From Scott Summers' Personal Journal:

I could say that walking through time is like falling into a book while the pages are flipping, or like navigating a house of mirrors - but both are prosaic and predictable . . . and not terribly accurate. It's simply not like anything. If you can imagine being nowhen and everywhen at once, that's what it's like. And why it was hard to learn to control. I just had no analog.

Fortunately, I'd come into this power prepared, and could only imagine how confusing and frightening it might have been if I'd stumbled onto it by accident as a teen. Although in the case of that long ago encounter with Jack O'Diamonds, it might have been more useful - not to mention less messy - than blasting him to pieces.

My first attempt to move back in time was less than exemplary. I'm not exactly certain when I landed, but I think pre-Columbian New England. I don't know, either, how long it took me to get the hang of what I was doing. Time was meaningless. It was long enough to grow hungry and have to steal food, and to take a piss or three. I needed sleep, as well, but felt too agitated to do more than nap for a few hours on two separate occasions.

I also discovered that I moved through time only, not space - at least, not space yet. Whenever I popped out of my tesseract - or whatever you'd call the alternate dimension I was in - I landed on the same spot. But I couldn't pop out if that spot were occupied by something else, such as a horse - or earlier, a tree. It was as if the door were closed.

Imperfect though my mastery was, I finally felt able to get myself to the right time - just before sunrise on August 12th, 2006.

But that left me with a dilemma. Should I return to the three waiting for me in Shaw's barn, or simply go on to intercept the Phoenix? If I returned, I'd have to argue with them about coming with me; facing Jean at full power and without inhibition would be dangerous, to say the least. But if I didn't return, faced the Phoenix and lost my gamble, they wouldn't know for sure what had happened.

I finally opted to return, as much because I'd said I would as for any other reason. "Scott!" Jean cried, embracing me upon my materializing and sounding immensely relieved. She looked better than she had when I'd left, no longer so deeply in shock, perhaps as a result of the opportunity to undo the horror she'd committed. If I could go back and undo some of the things in my past . . . .

But, of course, now, I could. Adult Scott could return to warn Major Christopher Summers not to take that fatal plane flight.

Yet if I did that, how many other things would change? Some people might still be alive, such as Jack O'Diamonds. But others wouldn't - perhaps Ororo among them, not to mention kids I'd saved since - and Warren himself. What would've happened to Warren all those years ago without Hank and I to intervene?

As much as I wished I could save my parents, there was just too much water under the bridge - and I understood the real danger of this power. Like Xavier and Jean's telepathy, it came with an enormous responsibility not to misuse it.

Yet Nathaniel Essex had wanted to breed a race of mutants who could time-walk? Was he insane? If a child of Jean and I really would have her almost unlimited telekinetic and telepathic power and my time walking . . . maybe we should never have any. Could a person (much less a teenager) refuse the temptation of such incredible power? Like unto gods, to quote Genesis.

Turning to face Warren and Logan with my arm still around Jean, I said bluntly, "I can't take all of you. I'm not even sure I can take one of you. Timeporting hay's a bit different from a person. I could scatter you in bits and pieces across dimensions."

"Then take me," Warren said immediately. "If it doesn't work, it won't matter. I'm dying anyway." I could have predicted that response.

But to my surprise, Jean also protested, "No - take me. I can stop her." Then she shook her head. "I mean, stop myself."

Logan didn't say anything. Perhaps he realized that if the choice were down to one, his name wasn't first on the list.

So I looked between Jean's earnest face, and Warren's - and it struck me that this wasn't a one-person job, or even a two-person job. It would take three, and I held out a hand to both. They knew the risks; I wouldn't insult them by protecting them from their own choices, and I was glad, now, that I'd come back.

They accepted my proffered hands, then took each other's. "Here we go," I said. "It'll feel a little weird." And I . . . yanked, pulling them after me into my time tesseract. I could feel them with me as I moved backwards just a little - backwards to sunrise that same morning.

We came out to the sound of someone moving in the main barn aisle beyond, and crouched down together. Fortunately, the empty stall door was closed, and we waited until the unseen attendant had finished giving the horses their morning feed and retreated to the tack room. Then we hurried out.

Already on the property, we didn't have to worry about getting past the gate, but the grounds themselves were still patrolled. With Jean, evading security was easy. We reached the front drive circle around the main fountain, whose water glittered in the early morning light.

"I can feel her coming," Jean whispered, and turned towards the gate beyond the long driveway. She reached out to grab my hand and Warren's in each of hers. Then she . . . ignited - awesome wings of flame extending from her back to match Warren's, but much larger, and she grew, up, up, enveloping us in the nimbus of her power until she was as high as the mansion behind us. Yet her flames didn't burn; she shielded us from her full majesty, and her potential destruction. I felt only warmth.

Together, we three made our stand.