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halfamoonTitle: Cosmic Dance
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Jean(/Scott), Phoenix, Charles
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: In the final moments of X-Men (2024) #35, Jean dances with Charles again... or does she?
Word Count: 1,709
Written For: HalfAMoon 2025: Day 14: First Loves
Date Written: 11 February 2025
Warnings: Spoilers, Cannon Character Deaths
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She had known he would come. He always came, if only in her dreams. He had always come. She had never told another soul, but he had come to her even more she had known she was a mutant or what mutants were. She had seen him, somewhere hovering in the background, when her best friend, Annie, had died all those many years ago. For a long time, she had been uncertain of what she'd thought she'd seen, but things had become clearer after Onslaught.
They had become clearer, and yet they had become muddled again. The entire cosmos was on a circle, and her relationships were not outside of the scope of that galactic rule. Everything circled back. Every ending became a beginning, every beginning an ending, and every ending sprung a new beginning. It all circled back and back and back.... Throughout all time. It was dizzying still to her if she allowed herself to think about it, and that was even with the full force of the Phoenix now under her command.
It was no wonder, she understood now, that she had become the Phoenix all those years ago. It had been no mistake or accident that the interstellar lifeforce had been passing through the cosmos by their ship when they had been hurtling into the sun. She had sacrificed herself then, or so she'd thought, but the truth was she had only been following a script written by some ancient had eons ago. That was all any of them were doing, in truth. They thought they were making their own ways, their own decisions, their own choices, and perhaps in some things, small and infinitesimal though they may be, they did and were. But no matter the choices made, no matter the lives saved or killed, they all came back around again. They all came back to one ending and one beginning, time after time after time after time...
It is almost like that old Cher song, but she started forgetting the songs she loved many years ago. People lose themselves in war. That is true, but it is also equally true that she actually found herself in war. That mere mortal once named Jean Grey was never who she had been meant to be. She had always been meant to become the Phoenix. She had always been meant to save not just worlds, but galaxies.
And every step along the way had been necessary to bring her here. Annie had had to die. Madelyne had had to live and died. She had had to fall in love with Scott, marry and lose him, marry and lose him time and again. She had had to die, and be reborn, and die again, and be reborn again. It was all a truly dizzying cycle, but every step was necessary. Every dance was necessary, and so of course, it was Charles who could reach her now far beyond earth's primitive scope.
Of course it was Charles who came, not her husband, not her life mate, not the wild animal to whom she had turned when she herself had been gutted in a way no physical blow could ever make it. Of course, it had been Charles who had come here to her now in his ending, her newest beginning. She will not be going back to Earth. She knows that now, understands it, has made her peace with it. She will always love Scott, will always miss him and their family, but her life is not her own. It was never meant to be her own.
Did he know that, she wondered, when he watched a young child's powers manifest when she shared her dying friend's last thoughts? Could he have ever guessed, back then, what his first X-Woman would become, the power his first Miss Marvel would come to wield? He had loved her. He had loved her with an adoration that had been twisted over their decades together. But could he have ever known, or even guessed, the magnitude of the journeys on which they'd been beginning that fateful day?
No. She knew better. He never could have known or even begin to grasp at the many, many truths she now understands. Why, at the time they'd not even known aliens existed! So much has changed; so much has stayed the same. In the end, it doesn't matter what is here or now, then or there. It all tumbles back in and around itself. Time bends. It has always been fluid, since the very beginning, but too few understand it, if indeed anyone at all. Stephen Strange comes close, and even he falls short. They all fall short, in the end, and they all turn back around. Every ending has a beginning, every beginning an end. Each has always and will forever meet the other, end over end, soul over soul, time over time...
Of course, he's come to her now, but she is no longer that little girl she was when he tried to ease her pain. She understands now that her own psychic powers had cried for help, and he had felt the need and come. Just as he has come to her now. Except she is no longer the one in need. She has not been for a very long time now. She would cry, but tears are a thing of the flesh. She has no longer left to give, not for him, not for Scott, not for anyone.
She will always love them all, but she is no longer meant to be among them. Her place is in the stars. She herself is the living embodiment of a star, one of the most powerful to ever exist. Stars do die, like the one she is resurrecting now. Her time will come eventually, but it will be many eons from now.
But his time is nigh. His time has come, and he needs her. He needs to know she will be okay. He needs to know they will be okay, all the mutant children of their world. She cannot promise him anything to do with Earth. She'll no longer be there, any more than he will be. But he has come to her for reassurance.
He has come to her, his first student, with their mortal lives and far more than mortal souls so deeply entwined. He will always be a part of her. She will always be a part of him. She was only ever able to wield the Phoenix because of him, yet it was always meant to be. She was always the Phoenix; the Phoenix was always waiting for her to give it a home within her once-mortal chest. The Professor's role in her life -- in its life -- had always been intricate and necessary. Just as she needed him when she had been a little girl, he needed her now, and he had needed her then. They had each played vital roles in beginning the other's journey, and the entire cosmos had been touched and would be touched time and again by their journeys.
She wants to cry. But she cannot. She has no tears left. She is the Phoenix now once and for all, and her time on Earth is done. Her time concentrating on men is done. But he needs her. Her Professor needs her. As if from far away, she recalls a thought pattern of human psychiatrists -- oh, those silly, little minds who would think her insane or at least mentally sick for wielding such a power as she knows she is -- that believe that a girl's first love is always her father. Charles Xavier had been her father in so many ways. In some ways, he was even the father of an entity older than time itself.
But she can waste no more time on him. Still, she knows what he needs. She knows, and she gives it for it's the very thing she's already doing. "You are saving lives?" he asked her. She recalls his query, though she cannot tell from when it came. Was it before Annie? After his death? After her death yet again? Just a few seconds ago? Eons in the future? She knows not, but she does know the answer he needs and gives it gladly.
She is able to give it, because he taught her. He has taught her so much, and she has taught him as well. They have taught each other. She danced with him at the wedding to the man she will always love, to the man to whom she can no longer return. She danced with him then, used her powers to lift him right out of his chair so he could hold her as a father should his daughter on the day of her wedding. She can hold whole universes now in the palm of her hand.
But he taught her first. He loved her first. She loved him first. She will always love him too. "Millions of them, Charles," she answers, and if there is pride in her voice, who can judge? Her knowledge knows no ends now. Her power knows no end. She is no longer Jean Grey. She is the Phoenix. He has taught her so much, and she has taught him. She feels him leave, confident in the knowledge that his children will be all right, and if the scream of an Immortal power sends the stars spiraling, it is only the stars who are there to hear. Only the stars who are there to bear witness as a power dies and a daughter's scream heralds throughout the cosmos.
It is only the stars who are there to witness as some burn out and others spring to life anew. This was their final dance, and a good girl is taught to dance with the one who brought her. Yet it is not their last moments together. They will never have final moments together, not truly, for in every ending is a new beginning and in every beginning an end. Their souls will meet again. They will always meet again. They will always dance again. For time folds in upon itself and always starts anew and always ends too.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Jean(/Scott), Phoenix, Charles
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: In the final moments of X-Men (2024) #35, Jean dances with Charles again... or does she?
Word Count: 1,709
Written For: HalfAMoon 2025: Day 14: First Loves
Date Written: 11 February 2025
Warnings: Spoilers, Cannon Character Deaths
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She had known he would come. He always came, if only in her dreams. He had always come. She had never told another soul, but he had come to her even more she had known she was a mutant or what mutants were. She had seen him, somewhere hovering in the background, when her best friend, Annie, had died all those many years ago. For a long time, she had been uncertain of what she'd thought she'd seen, but things had become clearer after Onslaught.
They had become clearer, and yet they had become muddled again. The entire cosmos was on a circle, and her relationships were not outside of the scope of that galactic rule. Everything circled back. Every ending became a beginning, every beginning an ending, and every ending sprung a new beginning. It all circled back and back and back.... Throughout all time. It was dizzying still to her if she allowed herself to think about it, and that was even with the full force of the Phoenix now under her command.
It was no wonder, she understood now, that she had become the Phoenix all those years ago. It had been no mistake or accident that the interstellar lifeforce had been passing through the cosmos by their ship when they had been hurtling into the sun. She had sacrificed herself then, or so she'd thought, but the truth was she had only been following a script written by some ancient had eons ago. That was all any of them were doing, in truth. They thought they were making their own ways, their own decisions, their own choices, and perhaps in some things, small and infinitesimal though they may be, they did and were. But no matter the choices made, no matter the lives saved or killed, they all came back around again. They all came back to one ending and one beginning, time after time after time after time...
It is almost like that old Cher song, but she started forgetting the songs she loved many years ago. People lose themselves in war. That is true, but it is also equally true that she actually found herself in war. That mere mortal once named Jean Grey was never who she had been meant to be. She had always been meant to become the Phoenix. She had always been meant to save not just worlds, but galaxies.
And every step along the way had been necessary to bring her here. Annie had had to die. Madelyne had had to live and died. She had had to fall in love with Scott, marry and lose him, marry and lose him time and again. She had had to die, and be reborn, and die again, and be reborn again. It was all a truly dizzying cycle, but every step was necessary. Every dance was necessary, and so of course, it was Charles who could reach her now far beyond earth's primitive scope.
Of course it was Charles who came, not her husband, not her life mate, not the wild animal to whom she had turned when she herself had been gutted in a way no physical blow could ever make it. Of course, it had been Charles who had come here to her now in his ending, her newest beginning. She will not be going back to Earth. She knows that now, understands it, has made her peace with it. She will always love Scott, will always miss him and their family, but her life is not her own. It was never meant to be her own.
Did he know that, she wondered, when he watched a young child's powers manifest when she shared her dying friend's last thoughts? Could he have ever guessed, back then, what his first X-Woman would become, the power his first Miss Marvel would come to wield? He had loved her. He had loved her with an adoration that had been twisted over their decades together. But could he have ever known, or even guessed, the magnitude of the journeys on which they'd been beginning that fateful day?
No. She knew better. He never could have known or even begin to grasp at the many, many truths she now understands. Why, at the time they'd not even known aliens existed! So much has changed; so much has stayed the same. In the end, it doesn't matter what is here or now, then or there. It all tumbles back in and around itself. Time bends. It has always been fluid, since the very beginning, but too few understand it, if indeed anyone at all. Stephen Strange comes close, and even he falls short. They all fall short, in the end, and they all turn back around. Every ending has a beginning, every beginning an end. Each has always and will forever meet the other, end over end, soul over soul, time over time...
Of course, he's come to her now, but she is no longer that little girl she was when he tried to ease her pain. She understands now that her own psychic powers had cried for help, and he had felt the need and come. Just as he has come to her now. Except she is no longer the one in need. She has not been for a very long time now. She would cry, but tears are a thing of the flesh. She has no longer left to give, not for him, not for Scott, not for anyone.
She will always love them all, but she is no longer meant to be among them. Her place is in the stars. She herself is the living embodiment of a star, one of the most powerful to ever exist. Stars do die, like the one she is resurrecting now. Her time will come eventually, but it will be many eons from now.
But his time is nigh. His time has come, and he needs her. He needs to know she will be okay. He needs to know they will be okay, all the mutant children of their world. She cannot promise him anything to do with Earth. She'll no longer be there, any more than he will be. But he has come to her for reassurance.
He has come to her, his first student, with their mortal lives and far more than mortal souls so deeply entwined. He will always be a part of her. She will always be a part of him. She was only ever able to wield the Phoenix because of him, yet it was always meant to be. She was always the Phoenix; the Phoenix was always waiting for her to give it a home within her once-mortal chest. The Professor's role in her life -- in its life -- had always been intricate and necessary. Just as she needed him when she had been a little girl, he needed her now, and he had needed her then. They had each played vital roles in beginning the other's journey, and the entire cosmos had been touched and would be touched time and again by their journeys.
She wants to cry. But she cannot. She has no tears left. She is the Phoenix now once and for all, and her time on Earth is done. Her time concentrating on men is done. But he needs her. Her Professor needs her. As if from far away, she recalls a thought pattern of human psychiatrists -- oh, those silly, little minds who would think her insane or at least mentally sick for wielding such a power as she knows she is -- that believe that a girl's first love is always her father. Charles Xavier had been her father in so many ways. In some ways, he was even the father of an entity older than time itself.
But she can waste no more time on him. Still, she knows what he needs. She knows, and she gives it for it's the very thing she's already doing. "You are saving lives?" he asked her. She recalls his query, though she cannot tell from when it came. Was it before Annie? After his death? After her death yet again? Just a few seconds ago? Eons in the future? She knows not, but she does know the answer he needs and gives it gladly.
She is able to give it, because he taught her. He has taught her so much, and she has taught him as well. They have taught each other. She danced with him at the wedding to the man she will always love, to the man to whom she can no longer return. She danced with him then, used her powers to lift him right out of his chair so he could hold her as a father should his daughter on the day of her wedding. She can hold whole universes now in the palm of her hand.
But he taught her first. He loved her first. She loved him first. She will always love him too. "Millions of them, Charles," she answers, and if there is pride in her voice, who can judge? Her knowledge knows no ends now. Her power knows no end. She is no longer Jean Grey. She is the Phoenix. He has taught her so much, and she has taught him. She feels him leave, confident in the knowledge that his children will be all right, and if the scream of an Immortal power sends the stars spiraling, it is only the stars who are there to hear. Only the stars who are there to bear witness as a power dies and a daughter's scream heralds throughout the cosmos.
It is only the stars who are there to witness as some burn out and others spring to life anew. This was their final dance, and a good girl is taught to dance with the one who brought her. Yet it is not their last moments together. They will never have final moments together, not truly, for in every ending is a new beginning and in every beginning an end. Their souls will meet again. They will always meet again. They will always dance again. For time folds in upon itself and always starts anew and always ends too.
The End
