Fledgling Phoenix
Disclaimer: I do not own Jean Grey, Phoenix, or the X-Men. I do not profit from this story. X-Men belongs to Marvel.
Chapter one: Learning
"This is what the end of a universe looks like," She says, in that guest-lecturer voice she has, as if we aren't suddenly standing in the midst of a confusion of death and destruction. I stumble back, merely from the shock of it, and she has the nerve to chuckle lightly, like this whole thing is a walk in the park. Which, to be fair, it probably is for her. Just as suddenly as the vision appeared, it vanished, and we were in the white hot room again. Oh joy. It seems like just yesterday that I died and woke up here, but really there is no keeping track of time in this place.
I become aware that I am on the ground, and she's helping me up, trying to regain my attention.
"It takes some getting used to, I know,"
She smiles at me, as if she knows my thoughts. She probably does. And another smile, she is definitely reading my mind. Dirty rotten telepaths.
"I'm not reading your mind! You're throwing your thoughts at me. We really need to teach you to control your telepathy."
"If I'm a telepath then why aren't I hearing your thoughts?"
"You can't read my mind because I'm a skilled and powerful telepath. My mental shields have mental shields," She smiles, "Don't worry. You'll learn to control and use your abilities, we have wonderful teachers for you here.
"Who taught you to use your abilities? Weren't you the first one of us?"
I'm curious despite myself. I want to keep believing that this is all a dream, and soon I'll wake up, safe, warm and alive in my own bed, but the longer this goes on, the more I'm convinced that this is real. I couldn't have dreamed up some of this stuff even if I was on drugs. Me, a mutant? It couldn't be possible. But if what this woman says is true, I have to be.
The desolate look on her face as she looks off makes me regret asking the question. It's gone in an instant, and her face resumes its default expression of knowing brightness, like she's privy to all the knowledge in the universe, and is patiently waiting as you fumble around with the most basic ideas.
"I taught myself. That's why you're lucky to have people to teach you the things you'll need to know."
"I don't know if I'm cut out for such an important job," I unwillingly admit. I don't want to give her, or anyone else, a less than honest opinion of my own capabilities.
"You'll be fine. Besides, you wouldn't be here if you were not capable of great things."
Oddly enough, her words reassure me. Her confidence in me shines out like a light from her face, and I can't do anything but nod. And as much as my sarcastic nature and disbelief make me want to dislike her, to believe that her friendly, happy attitude is just an act, I can't help but want to trust her. I've never met someone so full of life before. Which is strange, because I'm pretty sure she's dead.