Author's note: This chapter is a little intense. At least in my opinion. You've been warned.

Scott's eyes came open as he became aware of a tickling sensation on his nose. Sniffing, he brought his right hand to his face to find that it was hair on his lips and neck and chest. Rising up slightly, he saw that the soft, flowing waves were bright red in color.

"Jean?" he said, his voice weak and unsure.

As if a drape was moved backwards, uncovering his surroundings, he saw that he was in his room, their room, the suite they had shared in Professor Xavier's mansion. Jean was lying next to him, her head on his chest and her arm draped over him.

Scott's breath caught in his throat. He tried his best to freeze, afraid that he would shatter the moment, but he seemed to shake all the more. With a soft groan, Jean started to move, rubbing her face into Scott's chest. Her arm squeezed him tight, and then she looked up at him. Her emerald eyes shimmered in the darkness and her fair skin seemed to emanate a peaceful glow. She saw him looking back at her, and her face spread into a bright smile. Scott had never seen a more beautiful smile than Jean's. Whenever he saw it, it always quieted his worries, chased away the cold, and made him warm inside.

What is this? Scott asked himself. It must be a dream, but everything is so real. So clear.

Jean pulled herself up the bed and rested her head on the pillow next to Scott's. "What's the matter?" she said. "Couldn't sleep?"

I must be going crazy, Scott thought. Still, it was so real, and he hadn't seen Jean in so long. Especially like this: loving, sweet, and happy. This was the Jean before Apocalypse corrupted his mind and before his wife became more Phoenix than Jean Grey-Summers. This was Jean during the happy times, when there wasn't anything in the world that could separate them. They'd traveled through time, survived a lifetime together in the future, raised Scott's son, been thrown into the past where they witnessed the birth of Mr. Sinister. During that time, Scott had begun to think that even death would never again break them apart.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Summers?" she whispered. "Don't make me find out for myself." Her leg shifted between the sheets and she laid it on top of Scott's legs. She lifted her head as she always used to when she wanted Scott to hold her close. He hesitated momentarily, still wary of the reality of this miracle. Then he decided that holding Jean was an opportunity he couldn't afford to pass up, dream or reality.

Obediently, he raised his arm and tucked it under her head, wrapped it around her shoulder, and pulled her close.

"I was just thinking about you," he said with a slight smile. "And all the things we've been through together." He looked at her, and could feel, FEEL, the love between them, as if their psychic rapport had never been lost. "And what the future might hold," he said.

A mischievous glint came into Jean's eyes. "Why, Scott, I never knew you were clairvoyant," she said playfully. "And what does the future hold?"

Scott's eyes seemed to fog over, and he started to speak. "Pain. Heartache. Suffering." he said. He tried to stop himself, but the words came of their own volition.

"We'll be separated. I try to save Nathan and become one with evil. I come back, but things aren't the same. You change, too, and before long we can't talk to each other. An old enemy reappears, and tears the X-Men apart from the inside." He turned to look at Jean, who is horrified at what she hears. Tears stream down her face as she tries to push away from Scott.

Though he wants to let go, Scott found that he could not. He held her tightly to him. "You will die," he said. The last word echoed and grew louder and louder. The sound merged with a shrieking, and Scott soon realized it was Jean, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Scott let her go, finally in control of himself, and he covered his ears, trying to shelter them from the deafening sound. Jean started clawing at her face with her fingernails, until the flesh rolled off in layers and blood flowed freely.

"Jean, NO!" Scott cried, but he couldn't even hear his own voice over the shrieking. Finally, Jean clutched her head with both hands, and the scream reached an unbearable pitch. Flames and telekinetic force blew the room around them into shreds. Scott was thrown onto the floor, and the bed disappeared.

Rolling over, Scott peered into the sky above him, horrified to see a skeleton floating in the familiar fiery bird of the Phoenix force.

"And what did you do when I died?" Jean's voice bellowed at him. "Who had you chosen over me?"

"Jean, I'm sorry!" Scott yelled. "Nothing was the same! We didn't talk anymore!"

"Did you try?" Jean's voice became darker, laced with a sinister intent. It was the voice of Dark Phoenix.

"Look, I know I was wrong to go to Emma…"

"Don't say that name to me!"

"After you died, I couldn't think about it. I had to move on or I would have been lost forever. I felt terrible for what I'd done, but dwelling on it would have killed me. I couldn't do that to your memory, not after what you'd done to save us so many times. The X-Men depended on me!"

The skeleton within the flames curled into fetal position, shrieking as it had before. Scott covered his face, trying to shield himself from the increasing intensity of the flames. Among the cacophony, just barely audible, he thought he heard Emma's voice.

Carefully, he turned and there, past the Phoenix, far into the swirling colors and space, the image of Emma Frost, bathed in white light, floated towards Scott. The image got closer and closer, but the flames from the Phoenix grew hotter and hotter. Emma was repeating something, and it got louder and louder. Finally, he could make out what she was saying.

"Where are you, Scott?"

"I'm here!" he cried.

"Where are you?" she repeated. The question came over and over. Scott watched as his skin started to blister.

"Jean, stop it!" he cried. "I'm sorry!"

Finally, Emma was right on top of him. "WHERE ARE YOU, SCOTT?" her voice boomed.

With a start, Scott sat up in bed, bathed in sweat, and smacked his head into the exercise bar that had been installed on his hospital bed. Grabbing his forehead, Scott swore soundly and realized the monitors around him were beeping in alarm. His heart rate was astronomical. Nurses rushed into the room, and Scott tried to shoo them away.

"It was a nightmare," he said. As his breathing quieted and he forced himself to relax, his pulse and blood pressure returned to normal. In time, the nurses were satisfied, though they made sure that Scott knew the doctor would be informed of the incident.

Scott was happy to be rid of them. His head was still swimming from the intensity of the dream. He rubbed the knot that was forming on his damp forehead and tried to figure out what to make of the imagery he'd seen. The vision of Jean wasn't unlike nightmares he'd had before. Dealing with her death and the guilt of his actions was a regular trial for him, especially during the night, but the added image of Emma was new, and her message was definitely intriguing. She seemed to be searching for him…

Scott couldn't help but wonder if her appearance wasn't his mind's way of telling him she was looking for him telepathically, calling out to him through Cerebra or perhaps through her own power. Yes, he thought, that makes sense. Cerebra must be down. They must be searching for me systematically. With Emma's reduced range, I probably just caught the fringes of her calls, and they were interpreted as images in my dream.

With renewed confidence, Scott stared at the ceiling. Now more than ever he was sure his teammates were looking for him, and tomorrow was the big day. Tomorrow, he would be released. Tomorrow, he thought, I go home.