Author's Note: Way, waaay long overdue fic. Yeah I always post fics for movies that have been out for a few years. Anyway, I always believe in an afterlife, a happy one mind you, for characters who die. Same here for Scott and Jean. I'm going to leave Wolverine out, because to me, that fiasco never happened. Set after Wolverine kills Jean in X3. Read, review and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or its characters.

Red.

It was all she could see the moment her eyes decided they had been closed long enough. The skies were red, as were the trees and the little brook that looked so much like the one she and Scott frequented, where they made love the first time.

Then everything was back to normal, or as normal as the afterlife –for Jean was certain that she was dead- could be. The skies were a bluish grey with a hint of rain, the trees were green with lightly yellowing leaves and the waters were a peaceful periwinkle blue.

She stood, and as she raised her face to meet the cooling breeze of day, she realized that after so long, she was free. Free from the discrimination and prejudice she faced as a mutant, free from duties and responsibilities and the weight of the world that came from being a doctor and a X-Man. And so, so free from that horrible, burning entity within her, that called itself the Phoenix, that scorched and hurt and killed. All those countless soldiers, the Professor, Scott.

Scott.

Her eyes shut, as if blocking out the resigned look on her fiancé's face as he realized that it wasn't her, that he was going to die at the hands of the woman he loved.

The breeze turned cold and biting and unforgiving, as if punishment for killing the man that, in a few weeks, she would've pledged her life to. She shivered. Rubbing her arms, she realized that she wasn't dressed in that red leather outfit she had been wearing when she died.

She looked down in wonder and saw herself clothed in a red dress with capped sleeves that softly hugged her curves. She smiled; it was the dress she had worn on the date that Scott had proposed to her. He had surprised her with a moonlit picnic by the brook, and she recalled being blindfolded as he led her stumbling through the thicket of trees, laughing as twigs and branches caught in her hair. God she missed him.

The wind shifted, and a swirl of leaves gently danced towards her, tickling her bare arms and hair and she could almost hear her and Scott's laughter playing through the wind. Once, long ago when they were both young and free and oblivious, she had dragged him out into the gardens where they proceeded to dance to the falling leaves of autumn. They had twirled and leapt and just danced like some faun or mythical creature. And Scott, panting after they had collapsed to the ground, exhausted had claimed that it was the best day of their lives.

A whisper sounded, and Jean didn't know if it was in her head or if there really was someone else there. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the whisper that was growing more and more incessant by the minute, to disappear. For you see, Jean was convinced that she was alone, that it was her punishment to remain alone in the afterlife, as was the verdict of her crime of taking away those lives whose numbers she could not count.

"Jean."

Slowly, warm hands turned her around and she felt herself being enveloped in something so familiar that felt like home. Gentle fingers stroked through her fiery red hair with the ease of long practice as the voice murmured her name over and over and over like a prayer.

Tears that sparkled like little fractured diamonds under the sun, started to fall onto Jean's cheeks as she touched the dear face of one so sorely missed and loved. Burying her face in his neck, she spoke his name reverently, "Scott."

And Scott Summers swore he could've cried with joy at the beautiful sound of hearing her dulcet tones say his name after an eternity of death and separation. He lifted her head and tenderly caught one perfect teardrop at the corner of her eyes and slowly, gently, kissed her.

They held onto each other, grasping onto their life lines that were the other. He was her rock, and she his light. And they were never going to let go.

And on that day in what must have been the most wonderful afterlife, with the quiet whispers of the trees and the breath of the wind, two hearts found their way back into each other's arms and a vow was made, with the quiet knowledge that nothing was ever going to stand in their way again.

I'm never going to let you go.