-shattering shriek erupted from her lips as she dissolved in
flames and bolted onwards, raising her fist.

<><><><>

Dim awareness returned to Emma slowly. When she came around, her first
conscious thought was about the immense hurt of her jaw. She whimpered dully,
trying to recollect her last memory.

A blur of fire. Shimmering and burning. Streaking towards her like a
shooting star. A harsh fist hitting her jaw. A sickening crunch deafened for an
ear-splitting boom.

Eyelids opened with a weak flutter. Ivory light blinded her. She
massaged them and opened her eyes again. Her body lay on a foothill, sprawled
over the snow. Cable's lodge was...

One mile away.

Jean Grey had sent her across the valley with one single punch. Chilly
shivers shook her body and she palpated gingerly over her mouth. Suddenly the
pain seemed... trivial.

An orange luminescence outlined the eastern peaks; a radiant, bright
light. Like a sunrise. The glowing streak enveloping the snow-capped mountains
widened, growing and shifting until becoming a massive, enraged Phoenix
towering over the mountains with its wings unfolded. The figure flashed and
exploded in a tide of flames that flooded the sky.

If Emma wasn't so frightened and wary, she could have become bewitched
with the terrific and enthralling image of the firmament doused in blazes.

Slowly the fire tongues swirled in a vortex and shaped a gigantic
fireball. The red-glowing orb descended towards the ground below steadily. Its
tendrils coalesced together and solidified in a human shape.

Jean Grey hovered downwards slowly. Her foot soles trod softly on the
powdery snow without sinking into it.

Emma narrowed her aqua eyes and observed her foe. Her stance was mute
and calm. Her movements stiff and controlled. Her eyes shone eerily. A nimbus
of hot flames enfolded her. A glowing whirlwind of molecules swirled around
her, stretching and congealing in a tight suit. Dark Phoenix's outfit.

Frost stared at her face and gasped. Those features belonged doubtlessly
to Jean Grey. But her face was so darkened and twisted she seemed like another
person. A raging, baleful emotion marred her smooth facial traits, making them
unrecognizable.

She had never seen Grey like that. Never. She didn't even seem Jean
Grey...

Realization flashed in Emma's mind like a wild lightning. In her own
memories, in Scott's ones... She had always seen Jean Grey like a human being. The
redheaded woman might be furious or anguished, but she gave off constantly that
aura of loveliness, of caring, of compassion, of sweetness. Jean Grey burnt
with love like a sun glows with light and heat.

That woman was no longer human. She was an Erynie. Embodied revenge. Raw
hatred made flesh.

"I ignore why," Dark Phoenix uttered. Her voice was hoarse and
glacial; her tone, sinister and soulless. She rose her claw-like hand to
eye-level and closed it partially, like if she was grasping something.

Emma sensed a powerful earthquake rocking the ground below her feet. Earth
shuddered, writhed, quivered, trembled, wavered and shook before a horrific and
thunderous crack split the air. A large shadow covered the snowcaps where both
women stood.

She stared upwards. A mountain hovered over her. Terror paralyzed her.

"But I hate you," Dark Phoenix growled. Her fist closed
tightly.

A powerful seismic wave struck and shook the peak. With a rumbling,
shuddering jerk the mountain collapsed and an avalanche of millions of tons of
rock and ice fell upon Earth. Right where the White Queen stood.

<><><><>

-Notes: The obscure and little known Warren's parents' story was
narrated in Ka-Zar 2 and 3, Marvel Tales 30 and X-Men: Hidden Years 14 and 15;
the conversation in the bar uses a fragment of Spectacular Spiderman 197; the
X-men and Magneto battled in a volcano's heart in Uncanny X-Men 113 and Scott
believed Jean had died.

-Have you noticed what a name always is less used by its owner? Or that
I think.

-What will happen in the next part? Will Emma survive? Can the X-Men
defeat an undefeatable foe? And moreover... Marvel Girl versus Dark Phoenix.

To be continued...
- 3
- 4
- 5
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Firebird Rising