Scott had tried. With little else to live for he had found a bit of will in the knowledge that the students needed him. When Storm and Logan had started taking Rogue's development into their hands without consulting him, like he wasn't necessary, it had given him something to fight for.
Truth was, he hadn't been. Since Jean has sacrificed herself at Alkali Lake he was a walking corpse. When she had gone, so was he.
So in that meeting, he'd been there in body only until Storm had said, "Remy LeBeau is the only name that comes to mind."
It was like he'd been electrocuted. In that moment he'd realised that Logan was somehow the better man because he'd found a reason to live. From that meeting on Scott had done the best he could to regain some of his former clout amongst the student body and the team.
It was so hard, though. The drinking helped. It quieted the part of his mind that still sounded like her, that called to him to find her. He was so alone, she was so alone. The alcoholic haze wasn't the healthiest method of managing his ever fracturing mind, but it replaced one pain with another. For a while, that was enough.
Then Logan had taken off, carting Rogue off with him. Without the other man there to remind him that life after Jean was possible, Scott fell further into misery. The switch had been flipped and he was lost.
The Professor couldn't help. He didn't understand. No one did.
Jean was there and then she wasn't and what was life without her?
Scott.
He shut his eyes, trying to block out the flashing images. The mental bombardment of Jean's last moments coming and going. Her voice echoed in his head, begging to be heard.
"I can't, Jean." His eyes spilled over with tears behind his red quartz glasses, the pain of it all was so severe. "You're gone and I can't."
Scott.
She was gone, and he was alone.
A/N: This is the follow-up to my story Slow Hands. I will be posting this story on a weekly basis. I've gotten far enough in the writing process I feel comfortable with posting it. I hope you all find it enjoyable. I would like to thank everyone who read, liked, reviewed and followed Slow Hands. Reviews make me feel warmand fuzzy. Much love from this cheeseball writer.