#scottxemma

He accepted a violent end as probable a long time ago, of course - most of them have. Violent and brutal and tragic, with too much left undone. As time went on, as hope slipped away and joy became ever more fleeting, expectation became anticipation.

He was tired. The Phoenix had done her work, and their people had a fighting chance. He only held on because they needed a mutineer more than a martyr, but he didn’t accomplish much as a revolutionary. Maybe he was already too far gone.

Now here he is, slipping away, and trying desperately to hold on. Because their people are still dying, and Emma’s heart is breaking. Her mind bleeds into his as she holds him, cradling his soul with an aching tenderness.

He hasn’t felt this loved since cosmic fire burned their trust away. 

“We - can’t - can’t end like this - “

That’s what he says. She can also hear I don’t want to leave you, and see flashes of his children (he’s going to leave them) and hear a wretched echo of Jean’s last words.

Live, Scott.

He tried. He tried for so long. 

Emma can feel him slipping away. She knows better than to grasp too tightly, to follow him into darkness. Already, her mind rushes to formulate a plan, to carry on the mission. 

As she holds him to her chest, he tries to concentrate beyond the agony, to focus all of his faith and gratitude towards her, to say I love you one last time. He doesn’t know if he succeeds, as he closes his eyes.

At least he can rest. Maybe she’ll do better without him.

He gasps awake in total silence, blinking in a blaze of white. Automatically, he pushes himself up, but only makes it to his knees. There’s no pain, no fear, but there’s a hefty does of annoyance.

“This isn’t fair.” It a plaintive murmur, as he stares at his hands. (Scarred and calloused and, as it turns out, pale as hell.) He’s not wearing the costume he died in.

“That’s what I said, the first time.”

The voice makes his heart jump, and his head snaps up.

There she is, resplendent in white and gold, smiling at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the universe.

“So I am dead.”

“That really shouldn’t be a relief, sport.”

His lips tug into a wry smile, as he crosses his legs beneath him. “But you don’t sound surprised.”

 Jean (the anchor to his humanity, the first love he betrayed, the heart of the Phoenix) shakes her head, as she steps closer. “I know how hard it’s been.”

“You aren’t disappointed.” 

“In you?” She kneels in front of him, reaching forward to cradle his face. “Never.”

Scott closes his eyes. “They still need - “

“They have Emma. Ororo. Kitty. Our children. And one day, you'll see them again.”

He can feel her brushing away his tears. He can’t remember the last time he cried.

“I missed you.” His voice is breaking, and for once, that’s okay. He doesn’t need to be strong, here; he doesn't need to be the staunch commander, the ruthless soldier, the radical symbol. He just needs to be Scott.

Jean pulls him close, and he can feel wings of fire unfurl around them. It's not the searing heat that burned him from the inside out; the Phoenix is whole here, and warms him like a gentle hearth. He can feel crushing burdens begin to ease as his heart learns to sing again.