Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this fic; they are property of Marvel comics. If I owned them I wouldn't be the poor college student working for minimum wage that I am.

Darkness. That was the first thing Jean Grey noticed, a looming darkness and eyes that pierced it. She felt, more than saw, the evil that seeped out towards her, grasping at her ankles. The darkness followed suit, expanding and flowing out from the dark blob that once had seemed so far away but was quickly gaining ground. She couldn't move; fear rooted her to the spot. It crawled up from her ankles and wound itself around her arms inching towards her face. Still Jean was unable to move. Soon she would be completely consumed by it.

And then heat. Burning from her very core broke through her skin. Fire. It consumed her as it forced back her dark assailant. She was no longer Jean Grey; she was something more and at the same time she was something less. Her physical body no longer existed: she was the flame.

Scott Summers awoke to the sound of crashing furniture coming from down the hall. Something didn't feel right. Throwing off the covers he got out of bed and hurried down the hall. The crashing was coming from Jean's room, he was sure. He stopped outside her door, for a moment unsure if he should enter, and then all was quiet.

Inside, Jean's eyes snapped open and she fell down to her bed. Blearily her eyes looked about her. Darkness, but a small night light in the corner was a beacon of hope. It had been a dream. The destruction around her, however, was not. Knick-knacks from shelves had been violently thrown across the room, smashing on the floor. Jean looked over the side of her bed and saw the remains of a porcelain angel, an heirloom passed down to her from her grandmother.

She didn't notice the sound of the door opening or the feet padding across the carpet as she reached down to pick up the white and gold shards, the music box mechanism forgotten on the floor. She watched in fascination as a sharp edge cut her index finger, allowing scarlet blood to well up, drip down her finger and pool amidst the pieces in her palm. Faint whispers called to her, daring her mind to follow.

A slight pressure on the edge of her bed brought her attention to the here and now just as a familiar hand reached out for hers. "Jean...are you okay?"

She forced herself to look at him, watching her image reflected in his red shades. Unbidden tears came to her eyes as she shook her head. "Alright," his tone was gentle, caring. That's what she loved about him, his understanding nature. A sea of voices threatened to overwhelm her, thoughts and dreams not her own but those of teammates, enemies and strangers. Unbidden they flooded into her consciousness.

She let the porcelain fragments fall from her hand and wrapped her arms around him, clutching him close to her. "Bring me home, Scott," she whispered with a hitch in her voice, "I don't know where I am..." He could feel the cool drip of tears dampening his shirt and watched as the broken shards around the room began to float and dance in complicated patterns, thankfully above their heads.

Scott, despite his desire to hold his girlfriend close, pulled her just far enough away to look into her eyes. He cupped her head in his hands. "Listen to me, Jean. I love you. Now you need to concentrate. We've gotten through this before. We can do it again. Focus on me. Focus on my voice. Think of all we've been through. We're not going to let a little thing like this get in the way, are we?"

He watched painfully as she shook her head, tears streaming down her face, the pain and confusion distorting her beautiful features. "I...I don't know if I can, Scott. You're too far away. I'm lost. There's too many..."

He felt his own tears run down his cheeks. "There's not too many, now concentrate."

Jean could feel his determination seep through their bond. As voices pummeled her from all sides she latched on to the thin cord that connected them and slowly began to pull herself back. Every voice threatened to snatch her away. They enticed her to fly with them, away from the burdens of the flesh. Here, in the mind was where everything worthwhile was kept. A body was a distraction, a cage to hold her mind prisoner.

No, she argued. It's not. Everything I love is there.

Everything you love? A small voice within her asked.

Her grip on the bond slackened. "No! Jean, I know you can hear me. Don't leave me now." Scott's voice was a beacon and she pushed the little voice aside, focusing on her physical body. She could feel its tug as she sorted out her thoughts from the millions of others. Jean slipped back into her own house of thoughts like she slipped on a pair of old tennis shoes. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she collapsed into Scott's arms and the glass and porcelain shards crashed to the floor.

"Good to have you back"

"I almost didn't make it this time." The tears once again began to flow from her eyes.

"Don't cry, Jean. I'm here. I'll always be here."

He lifted her off the bed and maneuvering around the broken glass on the floor, carried her down the hall to the bathroom. Gently, he helped her take a seat on the toilet as he rummaged in the cupboard to get peroxide and bandages. "How long," he asked.

"What?"

"How long have your powers been taking you for a joyride?"

Jean nervously looked down at her hands, noticing the blood that streaked across her skin. "They're not taking me for a joyride," she whispered, "I've been handling it."

"Handling it?" Scott dabbed a cotton ball on her cut, blowing on it as the peroxide bubbled up. He then peeled a Band-Aid out of its wrapper and wrapped it around her finger. "You may think no one notices, Jean, but I do. I'm very much aware that every time you have a bad dream the furniture in your room shakes. You replaced the picture frame for our Prom photo three times in the last month. I know you aren't that clumsy."

"This is the first time it got away from me," she confided. "All those other times were nothing like this. This time I was scared. If you hadn't shown up I probably wouldn't have come back."

"Have you told the Professor?"

She shook her head. " I know," she cut him off. " I should have but," her voice faded off for a moment before regaining its strength, " I'm not sure that he can help me. I felt this way when I was 10, and he helped me. Sealed my powers away. I don't think he can do it again. No. That's not right. The truth is I don't want him to. It's like...opening up a window and letting in fresh air."

"Is it worth it?" Scott forced himself to keep a clear view of what was going on. "The destruction? The pain? I don't want to lose you."

"If I don't master this myself, Scott, you'll lose me anyways. The Professor won't always be here to pick up the pieces. Some day I'd have to deal with this myself. Trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Alright." He gave her a quick embrace, "I trust you." He helped Jean to her feet and realizing she was physically exhausted from her mental battle lead her to his room instead of her own. "It'll only be a moment," he assured her, "I'm going to go clean up all that glass." She nodded.

When Scott returned 10 minutes later Jean was asleep on his bed. He pulled the covers up around her, kissed her forehead and grabbed an extra blanket before settling down in his desk chair to sleep. He neither wanted to wake her nor leave her by herself so he mentally prepared himself for the cricked back he would have the next morning and smiled to himself. Its worth it, he thought, just to see her so peaceful.