> > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Again, thanks to my loyal reviewers by theirs comments: Phoenix83ad (Thanks for accompanying me along the whole ride. I'm glad of the scenes were good. I'd also liked having brought more closure between Bobby, and Emma, but I thought I'd take longer. Emma has hurt his two old friends and he can't overlook it easily); Wen1 (Jean had her powers cut because this story is supposed to be the final Phoenix story, like Endsong was supposed to be; she retains the codename, the cool outfit and pyrokinesis, but not cosmic powers, even though she keeps being one of the mightiest psychics ever; and eventually her hair will grew back); Summers Groupie (Here's the end; I hope you like it); Amazing Redd Phoenix (If you actually felt sorry for her, it means I succeeded in portraying a character that I dislike deeply… even if I've tortured and tormented her, and I've enjoyed doing it. All good things must come to an end, but… you can always ask for a sequel).

The chapter's title was suggested by a friend of mine (in fact it was a suggestion to name the series, but I had already made up my idea). Thanks, Slickboy! And I'll post an unedited version of this chapter in (I suspect the editing system will mess the address, so you have the link in my profile).

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > >

Part Ten. Ashes to Life-

Massive trees lifted theirs broad and rough maroon trunks towards the sky. Entangled and entwined, theirs gnarled branches of dark hues formed the skeleton of a green canopy the wide leaves wove. Beneath that verdant dome, the oaks and birches grew lightly apart, forming a little glade, a patch of fresh ground strewn with slabs of polished stone and carpeted with dried leaves and bright moss. Iridescent lichens sprouted among the roots and fungus grew below the reddish foliage.

Light, tepid wind blew past the oaks, bringing the sound of forest animals, of mammals scurrying around in the underbrush, of birds trilling, of water streaming far away. Then the noise of footsteps blended with the remainder noises, and the grove fell silent.

Sidestepping the tall trees and dodging the cobwebs wove the hawthorns, Scott and Jean trod on the shaded clearing. Both of them bore backpacks and wore baggy pants and trekking boots, but Scott dressed a sweater whereas Jean donned a light sleeveless shirt.

She never was cold.

Lifting her chin up and spreading her arms, Jean inspired deeply and purred. "Mmmmm. The fresh scent of wood and grass and ground feels like-"

"The Hell." Scott muttered somberly. "Give me concrete and pollution any day of the week."

Jean smacked his neck's nape. "Shut UP, darling. We're camping in the mansion's grounds, not journeying through Brazil. Don't spoil the moment."

"But Jeaaaan" He whined, tilting his head in a deliberately infuriating way. "If I don't spoil the moment... who will do it? And I'd NEVER mistake this forest with Amazonian jungle. This place has actually trees."

Jean giggled. Contrary to popular opinion, her husband had a humor sense. A very dry and biting one. And she'd missed it. "Let's set up the tent. It's lunch time and I'm starving."

> > > >

A while after a brown tent was erected among the round boulders and both spouses were kneeled on a tablecloth, among forks and plates and glasses of plastic, finishing the last remains of the potato omelet Jean had cooked -Mrs. Summers had evicted her husband from the kitchen after he had managed successfully burning water-. Around them the birds had restarted their songs.

"It's tranquil here." Jean uttered fondly, her hand combing her shoulder-length red locks. Absent-mindedly she recalled why they were short. And she flinched. "I can't remember the last time we felt such peace."

"Alaska." Scott mumbled wistfully between munches. "Before the Professor called us to attend Joseph's funeral."

"I suppose it helps" his wife stated sadly as she sipped a swallow of water "we have barely talked with someone these days, hence we haven't found out of whatever the last menace is. The last gossip I've heard is Warren and Betsy have flown to England to visit her brother, and Hank is now Headmaster. It's like if we're dodging them. Perhaps we don't want to know."

"You know what the last menace is" He sneered sarcastically. "Another spandex-clad nutcase wants ruling the world for some obscure whim, another idiot group of idiot bigots wants to exterminate mutants or humans... Megalomaniac, racists, revenge-thirsty loons... Everywhere hurting, enslaving, slaughtering people not matter what efforts we do. And it NEVER stops. It only... gets worse. I... I'm so sick from it..."

His voice darkened and waned as he spoke, until going wholly quiet. His wife took a napkin, wiped clean his mouth's rim and laid the crumpled cloth piece back on the mantle. She clasped together her hands and waited.

"Maybe you're right." He mumbled sullenly. "Perhaps we don't want to know. Perhaps we're dodging our friends to hide us from the troubles. Or perhaps... I'm not feeling how talking to someone else right now."

Scott put aside his plate, no longer feeling appetite, and gripped her soft hands. His redhead wife acknowledged that grim expression and listened attentively. "You know the orphanage and the streets taught me harsh lessons: Don't trust anybody. Don't care for anybody. All you love will leave you behind. That's what I learnt, and although the Professor and the guys told me otherwise I'm not sure yet of being wrong. My mother died and my father spends his time traveling across the universe. My brother has tried killing me, and my children can't be bothered in looking or talking to me, unless I'm apparently deceased. And my few friends always need I fit into a role. Truthfully, the only person I've ever needed... is you."

Hotness reddened Jean's cheeks. His hands slid up her arms, clasping her shoulders softly. Her breath turned rougher. "Scott... I... But you had stopped being so introvert and loner long ago."

Scott blinked behind his shades. She was right. He was raised to be quiet and moody, but he wasn't so shy since his adolescence.

He recalled an incident had happened many months ago, when Cassandra Nova had been defeated and the Professor reopened the school. The whole teacher staff was supposed to have a group photo taken, but he refused flatly. Later he'd wondered because he had felt so scared and reluctant. It was a simple snapshot. Crowds didn't frighten him since he was seventeen. Why hadn't he wanted to participate?

Maybe because someone was trying insolating him from everybody, Scott pondered ruefully. He considered smacking himself. There and then he should have understood something was seriously wrong in his head, and it wasn't only Apocalypse.

Heavy gloominess settled around him. And then two warm hands rested gently on his cheeks, hauling him out of the abyss of his misery. His face rose up to meet emerald eyes, glittering with moistness.

"Scott, stop it." Jean commanded, her voice oozing deep emotion. "You couldn't have known. SHE made sure the thought, the doubt, the suspicion, never crossed your mind. Literally. You aren't responsible for it. Hell, not even that hoe is responsible if that bastard was manipulating her..."

"But-"

"Scott, I don't blame you." She uttered. "Don't blame yourself."

"I can't help it!" He shouted. "I brood endlessly over everything, dwelling on what I could or should have done, and I can't think it isn't my guilt or my responsibility or my sin so I must forget it! We can't forget it and pretend it never happened, because it happened! I can't permit something like that happens again! I... I only want proving you can trust me how you tried always proving me I could trust you. I... I just want finding one way."

Feeling miserable, he kissed her. Something sparked between both and the tender kiss evolved in anxious lips' merge. Reluctantly they parted theirs mouths, glistening with moistness, and Scott could see the fierce emotion shone in his wife's eyes.

Jean exhaled a steamy gust of breath, sensing his emotions rekindling old embers in her. "Take me." She whispered huskily. "Please, take me now. I need to feel your love."

Scott nodded, overflowed by a hunger had nothing to do with food, and laid her back over the cloth. Yanking her shirt off, he kissed her as his hands fumbled with the bra's clasp.

He vowed not letting that something came between them ever again.

She vowed not letting him alone ever again.

> > > >

The air was humid and biting, licking her skin with waves of unpleasant coldness, but she didn't notice it. Inwardly she burnt. With a blissfully searing hotness.

Worn off the desire and the need had driven them like a drug, a drowsy languor numbed their minds and muscles. Jean was lying facedown, supporting her head on her folded arms, and Scott was sprawled over her, massaging her sore shoulder plates. She moaned softly.

God, it had been really a while, she reflected.

Scott cuddled her lovingly while his wanderer eyes marveled with the blue of the sky, the green of the leaves, the maroon of the trees, the brown and grey of the ground and the rocks, the pale rose of her skin. God, he couldn't believe it yet. She had slid into his mind and her telepathy had turned off his optic beams. His power was locked. For first time in years he could simply open his eyes without fear.

Nobody could understand that relief.

Nobody could understand thatelation.

Nobody could understand thejoy of recovering something everybody takes for granted.

As his skillful fingers worked his magic on her muscles, his mouth kissed her neck's nape, following the curve of her cervix. Next to her earlobe he whispered "I'd forgotten how wonderfully good you are. Thanks for showing me my folly."

"Don't talk about it now. My mood is too good. Your backrubs are as amazing as ever." Phoenix drawled, picking tiny specks from dirt of the wrinkled linen. "So who is better in the bed? Emma or me?"

"Jean!"

"What? It's a fair question."

Scott bit his lower lip in chagrin. He just knew she was smirking. "You. Glad now?"

"Not at all. I should have bet money." Jean clicked her fingers in annoy. Scott rolled up his eyes and went on kneading her muscles as she traced lazy circles on the mantle. "But you've just given me a pretty gift. This is the first time you've been completely open with me. You lowered fully your shields and allowed me peek into. You let me see everything you never wanted sharing, too afraid of rejection. Thanks."

"And you didn't it? You've given back my eyes, my sight. I can't even start to describe you how much I love you." He pressed his lips on her collarbone. "I... thought I had to trust you -completely- so you could trust me. I've always been too frightened and insecure to open myself to anyone, including you. I didn't want recalling Sinister's orphanage or talking about my life in the streets, and I was afraid of you wouldn't understand. But if my fear can be used like a crowbar to pry us apart... I don't want it. I don't want keeping frightened."

"Neither I do it." Jean muttered quietly. She shut her eyes and hummed pleasantly as he squeezed the knots in her tight muscles and undid them. Then she felt his hands roaming downwards, circling her sides and rubbing tenderly her smooth, flat belly. Sensing his blossoming arousal, she chuckled. "Do you want doing it AGAIN? So soon?"

"It isn't my fault you are so sexy and gorgeous. But your months of unwilling celibate ARE my fault, and I have to atone for it. Right?" His forefinger poked her navel, tickling it ruthlessly, and she giggled. "But not, not so soon. Funny how-"

"Funny how romance novels use to forget some facts of human physiology. Like muscular soreness or physical exhaustion." Jean yawned languidly and blew a red strand away her lips with a tiny gust of breath. "A lovemaking scene in a forest would be depicted like an idyllic and perfect moment. No writer mentions it can be uncomfortable and filthy and your back feels every pebble on the floor."

"But it was worth."

"Definitely."

"I wouldn't mind remaining here several days, away concerns, away grudges, away fights. Just eating, sleeping, talking and making love."

Her right hand brushed her short red strands idly as she pondered over it. The prospect brightened up her face with a wickedly wanton grin. "Why not? We have food, we aren't being expected in the mansion, and other people can perform our functions anyway. But Scott... You know we have to talk about it sooner or later. About... our lives. About the future."

"Yes. I know." He muttered flatly. Bearing a scowling expression, he sat on the mantle, crossing his legs in lotus position. His mood had darkened quickly.

Jean sat awkwardly onto his lap and leaned backwards, feeling his muscled arms embracing her waist. A soft rustling sound, like pieces of fabric rubbing together, came from the tent, and a folded blanket floated out of it. It levitated towards them, unfolded itself and wrapped tightly around theirs bare bodies.

Jean tucked up both with the beige cover as her husband stroked her and caressed like a potter molding clay. She arched her head backwards and groaned, just incapable of moving, as he touched her body in ways just could know someone who had been doing it for nearly three decades -counting their honeymoon-.

"So... What do we do now? Because our options are staying or fleeing, not matter what happens." She muttered, closing her eyes and dozing in contentment.

Scott paused for a thoughtful second. "I don't know. All of this happened because many things in my life had been going wrong for years. Seeds planted into me, like my inability to trust people, awaiting a rain to germinate. Apocalypse stripped me from my self-deluding lies and showed me the ugly reality. Unluckily I drew the wrong conclusions. And I mistook many of his thoughts for mine own, too."

He shook his head in despaired irony. "He showed me I'd been for so long trying being the hero and role-model the Professor needed, that I didn't know any more whether it was an act or not; whether Cyclops was my mask or my face. I've been fighting so many years I don't know make something else. And I'm worn off. I'm tired of bearing this burden, of feeling guilty for being tired, and of feeling angry for feeling guilty. I can't go on like this, committing the same mistakes that led me to this mess over and over. For that I tried overcoming my fears with you. And I'd like... I'd like leaving the X-Men but I'm frightened of being incapable. I'm nearly thirty and I've spent the half of my life playing superhero. I'm so entangled in it I don't know how abandoning it, how being a normal person. Battling wars is my only skill, and I'm not even good in it."

"Scott, you can't mean that." Jean swiveled her head at him. Her eyes irradiated deep alarm. "Don't you remember you worked in a radio station? And flying planes through Canada when you worked in your grandparents' company? You have a journalist degree and you're an experienced pilot. I have my degree on Psychology, I've been model and I can be a good teacher. We can leave and live in the real world if we want; simply, we don't dare."

He cradled her in silence, his chin resting on her shoulder. "True. You know I feel still a responsibility towards the Professor. In my experience, rich men didn't... fetch runaway orphans from the streets without ulterior motives. But he gave me food, home, scholarship and he tried being a father for me when nobody else wanted, and he acted out of generosity. Right, probably he hoped I'd be his first Xavier's Man, but still... So I can't help feeling I'm betraying him, wanting giving up and starting my own life."

"Scott... Do you truly think he'd feel betrayed because the famished kid he saved from the streets has healed and grown up? Do you believe he wishes you remain until our home becomes a jail and your job a noose tightening around your throat and strangling you slowly until every breath becomes an unbearable torture? Do you think so badly of him?"

Silence.

"I mean... I'm angry and resentful with him right now, but..."

Scott growled lightly. "I'm recalling that time I told him I wouldn't leave your side in the hospital to fly to Ireland and save the new X-Men as you weren't out of danger. Besides he and I knew I'd never be on time anyway! He went mad and even tried slapping me, calling me... which was the word... ungrateful cur."

"He was distraught and distressed those days, Scott. And let's think of it, maybe he was jealous of you were choosing me over him. I don't think he had told such things otherwise." She steepled her hands underneath the covers and paused, peering glumly at the sunrays dancing over the green leaves. "I know you've felt cheated for him many times. When he let you believe he was dead -and I know perfectly well you were crossed with me for knowing it and not telling you, but never you said anything and forgave me knowing I had no choice-, when he put Magneto in charge of the school, when he spawned Onslaught... I've often felt deeply hurt, like you, but I love him still like a father, like you. And a father can't regret his children have grown up or resent they become emancipated. Don't you think? Besides, he's retired himself. Thus how can he begrudge we take the same decision?"

Silently he tucked a red strand around her ear. His tongue licked playfully the curvy earlobe. "Do you remember what you told me when you proposed, Jean?"

"This is our life, Scott. We belong here." She replied seriously. "I didn't want committing the same dumb mistake that mare- forgive me, your first wife did, forcing you to choose between two obligations and making you feel guilty for neglecting both."

"Yes, but..." He muttered wearily, his breath ruffling her flaming strands. "You also were wrong then. You shouldn't allow me indulge in self-destructive behavior. The X-Men can be part of our life but they CAN'T be our life, because if the team fails, we fall apart."

Jean mulled over his words mutely. Far away, a jay chirped among the foliage. Near from them a green-scaled lizard slithered among red toadstools. And the thicket rustled with the swift sprint of a fox.

"Perhaps that is the answer. We can stay for some days, observing how the group is coping with the last changes, and helping if they need. And then, if we aren't comfortable with it, if we aren't happy, if we feel we belong here no longer... Then we leave. Without putting off it due to the next crisis, without acting like if they were poor souls incapable to survive without us. We leave. Without ands, ifs or buts."

Her husband didn't reply right away. "I'm still fearing we make the same mistake again at the end; stay because we don't know another life, instead of the right reasons. And the team, the school will worsen our troubles... again. We could barely see at each other because the classes and the missions. We couldn't even talk about our troubles because we were too busy-"

"That is bullshit and you know it", answered his wife with steely fierceness. She turned her head to glare to him. "We were using the classes to avoid at each other, not the other way around. We had found time if we had wanted. But we didn't want. We were too busy dashing towards a cliff and leaping headfirst in the abyss."

Scott lowered his head.

"If it gets worse -and you KNOW it always gets worse-, we go out of here. I hate giving up, but... I'm sick of being the main support of the entire team... and I imagine it can't be easy to you either."

"As long as I'm your support, only, I have no complains. I'm your wife, console you when you're grieving, cheer you when you're brooding and shout you when you're being stupid is my job. But I can't aid everybody, or resolve everybody's problems. I have a family takes priority over everything else."

She ensconced sideways on his lap. Her hand caressed his cheek as her green pupils bored in his eyes. Intense, mesmerizing eyes of deep blue color. She gawked, breathlessly enthralled in the emotions glowed and sparkled in them, emotions concealed from her because those damned red-quartz shades.

"Don't worry. If we stay, it'll be under our conditions. We shan't sacrifice our happiness anymore. We have to think of ourselves and our baby."

He blinked. "Our... baby..."

She nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, our baby."

Scott gulped hard. "B-b-b-but when..."

"If you don't get me pregnant in our vacation, I'm asking Hank about in vitro fertilization. I want CHILDREN before being thirty, damn it."

"B-but I'd be a terrible father-"

His wife shot him a smoldering glare. Scott believed melting. Then she spoke, her voice dry like dead leaves. "Oh, right. I forgot you assume your fatherhood skills are awful, basing on the terrible lives your children have led. The fact of they were happy until the fourteen years and you had NO control about what happened afterwards don't deter you. Neither the fact of you didn't raise Rachel. Oh, no, obviously that means you have been a pathetic, lousy father in every timeline. It's funny how you can simultaneously consider you aren't responsible of your daughter's happiness but you are guilty of her misery. I envy your selective reasoning... Darling!"

Scott winced, watching in her pupils her temper rising, shimmering and flaring. "It's only that... They deserved a better life. That was their right, and my duty was providing it. And I failed."

Her finger traced a path from his right temple to his chin. And he knew she was no longer angry but caring. And mournful. "Scott, listen to me: a man who has repeatedly risked life and limb -and soul!- for his children, can't truthfully tell he hasn't sacrificed everything for them. It's true they've led hard lives, but you can't blame yourself for it, unless you have mastery about the multiverse and the timestream. Actually, if they have survived through horrific experiences... Who do you believe is responsible? Who do you believe taught them to never give up, to fight tooth and nail, to cling to life, to maintain love and hope in ages where people only remembered hate and war? Who do you believe instilled into them that strength, that spirit, that courage, Scott? You gave them more you will never know!"

He lowered his head. "I wish it had been more."

"Everything you were capable, darling, even when it was another you." She stated seriously, draping her arms around his upper waist. "You're a fine man and a good father. And if you can't do it alone, I'll help you... every step of the road, whether winding or straight. We're a team, aren't we?"

"Yes." He whispered, his lips brushing her hair, his hand clasping tightly hers and pressing it on his cheek. "I'd all but forgotten that."

"Bad movement. Together, we can stand anything. Apart... where would have we ended?"

"Oh, that is easy." A vicious, humorless smile brightened up his features. "I'd be an emotionless robot and you had cracked the planet in burst of rage."

"Yes. Together we can become... more human."

Her husband nodded. Both remained motionless, cuddling and stroking quietly at each other, enfolded by the blanket and warmed for the sunlight pierced the verdant foliage.

"I can't believe yet it is finally over."

"Tales aren't over until the charming prince kisses the princess and they faded to black to live happily after."

He placed his hand on her cheek and drew her face to his lips.

With that simple, sweet kiss, the Phoenix ended its final song.

> > > >

- I don't remember the issue where happened the photo's incident (New X-Men 12-ish, I think). A friend commented fans raved about Morrison depicting amazing characterization in one single scene when, in fact, he set Scott's personality back to early sixties. I quite agree with that interpretation, and besides it served me to prove further the brainwashing. It's amazing how my theory fits in with the original issues, isn't it?

- I've paid tribute to the famous 'Jean stops Scott's beams', scene, giving it my own twist. Given that we've seen telepaths freezing theirs enemies or blocking their powers, she uses her telepathy here. I don't see why Jean can't do that (I figure Marvel doesn't want, since Scott could actually being happier and we can't have that, can we?). Besides, Phoenix Endsong 2 pissed me off. Emma CAN'T stop his beams. She isn't powerful enough. Only Jean is capable. She did it in UXM 132 and 296 (so nobody can use Phoenix Force to contradict me).

- My guess is Scott and Jean met when they were over fifteen. Jean was twenty-four in Dark Phoenix Saga. Giving them several years more and adding the twelve years they spent in the future raising Nathan, I think nearly three decades is a fair estimate. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

- Wow! I can't believe yet it's over! Since my friends in Jott Forum encouraged me to write my own version of PE, and I put off the stories I was already making, many months have passed. Months of writing, rewriting, plotting, correcting... It's been hard, but it's been worth. Really I think this is my best fic so far. And the wonderful reviews I've got made up for the effort.

- Thanks to you: Pinkchick, Angelechicka, Slickboy444, Alrischa, Ultimate X-Men Fan, Summers Groupie, Sailor Phoenix, Phoenix11, Foenixfyre, Illmantrim, Lil Jean, Queen Peacock, Griever, Phoenix83ad, Goblyn-Queen, Wen1, Tashafic, Roquetshipper, Lili, Granny Angel, Lavender Gaia, Ingrid, Strayphoenix, Eternitygoddess, Corpus and Amazing Redd Phoenix. I hadn't been able to pull it out without you. And thanks to the remainder Jott Forum's members and all who read my work but didn't review.

- There will be a sequel? I'm not sure. A sequel must be as good as the original story, at least, and right now I haven't good enough ideas. Besides, I've fulfilled all objectives I'd proposed: write the last Phoenix story -since this was a Phoenix Endsong version, and Marvel announced PE would be the last one-; bring Jean back; bring old Scott and his moral credibility back; and get them together again. In a nutshell I did all Marvel could have done... and didn't.

- However, it's possible I can think about new stories to develop further this universe. Maybe I can be blackmailed in writing more (especially if I have enough reviews). I have projects and ideas for future fanfics, comicverse and Evoverse, but right now I need resting. Anyway, if someone else wants writing something based on my work, I'll feel much honored -. Only warn me, please.

-This is your last chance! Don't left without reviewing! Please! I'd love hearing your comments and opinions!