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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
<><><><><>

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 last scene can remind of 'Hellfire and Brimstone' fic, by Slickboy and Agent-G. The
similarity isn't intended, but the advertisement yes.
Do you love Scott and Jean? Then enter in http://jott.forumer.com.
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 Six. Hurricane Eye-

Power hummed within her like a song. Energy burnt within her like a
fire.

Jean shut up her eyes in deep concentration, gripped resolutely the
armrest with firm fingers and tipped her head backwards.

Hot-melting, bright, orangish flames throbbed
inside her body and bled through her skin, coalescing in a luminous fireball
enveloped her and the contraption where she was sitting. The mainframe
surrounding her buzzed and shuddered, strained with the immense power.

She went on giving off energy until boredom crept slowly in her. "Forgive
my impatience, Reed, but... Aren't you done yet?"

She opened her eyelids, blinking to adjust her eyesight. The people
across the ample room contemplated quietly her shape, doused in fire and
shrouded in light and heat. She could read reluctant dread and troubled
wariness in them.

Scott was there, restraining his churning emotions underneath a
petrified countenance. His artificial stiffness contrasted with nervous, uneasy
Warren and Bobby's
fidgeting.

A blue-clad man in his late thirties was hunched over a console,
scratching his chin thoughtfully as he studied the readouts of a monitor with a
serious countenance. Hank stood by his right side, glancing alternatively at
her and the computer. He was unsuccessfully trying concealing his helplessness
from her.

Barely the X-jet had landed in Westchester, Hank had talked
about analysis and tests. She quite expected that, but she didn't expect he
asked Dr. Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic, examining her in Fantastic Four's
private lab-room. But he dragged her to New York and Warren, Bobby
and Scott had simply followed them.

Scott. She hadn't exchanged yet any word with him. He was glum and
emotionless, reminding her eerily of his post-merge behavior. But unlike then,
he hovered around her like a silent shadow, like if he was willing reaching her
out but he was too frightened to do it. Or like if he was watching her,
shielding her from something.

She couldn't decide if it was annoying or welcome.

Reed Richards combed backwards his short and greyish-black
locks and peered friendly at her. "Thanks, Jean. That's all. You can sit
up."

She exhaled out a sigh of relief and started unfastening the straps
latching her body in the uncomfortable seat. "It was about time. It was
wearing me down."

Johnny Storm, Human Torch, hovered adrift above them, his frame cloaked
in crackling blazes. "My brother-in-law's experiments use to have that
effect in his guinea pigs. It's one of the perks of inhabiting a house looks
like a Star Wars rip-off-"

A frightful growl erupted abruptly out of the throats of the five X-Men.
Startled for that reaction, Johnny Storm eyed them warily. "What? What
have I said?"

"Nothing important." Jean Grey-Summers
rose, tossing backwards her rich red hair, letting it scattered over her
shoulders. "We're suffering the aftereffects of having gone to the cinema
to watch-"

Sudden realization dawned in him and he grinned broadly. "The Phantom Menace."

"The greatest blasphemy in Humanity's
history." Beast sentenced.

"We emerged out of the theater plotting ways to get George Lucas
back for this." Cyclops muttered darkly.

"We're still doing, but there's always some world-menacing mess
interfering." Angel added.

"And we hated that dumb, useless bug." Iceman seethed.

"Everyone hates Jar Jar Binks, Bobby." Phoenix huffed as her
legs descended down the steps. "It is the true dark side of the
force."

Mr. Fantastic coughed meaningfully. "If you're done now, we can see
the outputs."

All stares converged in him immediately. "W-what have you found
out, Reed?" Jean stammered, with only a hint of despaired fear leaking in
her quivering voice.

Everyone in the chamber felt like her. And they waited in strained
stillness for Reed's words.

The man caught a clipboard and skimmed over the leaves. Inwardly he was
forcing himself to be calm and professional. "We can't know for sure what
happened after your death, Jean. We can guess your soul used your powers to
manage fabricate other body somehow. We don't know how the process went down,
but it was traumatic enough to cause two second-effects. The most evident was
your memory loss, and the second..."

Reed paused. Another foreboding silence began.

"What is it?" Scott pressed on.

"Jean's body is being bathed with an unimaginable energy, absorbing
it, storing it and releasing it constantly. It's more power what a human body
can bear. Her cells are showing a quick and irreversible deterioration, which
increases dramatically every time she uses her powers."

"Deterioration? Irreversible?" Scott gasped, utterly aghast. Black and
frosty despair was slithering beneath his skin and clutching his heart. No. He
couldn't lose her now. Not AGAIN.

He wheezed out laboriously, feeling the air thicker and heavier of
sudden.

"His body is simply not prepared to master such power." Reed
muttered somberly. He cursed himself for his aloofness, but he needed remained
calm. "Her only exit is recreating her own body, cell to cell, using sheer
cosmic energy. But even though she be able, that new
body will need vast quantities of energy..."

"Like stars." Warren muttered,
guessing where this was going to and not liking him at all.

"Then my alternatives are dying or turning in Dark Phoenix." Jean
mused eerily, feeling a strong deja vu. Why was she
always forced to choose between her survival and universe's?

"Don't worry, Jean." Hank sauntered towards her and patted her
back encouragingly. "We'll find one way. I vow you we'll do."

"That is the spirit, Henry." Mr. Fantastic nodded sagely.
"Meanwhile, I fear the only option is repressing Jean's powers. It's the
only way of slowing down the degenerative process."

He twisted his neck one hundred eighty degrees -starting everybody-,
looking at a metallic drawer as his right arm stretched sinuously several feet
and retrieved a round device from its bowels.

He offered it to Jean. A Genoshan
collar. Phoenix's eyes widened.

Wordlessly she caught the ugly metal band and closed it around her
slender neck.

And the minds surrounding her vanished.

<><><><><>

The first thing she saw when her awareness came around and she opened
her eyes was whiteness. Bright and pure, surrounding her
everywhere. For anguished moments she believed Dark Phoenix had slain
her in the mountain and she lay entombed in a grave of snow and rock and ice.

Then her eyesight cleared and she recognized the infirmary's ceiling,
and noticed the slight weight of the sheet covering her body. Sensitivity
flowed slowly in her limbs, and feeling serenest, she shifted lazily in her
bed, looking for a comfortable position.

"Are you already awake?"

The familiar voice started Lorna. She glanced awkwardly at her right
side to see a blonde man standing by her bedside, patiently sat on one chair as
his aqua eyes observed her silently. Alex.

Lorna tried to sit upright, but she felt appallingly exhausted. Ensconcing
beneath the covers, she looked uneasily at her former boyfriend. "What...
what happened?"

Alex kept thoughtfully quiet. "Scott managed bringing Jean around
before she killed every of us. You and other were wounded so we brought you in
the infirmary."

"So are we still alive?"

"Yes, we do. And partially thanks to you." Alex smiled thinly.
"Thanks for trying defending me when Jean hit me, but attacking her like
that wasn't only irrational. It was suicidal. It isn't that I'm not grateful
for the change..."

Lorna looked away. The memory of the disastrous wedding floated in both
of their minds, an unwelcome remembrance filled them with regrets both would
rather forget.

"Perhaps I was trying very tough prove you I belonged you family,
Alex Summers." She retorted sourly, her bitterness quelling down her
remorse. "How many times have you tried killing Scott and apologized
afterwards?"

"Lorna... I..." Summers muttered. He placed a hesitant hand on
Polaris' shoulder. The woman wrenched her arm from his grip instantly and edged
away him.

"NOT, Alex. Not now. You... simply don't understand what you do me.
The effect you have on me." She stated flatly. Her face was unreadable,
except for the wetness gleaming on her eyes.

She shut her eyelids, fighting back the sobs. "I broke up with you
because I was tired. Tired from your troubles, tired from the
lies, tired from the struggle. Fighting for our relationship had worn my
strength out, and I didn't believe having something left to replace them. So I
dumped you. And God knows I felt relieved. But no so much as I expected. Though
I tried very hard not think about it."

"Then you died, or everybody believed so, and I felt... numb. Icy. Like if my heart had dead and I was unable to feel
anything. And then I understood I hadn't got over you. I'd never get over you. However
part of me -the side could still weep- refused believe you had passed away. I
was sure of you were alive in anywhere, not matter what everybody else thought
or told. And of course, so it was."

Dane rolled mutely over her back and looked up, avoiding Havok's stare. "When you returned with us I was...
overjoyed. I felt something warm in my chest thumping again. I thought this was
a new chance, our last chance to make the things right. I proposed you, you
accepted, and I couldn't be happier."

Her emerald glare drifted towards him. Straight at her
eyes. Green fire burnt in her pupils and Alex shivered. "And then
you cancelled the wedding... right when I was walking down the aisle! Seriously,
Summers, can you blame me for having snapped?"

Alex tried looking away, averting his eyes from that accuser glare and
its heated anger and breaking the charm. But he couldn't. His teeth nibbled
fiercely his lower lip. "Lorna, I... I'm sorry. I never intended hurting
you. And I'm sorry the things went so awry between us. But I couldn't clear my
ideas or my feelings until then."

His hand moved tentatively at Lorna's, bulging under the linen cloth,
and placed over it. This time she didn't reject the touch. "I'm sure of we
could have worked together. But too many bad things have happened and have
ruined our relationship. And now I... don't believe we can return to be one
couple."

They looked at each other in silence, remembering ruefully when they
lived in New Mexico. Together and happy, away pressures and sacrifices. Away sorrow and hate. Away villains and
costumes.

A thud echoed, warning them of a newcomer in the room.

Annie stood in the doorway, holding a bundle of clean sheets. She was
staring quietly at them, shock draining color from her face.

"I... came to change the sheets." She stammered at last.

Alex's eyes drifted from her to his hand. Rapidly he let go Lorna's hand
like if it was a venomous adder. "R-right.
W-well, then I shan't, um, bother you anymore, goodbyeseeyoulater!"

One second later he had crossed the distance separating him from the
door, hurtled past Annie and vanished from the room.

The young nurse blinked. "What was all that about?"

Lorna rolled up her eyes and groaned. "A Summers
rant preceding a panicked sprint. Evolution's years have endowed Summers men with proper mechanisms to avoid conflict like
pest. If you're really bend in dating Alex you should know his paranoias for now."

Annie squinted at Polaris, an ugly emotion throbbing in her heart. She
was jealousy from the bond Lorna had with her boyfriend, a bond Annie herself
wasn't sure of equaling some day. "I really, really hate you."

"The feeling is mutual."

<><><><><>

A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the trees. Swirling wind blew and
rustled the leaves, the faint sound mercilessly drowned by the loud rumble of a
car.

The vehicle braked in a bend of the sandy path and two persons emerged
out of it. Scott and Jean.

"Are you sure of you don't want I drove
you to the mansion?" Robert Drake queried from the driver seat.

Jean shook her head in denial. "Thanks for the offer, Bobby, but
we'll pass."

Scott nodded.

Bobby bit his lower lip, like if he was pondering heavily something, and
nodded slowly. "See you later then."

His foot stomped on the accelerator and the car lurched onwards. As it
sped up, Henry's head, square and blue, slid out of one window.

"We'll find a remedy, Jean. I promise you." He vowed before
the car swerved around several trees.

And then they were gone.

Husband and wife looked uneasily at each other.

"So."

"So?"

"Do you want walking for a while?" Jean asked. He nodded
dumbly.

Both spouses headed for the forest bordering the path and stepped on its
threshold. Tall and ancient oaks, elms and beeches spread everywhere, and they
navigated silently among them. A green canopy of bright leaves sheltered them
from the sky, pierced by sunrays illuminated the shaded and humid jungle. Shrubs
and ferns swayed around them, like if they were welcoming them. Of sudden a
thorny bramble stirred tremulously in front of them and a bird darted swiftly
from the foliage. Light gleamed on its feathers, dyeing them red.

Jean smiled sadly.

Scott, who was contemplating her in silence, wondered ruefully why that
awkwardness existed between them, glacial and thick like an ice wall. "How...
how are you feeling?" He asked lamely.

She lowered her eyes, suddenly darkened, at the leaf-carpeted ground. "Good.
Bad. I don't know." She muttered, staring
absent-mindedly at the foliage, rolling and unrolling a red lock of hair around
one finger. "Worse than blind or deaf. Usually I
could feel the life in this wood, throbbing into each living being. I could
sense an eagle flying in the sky, a chipmunk leaping among the branches, a
woodpecker drilling a trunk, a mouse running in the grass, a snake slithering
among the stones, a mole digging underground... But now?
Now I sense nothing, like if the wood was dead. However my senses tell me
otherwise so I'm feeling like if I was dead, buried in my grave."

She went quiet, feeling a brusque chill gnawing her bones. She barely
remembered anything after her death and she was very grateful for it. Still she
remembered an endless nothing enveloping her, a chilling void dulling her
senses. She remembered wanting returning, wanting living again, wanting a
second chance.

And then that unimaginable sensation of absolute power came. And will
and being became one.

Light and heat exploded around her, and her senses returned abruptly
with vengeance. Brightness flooded her eyes and sound filled her ears and
blazing fire swallowed her self, recreating flesh and bone from ashes and dust.

Because a Phoenix's grave is its
nest, and the newborn bird hatches out from an eggshell of flames.

She walked out of the tall and glowing bonfire and stepped unsteadily on
the sod. Her knees gave out and she fell on the ground, remaining on her fours
as she felt the grass' moistness on her skin, the air swelling her lungs, her
heart beating in her ribcage. She rose slowly. Tentatively her hands palpated
her head, breasts, belly, arms, legs, fingers. Everything was how it should.
She turned around and her eyes wandered over the bowl-shaped crater, charred
and blackened, and over the slab.

She read the name and the inscription. SHE WILL ARISE AGAIN.

Horror overwhelmed her. Pain flared in her head and a rush of memories
flashed in her mind, invading her, hurting her, flaying her. She blocked the
images, she buried them where they couldn't touch her and she flew away,
stricken by fright and panic. From then on she had been wandering aimlessly,
like an errand specter. She shuddered.

Scott winced, feeling the sharp echo of her emotions leaking in his
mind. "But I'm still feeling the link, even though your powers are
nullified."

Jean smiled perkily, her first true smile in a while. Her right hand
tossed her rich hair over her shoulders, and it glowed like an orange flame
"Yes. It seems that my powers are too strong to be denied or the psilink is too sturdy to be broken, except for some
extremely traumatic event." She winced. The recent past was a thorny
subject between them, a taboo they dodged for unspoken agreement. Quickly she
switched subjects. "I'm terrified, Scott. When my powers emerged I was in
coma for three years. Then Professor Xavier sealed my telepathy and explained me
it wasn't a curse but a wonderful gift. Eventually I learnt to use it, and I
found out I could read the hearts and the souls of the people. Then I thought
he was right and they were a marvelous skill. But when I dwell on it, my powers
have only brought suffering and death to me or someone else. Scott, how can
they be a gift if they only spawn hurt? How can they be a gift if they're
killing me?"

Scott wished having the answer. "We'll find one way, Jean. Hank
will find one solution. And" he tried his bitterness didn't taint his
voice "we can also call the Professor. Perhaps he can return from Genosha and figure out anything."

Suddenly she whirled towards him. "Oh, don't give me that 'Xavier
will figure out anything' shit!" She roared, her hair flapping behind her
as a flame, her eyes two coals of green fire. "When my powers surfaced he
didn't fix anything, only delayed the explosion! When I became Phoenix he didn't figure
out anything until it was too late! Magneto was living in the mansion for
months and he never figured out Xorn was his worst
enemy disguised! I'm not a naive child anymore to believe he can fix it
everything! Neither you are!"

She paused, breathing deeply, and went on. "Reed Richards said I
can live weeks. Months, if I'm extremely lucky. I know as well as you how
brilliant and smart Hank is, but... He took years to find the cure to the
Legacy virus, and he only accomplished it thanks to Moira's help. Do you think
he's capable of finding a cure to cellular degeneration in few months?"

Scott kept his silence. Inwardly he reflected. He wouldn't bear losing
her again. He couldn't endure another soul-shattering loss, the feeling of his
being torn in half, of his heart carved cruelly from his chest. He couldn't
watch her living and dying and living and dying in an infinite cycle. But
drifting apart from her had only brought them grief and tears and heartache. No,
his only option was...

"What? What was that?" Screamed Jean of
sudden, her eyes bulging out of the sockets.

Scott gulped. He hadn't leaked that through the link, had he? No, he
hadn't done. She'd execute him right away, so he hadn't done it and she hadn't
heard him...

Jean clenched her fists, lunged at him, grasped roughly his jacket's
lapels and slammed his back on a tree. Green fire of fury blazed in her pupils
like two glowing torches. Scott cringed.

"Scott Summers" She hissed with deadly seriousness "I
know what you think about sappy stories. I read your report about 'Romeo and
Juliet' in Lit class. And, God help me, if you pull some crap like that on
me... Promise me you'll never make anything so stupid! Promise me!"

"I" He stammered weakly. "I can't, Jean. I can't. Please,
don't ask me that."

"Promise it!" She roared.

But he didn't answer. She was hot, burning like a flame, exuding a light
and warmth drew him like a moth. He could feel her smooth body leaning on him
and his heated and ragged breath brushing his nose. He could see her flaming
eyes and her glossy lips. Suddenly he remembered her taste: sweet cherries.

"I've said-mmph!" Jean's furious
speech was muffled when Scott's lips touched her own. Instantly she replied and
their lips merged in a kiss. Long. Hard. Passionate. Wet.

Slowly their mouths parted, panting roughly and laboriously. A string of
glistening saliva hung between them before breaking.

Scott stared at Jean through a red steam glazing over his eyes and felt
arousal boiling in his blood. However his lust was doused by a deep shame. He
had driven her away when he felt awful, and now he was more stable mentally he
wanted her back. What kind of man he was, acting like if he hadn't hurt her,
like if nothing wrong had happened? Guilt and self-loathing dripped in him,
corroding his soul.

"I-I'm sorry, Jean. I-" A finger on his lips cut his sentence.

"Scott, shut up." Jean breathed roughly, placing her smooth
hands on his cheeks. She inhaled deeply, smelling his pungent scent, and kissed
him. Ravenously.

Scott kissed back. His tongue slid between her swollen lips and explored
her mouth, checking her taste. She moaned loudly, fueling the fire roaring in
him. A soft and intoxicating musk tingled in his nostrils, driving him crazy.

He flipped her over, leaning her on the trunk, and his hands began to
roam up and down her supple, curve body. Jean groaned hoarsely, feeling old
sensations aroused in her and her limbs wrapped tightly around Scott. Theirs
bodies grinded together in frenzy, dancing at unison.

Pain, anguish, loneliness were momentarily forgotten by both lovers.

<><><><><>

"How are you doing it today, chere?"

Rogue glared at the grinning man leaned on the jamb of the kitchen's
door, and kept pouring warm chamomile tea in her mug. Ignoring stubbornly
Gambit, she walked towards the table and sat down like she had planned.

Remy LeBeau stepped in the kitchen. "You
look tired, Rogue. Have you been busy of late?"

Rogue frowned, but she felt too worn to remain angry. Fatigue triumphed
over irritation and she sighed. "Today was my turn to cook. You know, cook
for the children, the grownups and the injured. And since several of my helpers
are in the infirmary and the rest chickened out, I've been hours in the
kitchen. And above all Annie pestered me about healthy dosage and right
proportion of nutritional values-"

She shivered and sipped her bubbling infusion. The warm liquid soothed
her and she let out a sigh of relief.

Two smooth hands leaned suddenly on her waist and rubbed up and down her
sides. "You know" Gambit purred huskily "Remy can think of some
ways to ease your tension, chere."

"Yes, right." Rogue sneered quietly, blood burning on her
cheeks. The gentle stroke was electrifying. Ignoring the sparks running along
her skin, she slapped his right hand. "Keep your hands off me,
Cajun."

Gambit chuckled and bent over. "Come on, chere.
You know you want Remy."

Rogue paused. Slowly a smile curved her red lips. "And which would
be the point of giving you it easily, Swamp Rat?" She drawled.

She guzzled her drink and rose, turning around to face Gambit. "You
love the hunt, the chase. You're a thief and love the challenge of grasping a
slippery treasure."

Her gloved forefinger traced the rim of her thin lips and she grinned
lecherously. The nonplussed stare she elicited from him widened her grin. "Admit
it. I was the ultimate challenge, the unattainable score, the greatest prize. That
was the only reason of you noticed me to begin with."

She leaned over him. Remy gulped, of sudden very aware of her soft
breasts pressing over his flat thorax, her thigh kneading mischievously his
groin, her hoarse breath blowing on his ear.

"Do you know what I want, Cajun? I want playing a little
game." She purred warmly in his earlobe. Gambit shuddered, wanting her
badly. "Catch me if you can!"

Of sudden she was gone. Gambit blinked, like if he had just snapped out
of a daze, and looked towards the door. She was on the threshold, blowing a
raspberry to him before slamming shut door.

He blinked, stunned. "What woman." And he ran behind her.

Rogue dashed off the kitchen giggling maniacally, trotted upstairs,
bolted towards her bedroom and slipped into. Her hand caught hurriedly the
doorknob and pushed it. But the door was shoved brusquely inwards.

Gambit showed up between the jambs, wheezing out roughly. "You
can't escape from Remy so easily, chere. You should
know better."

He stepped forward. Rogue stepped back, one step for each Remy's one. Eventually
her shins bumped in the bed and she dropped over the wooly quilt.

She remained sprawled over the blankets as stared at the brown-haired
man of handsome features, hypnotizing eyes and charming smile. She batted her
eyelashes playfully and folded sensually her long legs. "I warn you. If
you try touching me, I'll scream."

"You will do." Remy foretold firmly.

The door was shut.

<><><><><>

The colors and sounds of the virgin forest wrapped them in a gorgeous
display from lights and shadows, but they didn't notice it. Heat enveloped them
like a blanket, steamy and sticky, crawling beneath their clothes and caressing
their bodies with a blessed sensation. A glorious
warmth thawed, melted and washed away the frostbite had frozen them.

He was crushing her between his hard torso and the moss-carpeted bark of
the gnarled oak, wheezing roughly as his fingers fumbled with her blouse. She
was kissing him hungrily, draping her arms and legs around his neck and hips,
breaking the kiss to cry every time his skillful hands roamed anxiously over
her forbidden regions.

"It's amazing." Jean muttered between faltering gasps, and
nibbled his collarbone, tracing a wet path from shoulder to ear. "It's
like if nothing has changed."

Scott nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes. It feels like if time hasn't
passed at all. Like if we were still two teenagers, hiding us from the
Professor and our classmates in the wood to make out on any bed of pine
needles."

Jean kneaded firmly his taut shoulder plates, cursing the bothersome
clothes draping his burning body and stared wistfully at the sky of leaves. "What
did we allow happen to us, Scott?"

Scott halted for a moment, frozen by guilt, and lowered his head. What
he had allowed happen, rather...

Jean sensed his grief and disentangled herself from him. "It wasn't
your fault, Scott-"

"Wasn't it?" He interrupted glumly. "If I hadn't been so
driven in brooding and wallowing and I had asked you for help instead of
shutting you out... If I had let you see what was the trouble with me instead
of refusing your help... If I hadn't been so set on brooding about my burden
instead of doing anything about it... Perhaps nothing of this had happened! I
should never have allowed this... I should..."

"What-ifs and should-have" Jean spat both words with an
infinite contempt. Her hand cupped his chin, forcing him to look straight at her
eyes. "Listen to me well, Scott. I can't tell what I've got over it or
forgiven or forgotten. But I don't hold you responsible for what happened with
Emma before my death. And after it... I don't blame
you either."

Her green eyes narrowed to slits. Her hands fell by her sides, and Scott
watched how they closed in a clenched fist, her lips thinned firmly and her
eyes hardened with grim anger. He sighed. "It wasn't your fault,
Jean."

"Wasn't it?" She growled. She had found in his mind other
manipulation's remnants. He was going to let the mansion after her death, and
that choice would lead to a nightmarish future, without life and without hope. She'd
be reborn one hundred fifty years from now in a
devastated planet and travel back to change his mind. Knowing she'd been
capable of that sickened her deeply. "I forced YOU to stay with Emma out
of self-righteousness. I entered in your mind and altered it to further my
purposes instead of talking with you. I'll NEVER forgive anybody uses telepathy
to manipulate you. Nor Madelyne,
nor Betsy, nor Emma. NOBODY!"

"It wasn't even you." He tried reassuring her, knowing her
fury was only an outlet to the blame and self-hatred. He... knew how it worked.
"It was another you from another timeline."

"Another me but still me. The Jean I could
have been." She retorted fiercely, feeling the beginnings of a splitting
headache. Perhaps she should be used to them for now, but she really, REALLY
hated temporal physics. "I violated your privacy. I swore myself I'd never
step on that boundary, but still I did when I got an enough good excuse. And am
I supposed to feel relieved because it was done by another firebird never
bothered in checking for alternatives?"

"In a nutshell: yes."

The crystalline voice started both spouses, and they turned hurriedly at
its direction. An intricate wall of wide leaves and long creepers trembled and
rustled. With a last quiver the skeletal branches bent backwards, parting the
green drapery, and Rachel Summers strode through the gap, her booted feet
crunching tiny pebbles as a thick jacket and trousers shielded from boughs and
brambles.

Scott Summers and Jean Grey blushed and leapt away each other instantly.
Noticing theirs clothes' aspect, rumpled and disheveled, both blushed and ironed
them out quickly.

"Since- since when are you here? And what did you mean?" Jean
stuttered meekly as her fingers clasped hastily her blouse's upper buttons. Red
dyed her cheeks. Scott was fastening his belt and stretching his loose pants,
his expression just as flushed as hers.

"I meant you have to let it go or else you'll go crazy." Rachel
replied, ignoring deliberately the first question. Neither her brother nor she
wanted really explaining they were watching them. "You remember what I was
stranded in the timestream to rescue a team partner,
don't you? And you know before you altered this timeline's future for ruining
Apocalypse's plans, I landed in thirty-eighth century. And seeing Apocalypse
was still alive, undefeated and untouched for the ages or his enemies, I
founded Askani Sisterhood to fight him."

They nodded, wondering where she was going at.

Rachel shook her head heavily, overwhelmed for her blame's weight. "All
turned out so wrong. I wanted assembling a rebel group, led by noble ideals but
it degenerated in a ridiculous religious sect. I wanted helping people, but I
only could give them vain hopes. I wanted saving the world, but I could never
defeat Apocalypse. I wanted saving my brother from his fate, but I only ensured
it at the end. Everything I ever accomplished was blighting lives. And I
-Mother Askani- knew it, knew all was useless, but
she went on doing it, because she knew if she tried to alter the timeline, she
could bring about a disaster. It was her preordained fate, like her or
not."

The girl shut her eyes a second, repressing a painful shudder. She
inspired deeply and her chest arose, held shakily, and lowered. "She had
no choice. And she hated it; she hated her destine, but above all she hated
herself. I know because I have her memories. And I know because I am -became-
she."

"But you reunited us with Nathan in the future... You returned me
my -our- baby." Scott rebuked.

"Only good thing." She stated
unemotionally.

"Since we're talking about it" Jean strode forward of sudden
"how have you managed returning back in time? We saw you dying. _I_ felt
you dying. I saw your soul before it... faded."

The last word had been a choked sob, and Rachel stared at her sadly.
"When dad jumped in front of Apocalypse, the timeline shifted completely.
I didn't arrive to Askani future because it never
existed. I crashed in End's Time and was locked by a psychopath used me to lure
Nathan in a trap."

Her voice wavered. Again she had been jailed and slaved, used to hurt
people she cared for. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't the last one
either. She clenched her fist, at once feeling frustration, fury and sorrow.
"Nathan took up the challenge, defeated Gaunt and rescued me. I can't
believe yet he did, though..."

Jean perused the girl thoroughly. "You're blaming yourself for what
Nathan lived through, aren't you? You hate yourself and therefore you think he
should hate you." Rachel flinched. Jean sighed, knowing she was wading
through still another Summers guilt trip. "Rachel,
you shouldn't feel responsible for it. That wasn't you to start with."

"No." The younger redhead shook her head and stared piercingly
at Jean, straight at her verdant eyes. "And you shouldn't blame yourself
for your counterpart's actions. That Jean acted harshly because she saw no
other choice. Just like my counterpart behaved like that
because she saw no other way. Apocalypse had to be destroyed, not matter
what. And knowing what has happened... I can't blame her. That bastard has been
our family's bane, haunting us in his life and in his death."

Scott's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Are you insinuating what all
of this has been his doing?"

"Of course." She answered
sternly. "Do you think he would let you live happily ever after his
defeat? No. Would Sauron let live happily ever after
the hobbit brought about his downfall? No. His evil scarred him
permanently."

Jean laughed with little mirth. "Don't exaggerate. Now you'll
compare Apocalypse with Sauron because he was a
millennia-old evil, dwelt in East, his most fearsome servants were
horsemen..." She paused, furrowing her brows in weirdness. Perhaps the
analogy wasn't so silly or absurd after all. "Not matter what, you're
right, Rachel. I'm sure of Apocalypse has been sitting in Hell, laughing while
we drifted apart-"

"-and staring delightfully how we destroyed at each other
passionately." Scott growled. "Such waste.
We let him win at the end."

"No. Not yet." Rachel Summers smiled before walking towards
them. Her arms draped around theirs necks and she pulled them towards herself.
"You belong to each other. Just remember it, please."

Nobody said anything for some while time. Then "Thanks."

The whole family shared an embrace, as they prayed for the hardships
were finally finished.

Unbeknownst to them, Shadows were swirling and
lying in the East.

<><><><><>

An icy chill pervaded the room, floating in the atmosphere almost like a
physical presence and clinging to the walls and expensive furniture. Sun poured
radiant light through the large windowpanes, but not even its glow, warm and
nice, succeeded in piercing the cold sensation of gloominess and fear oozed in
that place.

A raven-haired man stood up in front of the broad glass, holding a
wineglass with his thick fingers. His frame was bulky, tall, with broad
shoulders and massive muscles, and was clothed with an eighteenth century
dress. The clothes and the furniture of the room were handsome and expensive,
but they turned the man even darker and more sinister. A pretty wrapping
couldn't hide his heart; cold, tough and black like a shard of obsidian.

His face of unyielding and sharp planes was wrinkled with a frown. His
ruthless eyes contemplated harshly the buildings surrounding his skyscraper,
but his thoughts were miles far away.

Sebastian Shaw, Hellfire Club's Inner Circle's Black King meditated
thoughtfully. The organization he led had been born in England two hundred fifty
years ago and had been pulling the strings of the World History since then.
Whoever had ever heard from Hellfire Club believed it was an ancient and
decadent rich people society, but the reality was its main members, Inner Circle's Lords, wanted
ruling the world.

Triumph over his foes and destroy them was like a big chessgame. And now he felt the last movement in a long game
was coming. What would King be checkmated?

Behind him a door opened, disturbing his reflection. Shaw didn't turn
around, but his shoulders stiffened noticeably. Disgust wrinkled his
expression.

"Report, Mastermind."

His visitor growled faintly. "You know I hate being called
that-"

"Have you for any chance misheard my order, Wyndgarde?"
Shaw grated dangerously. His interloper paused, and when he talked again, a
faint but telltale shiver crept in his voice.

"She's again under our custody. Right now she's being dragged in
the dungeons. I believe Selene is looking forward to
get fun with her."

Shaw's body quivered with an incensed emotion burnt him from within. Rage. Controlled, repressed, but wild and boiling. He spun
sideways slowly to watch Jason Wyndgarde. If he was
frightened, his face didn't display it. Then again, it was nothing but an
unreal illusion.

"When Magneto and his foolish Brotherhood discarded you, I offered
you a chance. You promised giving us power beyond belief and I promised paving
your way into the Club in exchange. I gave you my trust and my support. And how
did you repay me? With failure!"

With an unnatural bellow he clenched his meaty fist abruptly. The thin
glass shattered and his fragments fell to the floor in a sparkling rain. Liquor
droplets trickled from drenched Shaw's hand and stained the carpet.

Wyndgarde backed down, showing this
time his dread in his pale expression. "I-I DIDN'T fail. That bitch did
that we intended she did, didn't she? She ruined it all. I DIDN'T."

The Black King glared venomously at Mastermind. He resembled a handsome,
tall man with well-groomed and wavy brown hair. But his aspect was a hollow
illusion, so deceitful like the caster. Shaw knew the face lay beneath that
mask: a short, ugly man with lanky black hair. He knew his true aspect, but
Jason insisted in using that mirage in the Club. Perhaps he thought it'd make
his folly illusion real. Vain fool.

"Get out of here." Shaw hissed darkly. Mastermind step back,
not daring to turn his back.

"Summon the remainder Lords." He growled. Jason's back bumped
into the door and he searched the doorknob frantically.

"Now!" The Black King shouted, and
he dashed hastily off the room.

Shaw squinted at the door for last time and he turned back at the large
window. Incompetent cretins, he thought. Everybody wished his title, but
neither of them owned the vision or the temper or the wits.

In his mind he saw a chessboard. The White King had fled the field and
had been succeeded by the White Knight. The Enemy Queen had laid siege on him
and was about of checkmating when a Red Queen showed up from nowhere, attacked
the White Queen and shielded the Knight. That unexpected movement had altered
wholly the game.

The X-Men had been a thorn in his side he had endured with patience. He
could afford waiting. Until now. Every past battle
between Hellfire Club and the X-Men had reached a stalemate because no side
could annihilate other without exposing itself. But it had changed now. The
X-Men didn't need maintain their secret. They could reveal what they knew about
Hellfire Club anytime. And then...

He needed to act. Now. Before
they realized. He had to strike them. And destroying
them once and for all.

The Black King observed quietly the city. Unbeknownst to him, two
ferocious eyes, blazing green with hatred and resentment, spied him from the
shadows.

<><><><><>

Sun was sinking beyond the skyline, vanishing with an explosion of
luminous color. Flares of red, orange, amber, pink and violet streaked the sky,
as darkness fell gradually on the country.

Logan stared at the
iridescent dusk in melancholic wonder. His husky breathing fogged with steam
his room's window. He wiped it absent-mindedly with a finger.

His gaze drifted briefly at the two figures strolled peacefully at the
mansion doors. "They're coming now." He muttered pensively.

"Do you think they are fine?" A languid and cautious voice
queried behind him.

Wolverine gazed piercingly at the pair, focusing all of his senses on
them. He was reading many emotions, even from that distance. Dread. Anguish.
Despair. Pain. Regret. Self-loathing.
Sadness. And yet... yet...

Elation. Comfort.
The first true happiness they had felt in months.

"Yes. I think they'll be fine. And we can always help them."

"True it is." Pause. Logan could sense his
interloper mulling over his words. It was enervating. "You know a half of
us expected you took advantage from the situation to win Jean over. I know many
were astounded of you didn't."

Contemptuously, he snorted. "Yes, right. Hit on the poor married
woman when she feels lonely and vulnerable. What kind of man they think I am?
Besides, I knew she'd throw herself over Scott in the minute he acted normal again."

He turned around to look at the figure sprawled on his bed. The wooly
quilt had been kicked away, and only a thin snowy sheet covered her naked body.

"You realize" She drawled, fluttering lustfully her eyelashes
"they would get us committed or slain if they found out."

"Yes. Too bad for them." He grinned.

"True. Too bad."

She beamed blithely and sat on the mattress, allowing the thin sheet
slid downwards, uncovering her torso. The perishing sunrays of the sunset
danced over her naked skin of the color of the ebony. The sight aroused hunger
in Logan. So intense, so burning he
was frightened of it.

And of messing the friendship they shared.

They had met when Charles had recruited hastily a new team to rescue the
old X-Men, but he had barely noticed her then. He was too busy leering at a
woman was always gazing dreamily at another man. Still they had always been
very close. He remembered the time they traveled to Asgard
to rescue her from Loki. He was badly wounded, poisoned and on the brink of
Death but saving Ororo was all he could think of. All
he could care for.

Logan remembered as
well the first time he had REALLY pissed Scott off. Cyclops had punched him and
he had drawn out his claws to slice him, but Ororo
had stopped him with a single stare. She had also stopped him when they battled
the Brotherhood to save Senator Kelly, had defended him when Angel wanted
throwing him out of the X-Men and had trusted him even when he didn't warrant
her faith. And the times the team was falling apart, decimated for theirs
enemies and unbalanced by shifting alliances, they were who held the X-Men
together.

He shuddered remembering the Mutant Massacre and Operation: Zero
Tolerance.

The X-Men knew Cyclops and Phoenix were the heart
and the soul of the team. But not many noticed the whole responsibility fell
back on Storm and him when Scott and Jean were 'deceased', retired or couldn't
be relied upon.

Yes. Both of them had lived and shared many things together. And when
they kissed the other day in the Danger Room, in front of so many people... It
felt so good. Nice. Right.

Still he was frightened of ruining their relationship, trying turning
their friendship in something else.

Quietly he crawled under the covers.

<><><><><>

Dim light of torches illuminated faintly the dark, dingy passageway of
cold stone. Damp slabs reflected the flickering fire burnt in the oil-soaked
wood, dispelling the rolling shadows shrouded the underground corridor. Water
trickled through cracks in the walls, and the atmosphere reeked from oozing
humidity, mildew...

And evil. Evil's stench floated
everywhere, pervading the air, lurking in the shadows, sticking to the walls
and slithering down the stairs.

As he descended painstakingly the narrow and damp steps, Jason Wyndgarde grinned darkly. The chuckle turned his grim
countenance in something even more sinister. Mastermind's thoughts drifted
briefly to the businessmen prowled the upper halls, arguing how squander and
loot Third World countries as munched pastries and drank tea. And he
wondered what they'd tell if they saw Hellfire Club's basements.

With one last step he reached a long gallery. A row of doors filled the
walls, watched by armed keepers. Rigid masks hid their features and cloaked their
emotions, giving them a fearsome air of robots.

Jason wrinkled his nose and headed resolutely for one of the wooden
doors, utterly nonchalant of the guardians. One of them lowered his weapon and
looked him up and down.

"Greetings, Lord Wyndgarde. The Black
Queen is-"

He cut off the guard's stammer. "I know Selene
is already in the dungeon" torturing her victim with methods only someone
has lived millennia can know, he guessed. The idea brightened up slightly his
bristled mood. "Now open the door."

Mastermind repressed a smirk, nearly seeing the guard wincing beneath
the mask as he extricated a heavy iron key out of his pocket and rotated it
hurriedly into the lock. Jason pushed the door and sauntered in.

In the center of a domed stone chamber, with the walls smudged with dark
congealed blood, stood a sinister woman with flowing raven hair, scantily clad
in a skimpy garb of glossy black leather. The tenebrous light of the torches
highlighted the leather's ripples, tightly glued to her magnificent curves.

Mastermind felt eager arousal, but he guarded his thoughts and his
emotions. He was well aware of Selene was exactly the
last person he should get himself involved with.

"I take Lord Shaw has expressed his displeasure with your failure.
Am I wrong, Jason?" The woman stated abruptly, not even turning around to
regard him.

"I DIDN'T fail." He bristled. "My illusions worked. It
wasn't MY fault that redhead bitch returned suddenly from Death and spoiled the
plans."

"That has always been your trouble, Mastermind. You underestimate
your adversaries. Especially Jean Grey. You can't play
with fire without ending up burnt." The Black Queen spun around slowly.
Her right hand bore a whip. She lifted it to face level, leered greedily at the
blood smearing it, and cleaned it with a wanton flicker from her tongue.

"Moreover, you always resort to the same trick. Confuse the mind of
your prey with illusions and hallucinations, and then, when she's teetering on
the brink of the madness, to slave her. Pitiful."

Jason pierced her with a quiet glare. "If that's all what you have
to tell me, I have a message of Sebastian. He's fed up with the X-Men and wants
destroying them once and for all. We'll attack when you're finished."

Selene blinked. Then she grinned
lecherously. "Tell him our toy will be again under our control very soon.
And unlike someone else I shan't allow the leash slips foolishly off my
fingers."

Ignoring Jason's forbidding growl, she whirled around and struck swiftly
with her whip. Her victim moaned.

On a tough rack lay sprawled and manacled the White Queen. Torn rags
barely covered her wounded body. Rows of crimson scars zigzagged along her skin
and crisscrossed at each other, like if a plough had harrowed her hide. Her
body was ravaged; her mind in tatters. It had been flayed, slashed and stabbed
viciously until she only felt overwhelming pain.

A thought pierced the haze of hurt wrecking Emma's brain. Her cracked
lips parted and let out one whispered word.

"Scott..."

<><><><><>

- No, Alex and Lorna won't get together again in this fic. The number of pairings I can fix is limited, and I'm
focusing in Scott and Jean. But I needed writing that scene. I'm trying
reconciling the personalities the characters have maintained during forty years
with their actions for the last five. And if I'm writing a current
continuity-based tale, Scott must be absolved from that ill-minded affair and
he must stay with Jean. That is NOT negotiable, now or never. Radical? I call it justified. Morrison wrecked the oldest
and most enduring X-Men's history's couple because he opined the marriage was
stale and boring and Scott needed a fling to loosen up. And don't get me
started with making Scott kissed Emma on Jean's grave. That scene screamed
'Hooray! Now the bitch is dead we're free!". Disgusting.

- I know Rogue lost and regained her powers a while back, but I'm
ignoring that. I'm somewhat bored from that never-ending subplot, so she's
gained control over them somehow in this tale. After all, everybody know if Marvel had wanted, the X-Men would have crafted some
device to control her powers -like Cyclops' visor or Havok's
suit- long ago.

- I don't remember what title has Mastermind in Hellfire Club -if he had
ever-, but Shaw was Black King, Emma the White Queen, Leland the Rook and
Pierce the White Bishop, so I'll use the Black Knight (even thought 'pawn'
would be more proper). Besides, it fits with the metaphor Shaw was doing.

-The second X-Men were gathered in Giant Size XM 1; The X-Men traveled
to Asgard in UXM Annual 9; Scott punched -rather
backhanded- Logan in UXM 97; the Brotherhood tried killing Senator Kelly in UXM
142; Ororo stood up for Logan in UXM 148; and Logan
and Ororo kissed in UXM 455 in Danger Room, in front
of a bunch of mutants (scene made VERY happy and gave me an excuse. Yes, I'm a
Lo/Ro worshipper. How did you guess?)

- In the next chapter mysteries are revealed and relationships unraveled
when Hellfire Club brings its power to bear.

To be continued...
- 5
- 6
- 7
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