Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did I wouldn't be the poor college student that I am.

Author's Note: Sorry, this chapter was harder to write than I though it would be. This is NOT the last chapter of the story. It might take me over a week to update unfortunately because this week and next week I have another round of midterms, and a conference that I'm attending. Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I'll try to get the next one out as soon as I can. The last couple of chapters should be longer. As always please review, constructive criticism is welcome.

Chapter 10

Jean ran several hundred feet down the hall before she collapsed against the wall. How could he have done that to me? Why did he trick me? She thought. Jean knew why. He was trying to be kind. He wasn't tricking her, he was trying to make it easier on her. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know why The Professor called her down to his office. He knew what was coming. He lied to her for the same reason she believed him; it would be easier on her.

Jean knew she had to get up and go back in there. It would only be another ten minutes before Apocalypse could take over. She knew that Scott would never forgive her if she let that happen. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself.

Jean pushed herself up, and she walked back to the infirmary. "I have to do this," she whispered to herself, repeating it over and over again, hoping it would somehow convince her that it was actually true. Jean opened the door, and was horrified by the sight in front of her. Scott had a syringe sticking out of his arm. "No!" she screamed. "No, no, God no!" She ran over to the bed. "Scott!"

"I'm still here," he said weakly.

"You Bastard!" she yelled at him, as she kneeled on the floor beside the bed. "Why-"

"Because I knew you couldn't," he told her.

She took the needle out of Scott's arm, and placed it on the floor beside her. "Thank you," she said to him. All her anger vanished as she reached for his hand.

"I love you," Scott told her.

"I love you, too," Jean said giving him a small smile through her tears. Scott gave her a weak smile, and she kissed him on the lips. He was barely able recipricate.

"Stay," he told her.

"I'm here," she said squeezing her hand slightly, but his grip slackened.

It only look another minute for Scott to stop breathing, but still Jean stayed...just in case.

It was sunrise when Logan found Jean in the infirmary, still sitting next to Scott, still holding his hand. At first he walked by the window, not noticing that anything was wrong, but his gut told him to turn back, that something wasn't right. Scott was colorless. He was dead.

As Logan entered the infirmary, Jean looked up. Her face was perfectly dry. "I'm so sorry Jean," he told her.

She nodded. "He didn't want to be alone," she said. "So I stayed. How could I leave him?" she asked Logan. "I've left him so many times before. How could I leave him now?"

Logan nodded, not knowing how to answer. "He's gone," Logan told her. She nodded, but didn't move. "Jean?" she looked up at him. "This isn't your fault." She nodded. "Everyone knows that. Everyone knows you had to do it."

"I didn't do anything, Logan," she told him. "I was too cowardly. I was going to ruin everything. He knew I couldn't do it. So he..." Jean couldn't get the words out. Her face contorted in pain and grief. "He-"

"It's okay," Logan interrupted. "I...I know what you're trying to say." He paused for a moment. "How long have you been sitting here Jean?"

"A little past four," she told him.

Logan tried to think of the best way to phrase his next sentence. "Should you...shouldn't you get some sleep? You've had a long night." Jean shook her head violently. "Why not?"

"I...I can't leave him," she told him, tears were starting to role down her face again. "He asked me to stay."

"He didn't mean like this, Jean," Logan told Jean, walking slightly closer to her.

"How do you know?" she questioned darkly.

"I don't," he replied. "Not for sure, anyway." He paused. "I know one thing though. He loved you, and a guy that loved you that much wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. He's gone. You don't need to be here anymore."

"Shut up," Jean told him, finally cracking. "Please just shut up." Logan noticed her grip on Scott's hand loosened.

"Come on Jean," Logan said trying to get her to stand up. "You've been up all night." He grabbed one of her hands and pulled her up. Jean didn't fight against Logan, but she didn't help him either; she just felt like dead weight. "Get a couple hours rest, and you'll feel better," he told her.

"Liar," she told him, walking to the door, not wanting to look back at Scott.

"Yeah, probably," Logan agreed.

"I like being numb," she told him. "It's better than the alternative."

Logan walked Jean to her room in silence. He had no idea what to tell her. He was never good with emotions. He never knew what to say. When he said anything, he usually just ended up hurting the person more. So Logan stayed silent. Jean had had enough pain for one day.

When they finally reached her room, Logan opened the door for her. "I'll have someone check on you in a little while. Try to get some rest." Even after Logan left, Jean had a hard time entering the room. It still smelled like Scott. One of Scott's dress shirts still hung on the chair, waiting to be ironed. A pair of shoes he had kicked off before collapsing in bed four nights ago still sat next to the nightstand.

Jean sighed as she crossed into the sacred space. She slipped off her heels as she entered the room and fell onto the bed. When she closed her eyes, it almost felt as if he were still next to her, but when she opened them, there was nothing. She knew he wouldn't be there, but she still hoped.

Everything in the room reminded her of him. On the nightstand beside her sat a photo of her and Scott with his grandparents in Anchorage last Christmas. They looked so genuinely happy; they didn't have a care in the world. Neither had any idea what a living hell the next year would be for both of them. The picture was taken back when Jean and Scott still thought they had a future together.

Jean had to roll over away from the photo. It was too painful of a reminder of a future that could never be. She scooted over to what had always been Scott's side of the bed, but she guessed it didn't matter now. She never liked Scott's pillow. She would sometimes use it when he was on overnight missions without her, but she never liked it. It was too flat, too firm. It smelled of his greasy hair gel, and his much too strong cologne. She never liked his pillow, but she clung to it as she drifted off to sleep.