They'd all known for a long time that Jean was going to die. Ever since she'd been taken over by the phoenix, the Professor had warned them that there wasn't much hope. But somehow no one, not even Xavier, had really comprehended that they'd never see the real Jean again. Her mind however, had been consumed by the phoenix long before it disappeared into the heart of the sun.

Of course, Scott suffered most of all; yet the rest of the X-men fared little better. For some of the younger members, it was the first time they'd seen a friend die. They had never cried so many tears before, never felt the empty space that is left when someone passes away. The new recruits sat in groups consoling each other as best they could.

Rogue, ever solitary, spent a lot of time in the garden in the days after the demise the phoenix. Jean hadn't been her favourite person in the Xavier Mansion, but Rogue had by no means hated her. Indeed, Rogue's dislike for Jean added the extra burden of guilt onto her shoulders; guilt for all the times she'd been less than civil towards the red head, all the times she'd spoken harshly to her. So Rogue sat alone under an oak tree, wiping her tears and make-up away with her gloves. Once, Kurt had tried to follow her outside, but as kindly as she could, she'd let him know that she mourned by herself. Kurt had returned to Kitty.

After the first night, Kitty's tears had dried up and she now sat on her bed staring at a wall, refusing to eat or drink or sleep. For Kitty, Jean had been the ultimate role model. Beautiful, popular and intelligent, with a nice, steady, sweet boyfriend. Her loss was unimaginable. Kurt was left trying to get through to her, coaxing her to have some food, hugging her and stroking her hair until she fell into a troubled doze.

Nightcrawler was trying to forget his own pain at the loss of Jean. He was perhaps, the least obviously affected of the teenagers. He flitted between groups and cooked meals when the adults were out, offering his shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear and comforting words. Anything to avoid being alone. When he was with other people, he could be strong. But as soon as he got into bed, memories crowded his mind. The loss would take him over, consume him. One night in desperation, he got out the Bible his foster mother had packed him before he went to America. It had never been read, but now it was his one source of solace. Scouring the entire book for a hint, any clue, to what happened after death, he finally persuaded himself that Jean had gone to a better place.

The adults had lost friends before, but only their responsibility for the students kept them from falling apart. They, like Kurt, spent most of their days looking after the teenagers and trying to help Scott. When the four of them were alone together though, the façade quickly slipped. Even Logan, who tried to keep himself aloof from the majority of the students, was emotionally exhausted. The four teachers gathered in Professor Xavier's bedroom most nights now, to discuss how the youngsters were faring, how Scott was doing and how they themselves were feeling.

"I don't see how it's gunna get any better for them, Chuck." Logan broke the silence. "I don't know how to help them."

The Professor sighed, deeply. "I don't think it will get any better for them. Time will heal the wound eventually, but it will leave a scar."

Logan growled in reply. He wasn't in the mood for metaphors: he'd been with Scott today.

"In mythology," stated Beast "The phoenix is said to have the gift of eternal life. Its life is a circle: it is born, it grows old, it dies and then is reborn from the flames. There is hope yet that Jean may be alive."

"And how is that gunna help them now, Hank?" There was a note of desperation in Logan's voice now. No one answered him.

Ororo had sunk to the floor, leaning on Xavier's bed, her head in her arms. When she looked up, the others saw the dark rings around her eyes that were so common around the mansion at the moment.

"How can I help them?" she asked "When I can't even help myself?"

Logan started pacing the room. There was a long silence.

"We're going to get through this together, with the students," Charles said softly. "They can help us, as we can help them." He paused, then said firmly "Jean is dead. We can't change what happened. We need to learn how to live without her. We need to learn that her death wasn't our fault. Because it wasn't." Then, he added almost to himself "but I can't stop myself feeling that it was my fault."

"Charles, there was nothing we could do-" began Beast.

"Yes, well," interrupted Xavier, abruptly changing the subject. "It's late. We should all go to bed." The other three complied mutely, leaving the Professor by himself. As soon as the door had closed behind his friends, he put his head in his hands. It was a horrible, impossible situation. He couldn't see any escape from it; the endless reminders of Jean, or more specifically the reminders of the lack of Jean, were suffocating. A tear ran slowly down Xavier's cheek. He would miss Jean Grey...