An Ember, Burning

by PsychoSazeVamp

Drabble, Post X2. As in life, so in death. He still shed tears for her, at night, alone and apart from the others, where his pain was his and his alone. As her love had been - his, and his alone.

Disclaimer: I do not - and have never - owned the X Men or associated Marvel characters. If I did, do you really think I'd be writing fanfic? Nope.

This is my first X-Men: The Movie fic, and it's more of a drabble than anything else. It's set after X2, so it includes spoilers for that. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy reading.

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An Ember, Burning

And now she was gone. No more would she hold him in the night, no longer could he comfort her when she had a dark dream that would make their room shake, and cause her to wake in fright; afraid of what she might do. Her life was a flame extinguished long before its prime, a sacrifice that should never have been made.

Of course, Jean hadn't seen it like that. No sacrifice was too great for her; every life was one worth saving. And he had done nothing. He'd tried, of course, and so had the others: the Professor, Ororo, Logan – even Kurt, who had barely known Jean, had tried to help; to get her back, to stop her sacrifice.

Sacrifice. A noble notion, yes, and Jean was – had been – noble. As in life, so in death. Not one amongst the living would speak ill of her; and things weren't the same after Alkali Lake. Nothing could be the same after Alkali Lake.

Earth to Earth.

Tears had been spilt, and Scott still shed them for her; at night, alone and apart from the others, where his pain was his and his alone. Others grieved, but no-one could feel her loss like he did.

Logan was gruff, betraying little emotion as was his wont, but he had failed. He had tried and failed to steal Jean. He'd told Scott that Jean had made a choice – and that she had chosen Scott over Logan. In some ways, that made the pain worse, all the more bitter a pill to swallow. Not only had he lost the woman he loved, but he had lost the woman who loved him. Hollow comfort, when in the deepest, darkest hours of the night he could no longer reach out and touch her anymore.

Ashes to Ashes.

There was no body – and he hated the way she had just become a body, no longer a person, no longer a human, no longer Jean – and so there was no burial. A mixed blessing, he supposed. A grave would have been all too horrifyingly real a confirmation of her death. Could his heart have withstood the pain? Scott doubted it. But it would have been something to show that, yes, she had existed, had lived, and that she was Jean Grey.

But there was no body.

Dust to Dust.

He wanted something real to remember her by. There were memories, but in time, even those would fade away, and he'd forget her. That was his greatest fear: to forget her, and to forget what love felt like.

Love.

He couldn't remember what it was like, not loving Jean. He didn't want to remember what it was like, either. Scott concentrated now, focusing on special moments spent with Jean. But it was so painful, so lonely.

He wanted her with him, now! And yet her sacrifice had denied him what should have been the simplest of pleasures. A note of bitterness coloured his thoughts, a forgotten wish that cursed her for not letting him die with her. But dreams of death were no way to remember someone like Jean.

All he had left were his memories.

And in his memories she would live on, eternal. Resurrected by his love for her, in the only fitting legacy one lover could bestow on another. To cherish her memory, her life, her soul.

Because sometimes, love can truly conquer death.

Requiescat In Pace.