Storm went to talk to Scott about the mutant 'cure'. When she reached the door, it was closed. She knocked. "Scott," she called. "Scott! Scott, it's Storm." When she received no answer, she opened the door, and was surprised to find it was unlocked. Scott had kept his door locked all the time ever since Jean's death. "Scott?"
The hope that he was finally through his period of grief left her immediately when she saw his room empty. "He's not here," a voice said behind her. She turned around and saw Logan standing at the entrance.
"Then where is he?"
Logan shrugged. "Last I saw he was going for a ride on his bike. With an overnight bag."
"He's probably going back to Jean's grave," Storm said, reaching for her necklace that she didn't have on out of habit. "I'll be in the greenhouse if you need me."
She pushed by Logan as she went out.
XXX
As Storm came up to her loft, she felt a pair of eyes on her. Hardly anyone in the mansion spied, minus one person she knew. "Alright, Hawk, what do you want?"
There was a snap of fingers. "How did you know it was me?"
"You're the only one in the mansion who would ever dare to come near me after a storm like that."
"Hey, I was forced, two pairs of eyes begged me to."
"Rogue and Logan?"
"Bingo."
Storm sighed. She knew Hawk probably wanted to talk to her also, but wanted to blame Logan and Rogue so that she didn't look like a puppy following her master.
"So, what's up Storm?"
XXX
Scott traveled as far as he could by bike, and went the rest of the way on foot. He had gotten to Alkali lake far faster than he should have.. With his motorcycle, even with the custom engine, it should have taken him at least three days to get to Alkali Lake from Xavier's. But he didn't care, all he could think about was her. He could hear her calling him, constantly now, her voice ringing in his ears.
Alkali Lake hadn't changed. Scott had assumed that the lake would be well on its way back to its original state of being, a wild and untamed river. But, Fate wasn't done joking. Turned out there was a sharp bend about a mile downstream from the dam that formed a natural choke point, preventing the water from draining completely. The level had dropped by more than half since the breach, but had finally reached a kind of equilibrium that still left the industrial complex beneath the dam's face significantly underwater. Worse, the clearing where the Blackbird took off, where Jean had died, remained likewise buried.
He looked haggard, his lean features gaunt, as he stood at the water's edge, staring at nothing. Maybe now he could find some peace. Maybe now he could say goodbye…
Once more, he heard her call.
"Stop," he pleaded. "Stop it."
But she wouldn't.
"Scott," he heard, "Please. Help me!"
That was the last straw.
With a cry torn from the deepest part of him – "Jean!" – Scott tore off his visor and opened his eyes wide.
Scarlet glory erupted through the air, as though someone had opened a window to the surface of the sun, and raw concussive energy gouged a momentary trench directly to the bottom of the lake, parting the waters like the hands of God through the Red Sea. Unchecked for once, wholly unrestrained, the bolt hammered at the rock along the opposite shore, following Scott's line of sight so that when his gaze flicked towards one of the remaining towers of the dam, the entire structure shuddered with the initial impact, as though struck by a battering ram. Then, with breathtaking suddenness, it shattered, not into rocks and boulders but powder, allowing the implacable beam to strike the mountainsides beyond.
And then, just like that, the beam was gone, and the only sign marking its passage through the lake was the crash of water filling space, coupled with the rise of vapor.
Scott collapsed to his knees, although even then – spent and exhausted as he was, in spirit and mind and body – he still reflexively groped for his glasses and snugged them back into place.
Then the water started bubbling in front of him, almost boiling as he rose to his feet for a better look.
As the display built to a crescendo, water shot skyward in a magnificent fountain easily a hundred meters across, rising three or four times that into the air, generating a shock wave that bent the evergreens around Scott almost double and knocked him off his feet.
He picked himself up, stunned, senses kicking into proper gear, reacting now from his training and experience. And he found himself facing a radiance as welcome and comforting as the morning sun.
"Jean?" He didn't believe it as he spoke, certain that somewhere along the way he'd stumbled headlong into madness, and he was beholding what he yearned for rather than what was.
Her laughter convinced him otherwise.
"Scott," Jean called, laughing with delight at the sight of him, yet still unsure as to how she had somehow found herself alive once more. Those last moments were still vivid in her thoughts. The wall of water had struck like it was made of steel, shattering her on contact; she didn't even have the chance to drown. Everything was over in an instant.
Or so she'd thought
"How?" he asked, reaching out in surprise to her hair, which now fell in glossy waves to the small of her back.
"I don't know," she told him truthfully, staring at his eyes through the visor covering them, her hand caressing his haggard face.
And for a while there were no more works, nothing at all save for two lovers holding each other close, savoring the joy that comes with finding your heart's desire. Neither had ever been more happy, or at peace.
XXX
Two thousand miles away, Charles screamed.
For Logan, it was a spike through the skull, a lance that not even his healing factor could mitigate.
Hawk screeched as the pain exploded in her head. Not even her blocks could keep the pain out- partly because she couldn't get them up; she just couldn't concentrate. Storm just grabbed her head, as she was more immune to telepathic phenomenons than anyone else, thanks to her ability to control the weather. She knew that there was nothing she could do for Hawk, but she also knew that there was something wrong and dashed out of her room, where she and Hawk were talking.
Logan threw himself out into the hallway, staggering slightly because his head was so screwed up, he couldn't walk straight. Storm caught up with him at the base of the grand staircase. She had farther to come, from her attic loft, but she could always move faster.
"What happened?" She demanded, running on adrenaline, her headache gone.
"No, clue," he replied. Logan beat her to the office, and burst in through the door. "Professor, are you alright?"
"Get to Alkali lake," the Professor ordered.
XXX
Storm noticed how silent Logan was. She knew he was probably thinking the same thing as she punched in the coordinates. Jean. "You know," she said. "If you ever want to talk..."
"Oh, yeah," he retorted, "absolutely. That's what I want."
The look she tossed his direction spoke volumes.
Darn, he thought, She's alot less of a princess than when I first rolled in the door. Still a long way from "just plain folk", but she still got possibilities.
"Look," he said, the best he would offer in explanation, "talk is not what I do."
Her sigh was even more devastating the look. "Right," she said, her tone assuring him that this conversation is most definitely not finished. "Same old Logan."
He wasn't, really, any more than she was the "same old Storm." But the oldest habits are the hardest to kick.
"So what do you think happened at the lake?" Logan asked.
Storm was silent for a moment and Logan thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she spoke up. "I don't know," she said. "I think that it has something to do with Scott. Whatever it is though, something horrible just happened." Despite her despairing tone, Logan could tell that she was still mad at him.
"'Ro," he said, trying to make amends. But, she didn't give him the chance, throwing the Blackbird into a tight descending spiral that pinned him to his chair and made him suddenly wonder if she was going to land the aircraft right on its pointy nose.
She flattened out a hundred meters, shifting to vertical flight mode and skimming the treeline like they were flying a helicopter. Logan had taken his turn in the simulator; if the need ever arose, he could take the controls. But with Storm it was different; she handled the plane as if it were part of her. She could dance it through maneuvers the others wouldn't dream of trying- except maybe Scott and Hawk. He was as much of a natural flier as she was, and the only one to ever match her skill in the air. Hawk, being fourteen and a bit of a reckless teenager, was about to outmatch him, having a knack for flying also- as one of her powers included the air element- and with a teacher like Storm, it was probably hard not to catch up.
Smooth as could be without even a bump, she eased the ebony aircraft down from the sky. "In preparation for landing, please restore your seats to their upright and locked positions, store all carry-on items and tray tables, and make sure your seat belts are securely fastened."
He gave her a look; she gave him a smile.
The moment passed. They got ready for business.
With his first step off the ramp, Logan knew it was bad. Every sense screamed alarm- the air smelled wrong, the ground felt wrong. There were no natural sounds, nothing to indicate a slight breeze between the trees, or water lapping against the shore. Not the slightest hint of animals of any kind. Logan wasn't surprised at the last; the part of him that was most like them was shrieking to flee this accursed, haunted place. And Storm, whose sensitivity to the world around her was just as acute, seemed spooked as well.
"You don't want to be here," Storm said more than asked. Logan knew that she was just trying to make small talk to shake off the feelings they felt. It didn't really help though.
"Do you?"
They walked through the mists for a few minutes, then Logan spoke up. "I can't see a darn thing."
"I can take care of that."
Storm looked up as her eyes went white and cleared the mist from view. Logan appeared at her side. There were floating rocks all over the place. "What the?" Logan asked. He tapped one of them and looked at Storm. She looked back, and then they went opposite ways. Storm moved on ahead as Logan homed in on another object, spinning lazily through the air, like a gyroscope that hadn't quite wound all the way down. He hunkered down to watch, unsure if wanted to break the spell, by reaching out to touch the object. No damage that he could see, nor any sign of violence. Nothing at all out of the ordinary- except its presence, and what it was doing.
With an almost convulsive grab, he gathered Scott Summer's ruby quartz glasses into his hand. He was about to call out to Storm, when she beat him to it. "Logan!"
Despite the flatness of the air, the urgency in her tone was plain. Shock, disbelief, fear, those reactions came through plainly and pulled him to her at a run.
XXX
Storm was exploring the area closest to the trees when something whispered inside her head. Storm, Storm! She grabbed her head again, and the voices faded. What struck her odd though was that the voice in her head sounded like Jean's. As she walked farther in, she saw some red hair blowing around in the wind. The color was very similar to Jean's. She blinked her eyes, but the hair was still there. "Oh my gosh," she said to herself. As she got closer, she saw a body in between the stones. Jean's body.
"Logan!" she screamed, rushing to Jean. She knelt down and checked for a pulse. She found it faintly along Jean's neck. Logan appeared one minute later. "She's alive," she said as Logan knelt down next to Jean.
XXX
He found Storm on the beach kneeling over a body.
"Jean," Logan said, dazed.
XXX
"Jean Grey was the only Class Five mutant I've ever encountered," Xavier told the trio a day later, back in the mansion's infirmary. "Her potential was practically limitless."
She lay on the examining table. Her body was dotted all over with direct sensors, surrounded by the information panels of their remote scanning counterparts. They projected on a phalanx of nearby flat-panel displays. Her vitals were totally nominal, and had been since they found her, wholly consistent with her last physical, not long before her death.
"Her mutation was seated in her limbic system," Xavier continued, taking refuge from his own deep feelings by adopting his most professorial tone, "the unconscious part of her mind. And therein lay the danger."
Logan snorted, gaining him a sharp look from both Xavier, seated in his wheelchair at Jean's head, and Ororo, flanking him opposite Logan. Hawk was just sitting on one of the tables, being quiet for once.
Logan didn't bother explaining aloud; it wasn't his way. He was still trying to figure things out himself. Out loud, he said: "I thought you were treating her," and got another warning glare from Ororo about his tone. He didn't much care.
"I tried…"
An unbidden image came to Logan's mind mixing moments from the mission that led to Jean's death – Magneto's quiet, constant jibes about Xavier's failure to treat the mutant son of William Stryker, Xavier's own very real regret, and worst of all, the very real consequences that arose from that failure. Jason had been made by his father into a weapon; their attempt to stop the use of that weapon had lead to Jean's death.
If Xavier sensed Logan's thoughts this time, he gave no sign as he laid his hands gently on Jean's head and closed his eyes. The monitors flickered; charting his progress ad he resumed treating her.
Logan paid him no attention. His concentration was locked on Jean's face, as if his own senses could tell him what Xavier's telepathy and devices could not.
"I created a series of psychic barriers, many years ago," Xavier said, "to separate her powers from her conscious mind, until such time as she could integrate the two properly and safely. However, in doing so, she developed a split personality . . ."
This was news to Logan and, by the look on her face, to Ororo, too. Neither of them took it well.
Logan spoke for them both. "What?" he demanded.
"The conscious Jean, whose powers were always under control, and that dormant side, a personality that, in our sessions, came to call itself The Phoenix. A purely instinctual creature, all desire, and joy and . . . rage."
He checked the monitors, made some notes.
Logan had grown ominously still and quiet, in a way that would clear even the most roughhouse saloons the world over.
Then, "Jean knew about this?"
xXx
Ororo watched Xavier shake his head, so engrossed in his work that he missed the cues and warnings this feral was radiating. Even she, who had just met the man, could pick up on his cues. She shifted her stance just a little. But knew her options were limited. The infirmary was no place for lightning, and Logan was so quick that she'd likely have no time to use her powers if things went south. Ororo knew that Logan was a creature of primal passions who fought to keep them in check with his own rigorous code of honor. Now, with Jean, both elements were in play – his feelings for Jean combined with the growing outrage at Xavier's revelations. It was a deadly mix, more volatile that matches and gasoline.
"It's unclear precisely how much she remembered," Charles told them. "The more pressing issue is that I'm not sure whether the woman we see in front of us is the Jean Grey we know, or the phoenix, violently struggling to be free."
Logan took a step closer, and Ororo tensed.
"She looks pretty peaceful to me Chuck."
"That is because, I'm keeping her that way," Xavier replied, not rising to the bait. Though, for all the attention he paid them, despite their ongoing conversation, it was as if Logan and Ororo weren't even there. "I'm trying to restore those psychic blacks and reenergize them, and cage the beast again."
Logan's nostrils flared, and this time Xavier seemed to react to the sub vocalized grown that issued from deep in the other man's throat.
"What did you just say?" Logan demanded.
"Logan, try to understand – "
"We're talking about a person's mind here, Charles, about Jean! We could be talking about her goddamn soul! How could you do this to her?"
"She has to be controlled. She isn't safe."
"'Controlled,' Professor, controlled? You know, sometimes, when you 'cage the beast' the beast gets angry."
"You have no idea what she's capable of."
"No, Professor, "Logan spat with finality, and he made Xavier's title sound like the most profane of epithets. "I had no idea what you were capable of."
After this last comment, Logan knew that, had Xavier still possessed the use of his legs, the professor would be right up in his face, probably challenging him to do his worst. Logan never denied the man had balls, but this was the first he'd ever considered that Charles Xavier might be lacking something essential in the way of a heart.
Damn it, Logan," Xavier flared, "I want her back as much as you do!
Logan shook his head: "Not even close."
XXX
Xavier couldn't stand Logan's glare for more than a few seconds. It wasn't that he lacked the strength, but – being a more intensely private man than even Logan – Charles couldn't bear to reveal to them the depths of his own pain. Or the concern that walked with it hand in hand, growing with each and every step into a very real and present fear.
He turned his back on Ororo and Logan and motored his chair towards the door, pausing at last to tell them, "I had a terrible choice to make, Logan. I chose the lesser of two evils."
Logan wouldn't – couldn't, Charles knew– let him go without saying something. "Sounds to me like Jean had no choice at all."
Logan looked away from the departing form of Xavier, briefly to Ororo, and then once more rested his eyes on Jean. He had a hunter's patience. He'd wait as long as he had to.
And after that . . .
. . . after that . . .
He met Ororo's gaze, then flicked his eyes toward the door, now closed, Xavier long gone, and back to Jean.
More gently than Xavier's touch, more gently then Ororo's lightest breeze, he stroked his rough palm from the crown of Jean's head back across her hair, and breathed in the scent of her. Not a lot of great things happened in his life, but he knew with certainty, this woman was one of them. Likely the best of them.
He repeated to himself what he's sworn the moment they met, what he'd failed to do at Alkali Lake.
I'll save you, Jean, he promised silently. Whatever the case.
I'll save you!
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