Title: Awaken
Author: seraph
Character(s): Jean, mostly (and a few lines from ye olde Scott and
Professor Xavier.)
Timeline:Post X2 (well, maybe a few days after the end of the movie, if
you really want to be specific)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Insert yer standard disclaimer here about not owning any of
those wonderful, wonderful characters which the movie failed to characterise
properly. *ducks*
Summary: It's been assumed many a
time that the Phoenix would rise from Her ashes - in this case, her watery
grave - with flame and fury, setting the sky alight with fiery, icandescent
wings as she reclaimed her birthright of rebirth.
But what if her flames sputtered out before they ever got the chance to burn?
Notes: two things.
one: This is basically a long drabble, or a short one-shot story thing,
depending on how you look at it. I'm still playing around with making a longer
story out of this, but at this moment, this is all there is.
two: I've tried writing movieverse fanfics before, but the bulk of them are
still lounging about on my hard drive right now; this is my first attempt to
actually throw something I've written (for movieverse-X/X2) out into the big,
wide world. Besides which, I'm not all that adept at sinking my teeth into the
character - not as much as I'd like, anyway. Bear that in mind, and have mercy
as you read through the thing.
PS: Enjoy! (...even if it does come accross a bit lame at times. And sensible
Critiquing will be highly appreciated. Not to mention rewarded with chocolate
chip cookies and brownies, too. ;))
~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~
Awaken
Cold.
So Cold.
It is the first thought echoing blankly through her mind as her eyes open to a
murky gloom of blue and black and shimmering light somewhere up beyond her
reach. She reaches up all the same, but the light is far, far away, and her
strength is but little.
The fact that she is also underwater, a cold sorrowful blue-black underwater at
that, does not escape her mind; indeed, she is forced to acknowledge its
presence mere microseconds after her eyes start to burn and sting. She gasps,
and breathes in what seems like a lungful of cold, cold water that not only
freezes her aching throat, but runs up her nose and seems to desire passage to
her brain and lull her into an everlasting numbness to be forgotten evermore to
life and hope.
She cannot allow it.
She will not allow it.
For she has looked into the abyss and she has seen what fires burn in the
celestial forge, and she has peered into the depths of infinity and she has
learned of what she is; she knows that it is not her time yet; she knows that
it will not be her time for a long, long time to come.
She also knows that she has already said her goodbyes and farewells, hasty and
unbidden though they might have been, and she knows that the one she loves is
slowly killing himself with a backbreaking burden of guilt and sorrow and
self-hatred and the one who believes he loves her never thought himself alive
anyway, but he's drowning himself all the same in his own little personal hell.
It doesn't help that the woman inside of her is drained and tired and cold and
alone and has forsaken herself of hope, that she does not want to return only
to lose everything all over again as she has convinced herself she will; yet
the creature that burns inside her will not let her forsake herself thus, for
Phoenix burns forever, Her flames cannot be extinguished.
Gotta…hold…on…She whispers silently, wondering if the woman speaks to
the firebird, or vice versa.
But…so…Hard…
After what seems like forever, the tired woman finally closes her eyes. But not
because she is giving up, oh no, she tells herself – she will not go that
easily into the grave yet. But how can she not, a voice deep within her asks,
tired with this agony of waiting forever between dying and undying, how can she
not?
The murky blue gloom has shifted in the meantime, and she can almost swear that
the light seems closer, and right there, she lazily points a finger, weary half
smile on her cold lips – there, and isn't that the shimmering, rippling surface
of the lake?
But it is still too far away, she tells herself now, too far away by a few
thousand lightyears, and she cannot go on any longer, her breath is too weary
and cold and weak, even now she tries to breathe a ragged sharp breath and ice
cold water soaks her, drowns her and seeps into her very being with every
attempt. Like a lover's caress, perhaps, but so much more violent and forced;
aggressive and dominant – less a lover than a violator.
'It's JEAN, danmit!'
'Scott, please, have reason…'
Her flames are dying out, she tells herself, all but giving in to the tired
voice which only seeks closure; she cannot go any further. Quite a dilemma. And
so, somewhere in a nightmare abyss between the conscious and unconscious
worlds, in the nether that fills the void between life and death, she paces
from the light to the dark, and waits…
'God, it's her! Can't you SEE that it's HER!!!'
'Scott, for the love of God, man, it's too late already …don't! SCOTT!'
Her ears discern a dull splash somewhere but she cannot bring herself to
notice. A hand grips her from behind, a strong and powerful hand, and pulls her
up, but she cannot bring herself to move. She senses that she has broken
through that veil of water which she had so longingly looked at from the
depths.
'Please.'
But it does her no good, this realisation. It brings her no relief to know that
she has been saved and redeemed.
'Please, pleaseplease don't do this to me…not AGAIN…'
For her lips are cold and her skin is clammy.
'Please.'
And she does not know if she can burn any longer.
'Come back.'
~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~