**Author's Notes**

This story gets off to a little bit of a slow start, but just stick with it and it gets a lot better.

As he sat quietly in a ceremonial black suit, a tear escaped beyond the border of his dark glasses. He held a small cluster of roses in his left hand, which rested weakly upon his upper leg, the other was a wallet size picture. It was a portrait of a young male with golden-blonde hair.

Just then his door quietly opened towards him. A tall, slender woman walked in. Her vibrant red hair rested on her shoulders as she gracefully walked toward the weeping man and sat down next to him. She reached out and wiped a tear off his face. He looked up into the woman's beautiful eyes. An eerie silence was cast over the room. It seemed they were both waiting for the other to speak, to comfort one another.

Then the woman spoke in a gentle, soothing voice, "Scott?" She reached out and brushed the man's hair back from his eye.

His response came, solemn and stern, yet weak, "He's gone… gone for good."

"Havok's death was necessary, it taught us all a lesson." With these words she dropped her hand to his shoulder.

He pulled back and walked to the opposite side of the room, and waited. "He wasn't Havok." His voice cracked and slowed him for a moment. Turning he finished his sentence, "Jean…he was Alex, my brother." The last two words came almost in a whisper.