I read an interview given by Zak Penn in which he claimed the most "dramatic" thing for Phoenix to do right away would be to kill her lover, because from that point on it'd be no holds barred. As I yelled to some people, it may have been dramatic but it was also quite pointless. Raaaawwrr!

So two things I'm trying to achieve with this fic: proper closure for Scott, and some dark, dark, manipulative Phoenix, which I don't see too many people writing.

--

Colossus: Jean, if there is anything human remaining within you...
Dark Phoenix: There isn't."

--Uncanny X-Men 136

"I...hunger, Scott--for a joy, a rapture, beyond all comprehension...It...consumes me."

--Dark Phoenix, Uncanny X-Men 136

--

The Good Guy

In his dreams... you're calling his name; but floating lifelessly in the water, your skin is a mottled gray and your limbs are cold. He runs to the lake and cups your face in his hands, begging for some kind of a miracle, but you only gaze back with eyes that are faded and lips that are still.

As you laid the barest foundations of a plan, you weren't in any hurry. Why draw a straight line from the start to the finish? Better to give his mind little nudges, let him feel his own way through the maze. Scott. Scott. For days, weeks, months, you've had him dreaming about you.

Until today. The day is a beautiful joke; it's sunny and the air is mild. The glassy green lake is almost uncannily picturesque, and maybe the birds are even singing in the trees. Things could hardly have gone better if you'd planned them that way. And today, all his dreams come true.

You're blinking in the daylight. Fluttering your eyelashes. Reaching for his hand.

"Jean?" he whispers, hardly daring to believe this is true. "How...?"

"I don't know," you lie, keeping your expression surprised. Everything is very deliberately surreal. His lower lip is trembling and you know he's close to tears again, as he's been all this time, on the brink of wreckage.

You'll help him get there.

Leaning slightly on him for support, you rest your chin on his shoulder. He tightens his embrace around you. "Oh, Scott," you murmur. "I missed you, Scott."

Now he's there, and he's eating out of your hand. Never mind that nothing really makes sense, Scott isn't thinking in terms of logic right now.

His kisses start off slow and tentative, but you coax and tease him with your lips until they grow quicker and more desperate. How it's always been, you think to him, and you can feel yourself smiling. You guide his hands to the front of your suit and he obliges, unzipping it in one smooth motion. You do the same for him but without quite the same urgency, and it drives him completely wild. And when he takes you, and a moan unconsciously escapes your lips, you have to admit it's all turning out to be even more enjoyable than you expected.

It's all over so quickly you can't catch your breath. You snuggle up against his chest, breathing hard – he still has his shirt on, even. He runs his hands through your hair, feeling the warm pulse in your neck. "Jean," he whispers again, and you know he's come over his disbelief.

Now.

With a slightly crooked smile you finger the arms of his glasses. " Take these off."

He's bewildered. "What?"

"Take these off. I can control it now." You dangle the clincher before him seductively, "Trust me."

How could he not?

You reach up and pull off his glasses, laying them beside you by the edge of the water. Giggle. "Open your eyes."

He does, haltingly. Blinking in the daylight.

"Scott, look at me."

You're holding the beams from his eyes back telekinetically, just for a moment. Barely remembering to breathe now, Scott looks all around at the lake, at you, and your wicked smile.

And then you let go.

"Jean!" he yells, but you don't care to listen, your vision has gone red and the energy's soaking through your skin.

Power trip.

He's fighting you but you're holding his eyelids open with your telekinesis, and every moment drinking in this raw power only makes you stronger. Perfect equilibrium. He ought to be happy.

He keeps screaming...

You release your hold on him. When you look at him again, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

"Jean... Jean, are you okay?" he gasps, on all fours, feeling blindly around for his glasses. He's burned perfect hole the size of a bottlecap through each of his hands.

"Shh, I'm okay," you say soothingly. It's hard to keep your voice steady, though, when you're still reeling from the thrill. "I... I think I'm more than okay."

You fit his glasses back onto his face and then simply, discreetly, shut off his mind. He's asleep.

Now, what next?

They must know by now that Scott's left the mansion, and surely they can guess where he's gone to. The mansion. The next step in your plan... not that you've had one to begin with, you're just making it up as you go. It's more fun that way. And of course it helps that your friends are so predictable...

By the time the Blackbird touches down the scene is set. Scott's lying a few feet away from you, fully dressed if not fully conscious. He'll remember nothing, save for maybe a very pleasant dream. You're just playing dead.

You can sense Ororo's suspicious, as she well should be. Call it women's intuition. Logan, on the other hand, runs to you first, leaving Ororo to struggle with Scott. He puts his ear to your chest to listen for your heartbeat – rather more intimately than would have been strictly necessary, you know; he probably detected you from a mile off in the air. But when you suited up you left the zipper down a substantial distance from where it usually is, and there's something terribly inviting about that.

During the flight back to the mansion you're absolutely quiet. You even let Logan hold your hand, and the suspense drags on.

Wind him up. Have your fun.

Wait till you're alone with him.

--

First part of three. Please let me know what you thought of this!