A/N: I wanted this to be a short little thing; Xavier loses Jean, Xavier gets Jean back. But it's taken on a life of its own. I've taken some license with the Phoenix/Dark Phoenix events, partly because I can't remember exactly what happens, and partly because it's my story, and I want it to go the way I want it to go. No aliens that only differ from humans in their sense of fashion, no outer space, no flying into the sun. So I guess you could say that I'm only keeping the fact of the Phoenix and ditching all the rest to suit my own storyline :)

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Xavier barely looked up when Scott came barreling into his study without knocking. With the loss of Jean, Scott had assumed more responsibilities as a teacher, and his patience, although great, was not infinite. It was probably just another student prank for which Scott had come to him to dole out punishment. Scott was not a pushover; on the contrary. His temper had fed on his grief, and when a student was insubordinate enough to truly provoke him, he never trusted himself anymore not to show more anger than was necessary. Xavier had tried to tell him that his recognition of the danger was proof enough that he could handle things, but Scott never believed him. His reason to trust blindly that things would be alright had been obliterated by Jean's death.

"Scott. What is it?" The words were routine now. But Scott's answer wasn't.

"Professor, it's trouble. Big trouble. As in 'we might even need Magneto's help' trouble. Logan was injured; if it had been anyone else...well, let's just say it took him over 5 minutes to stop bleeding."

"I see."

Scott fought down the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't like to think what it would take for Xavier to actually panic. "I don't know what attacked us; it was like a big ball of flame that shot down from the sky. Logan was about five feet from the center of the blast. Storm got a few minor burns. Anyway, the point is, we have to do something before this thing incinerates the eastern seaboard. For starters."

"Yes, of course. The first thing we need to do is find out what it is that's causing this...phenomenon. If there is an intelligence behind the attacks, we might be able to communicate with it, find out what it wants. We'll have to take the jet."

"We?" Scott was instantly suspicious. Xavier hated flying in the jet; he avoided it unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Yes, we," Xavier said, smiling. "It isn't my favorite method of transportation, but in this case, it's the only way to avoid—incineration, as you put it. And if there is no way to know what is fueling the flames, I might still be able to communicate telepathically. I should accompany you."

Scott grinned. "Ok. You can be my co-pilot. If you remember how to fly."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Young man, I flew in the air force before you were even thought of, let alone born. Show me to the cockpit and stand back." As Xavier had intended, Scott laughed. He mentally made another chalk mark on the tally. Scott's smiles were often forced now, and his laughs were extremely rare. These days Xavier found himself fathering Scott the way he used to, and the way he had Jean, when they were both teenagers, and he felt guilty; it felt like a betrayal, as if he were allowing Scott to take her place. But he knew that it was what Scott needed, at least for now.

They spent the time that it took to board the jet talking about the students; even when there was no evil looming, days at Xavier's School for the Gifted were hardly boring. "Rogue's incredible," Scott admitted as they took off. "She's grieving, hard. But Storm and I have both noticed how well she's doing in class. She's one of the best students of her age group, and she and Bobby haven't just stuck together; they've created quite a circle of friends around them. On top of that, she's doing everything she can for Logan, too. I've tried, but...well..."

Xavier gently finished the sentence. "The grieving, he could share. You loved her in the same way. Except she loved you, not him. And that part hurts more, not less. He resents you for that, and you resent him. For missing her the way you do."

Scott swallowed hard, keeping his eyes on the jet's flight path. "I feel...this claim on her, like she was mine. It's ridiculous...I never felt this way before...but now, without her, I feel like he isn't allowed to feel what I'm feeling—because she belonged to me."

"That isn't ridiculous, Scott. As a living, breathing person, Jean had a free will and a choice. That choice was you, and as long as that was certain, you didn't need to feel possessive. But your memories are yours, and no other's, just as his memories are only his. And because of the way you both feel, there is some overlap, whether real or imagined. In a way, you feel that you've lost part of Jean to Logan, and you're only trying to get it back."

Scott sniffed loudly; he hadn't cried since the week after Jean's death, and he didn't plan to change that anytime soon. "You don't have to do this, you know."

Xavier chose to play dumb. "I explained to you, Scott; I might be the only one who can speak with—"

"Professor!" Scott cut him off, annoyed. "You know what I mean," he said contritely. "I know you miss her too. And you don't have to pretend you don't for my sake. I appreciate it, I really do, but it's not fair to you."

"And I appreciate you saying that," Xavier answered quietly. "But we all have different ways of healing. This is mine."

"Well, I won't argue. Thank you."

"You're welcome." They flew in silence for a long while. Xavier smiled grimly to himself; there was no need to track this thing. Its 'footprints' were extremely hard to miss.

They finally found it descending on the Bronx. Scott gasped. "Professor, all those people!"

"I know; we need to be quick. I'll try to speak to it; you try some more standard methods of communication. One of us needs to reach it, now." He opened his mind immediately, and mentally stumbled; it was almost too strong for him. There was a wall of hate blocking his path, and he pushed against it. To his surprise, it gave, and he began wading through the jungle of the creature's thoughts. For a creature it was, decidedly. There was no higher order from above; the fireball was their adversary. He forced himself to keep going; there were so many shapes, reaching out tendrils to try to take root in his own mind. There was a great ocean of despair that he felt almost crashing over the top of his control, but he just barely held his ground. He realized almost immediately that a lot of the hostility was a show for his benefit; the creature was curious about him and only wanted to assert its superiority just in case. When he felt he could speak without lessening his hold on the creature's thoughts, he did so. 'You're hurting them,' he told the creature. 'Please don't do this.'

Its answer sounded slightly regretful. 'I need them,' the fireball said. 'I need power. They nourish me.'

'Where did you come from?' Xavier asked it. 'Isn't there anything that can nourish you there?'

The creature sounded annoyed. 'There is nothing where I came from. Only emptiness. All I can find is nourishment. Here.'

Xavier thought for a moment. 'If you keep on consuming us, killing us, eventually there will be only emptiness here, too. Neither of us wants that.' As he spoke, he became increasingly aware that the creature's mind was eerily familiar, as if he'd been here before. 'Do I know you?' he asked uncertainly.

The creature pulsed with a wave of gleeful pride. 'You know us,' it crowed. 'We can reveal ourselves. This is a great day for us. We are tired of hiding.' It swept away the last walls between them, and Xavier was lost in shock and wonder at the sight.

'My God,' he whispered. 'Jean...'

'She is not here,' the creature said shortly, now using Jean's voice, and Xavier trembled, trying desperately to keep his focus. 'She helps me. She can nourish me without being destroyed. We are strong together, but she is fighting now, not giving so much help. I need other nourishment.'

Xavier had an idea. 'Will you let me speak to her? Maybe I can change her mind.'

The creature seemed wary. Finally it agreed, and Jean's image rose up in his mind. It was her face, her voice, and most importantly, it was her. 'Jean...' he said softly, cautiously, still half-afraid that it was the creature in contact with him.

'Professor?' Her voice sounded weak, and he felt a new terror sweep through him at the thought that he had gotten her back only to lose her again when her strength gave out. She smiled tiredly, hearing his thoughts. 'I'm alright; it can't kill me, not here, and it wouldn't anyway. I'm the engine room in this steamboat.'

'So I've heard,' he answered wryly. 'Jean, can it hear us?'

'No, it gave us room to talk privately. It will only hear my signal when we're finished.'

'Jean, I have an idea. If you can cooperate with it fully, fuel it enough to keep it from burning half of New York to the ground, that might buy us some time to find an alternate source of nourishment, and—get you out of there.' It only hit him then; Jean was alive. He was talking to her. And there was a good chance he could bring her back—in a way, erase all the agonizing months of grief sitting like a plague on the mansion and its occupants.

'I'll do that,' she said softly. 'Charles. I'm so sorry. I hope you can understand what I had to do...'

'It's alright,' he said, even though it really wasn't. But it might be, at least somewhat, if they got her back. 'Just hang on; we'll be back with a plan.' He forced himself to speak with the creature again when it suddenly reappeared; it would be extremely suspicious and angry if he left without another word. 'She will help you now. You don't need to hurt those people to feed yourself.'

The creature was pleasantly surprised, and its tone was jovial. 'Good. This is a better way. Many thanks.'

'And the same to you, for letting me see her,' he answered politely, and he let the creature see only a small part of his relief, as if Jean were a casual acquaintance he never expected to see again. He didn't want it to think he was leaving too quickly for comfort. He severed the link and turned to face Scott, seeing in his companion's expression that all the strain of his encounter was showing on his face. Scott was white as a sheet.

"Professor, what in the hell just happened? What took so long?"

Xavier only stared at him for a moment. He placed a shaky hand over Scott's where it lay on the controls and murmured: "She's in there, Scott. She isn't gone; she's in there."