@thefirstxman
They said that you couldn’t make fire afraid. They also said that it was easier to be afraid of something than of nothing. They – whoever they were – clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. It had been months (or maybe it had been days, years, decades. Jean lost the ability to count when the surroundings started shifting around her each time she tried) and Jean decided to list the things she knew each time she woke from a fitful sleep. That list was getting shorter every time.
Her name was Jean Grey. She was an X-Man. She was fire, and life incarnate, and the Phoenix’s favorite host. She was dead. And, of course, the obvious that had followed her since before she even knew what it meant – she was in love with Scott Summers.
When she saw him, it wasn’t a clear outline, just a feeling. Something shifted amongst the harmless flames of the White Hot Room, and she knew it was him. At least, she knew it was something of him, a version of Scott that her mind – ever powerful, ever destructive – had created to get her through this. (Through until what? There was no before, no after, no end or beginning.)
She made her way towards him, hand reaching up, marvelling at the flicker of invisible flames against his skin. “Scott?” she whispered, the first word she’d said in this place since she arrived (besides the screaming, of course). A small smile came onto her face, more relief than anything, tears burning at the corner of her eyes that she refused to let fall. “I knew I’d see you again.”