The Death of Jean Grey

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended. I do not own any part of X-Men or the characters herein. I just couldn't get them out of my head any other way!

Spoilers: X3




THE DEATH OF JEAN GREY

He held her limp body close to his. She was gone, killed by his own hands. It had been necessary; he knew that. But the knowing did not make it easier, did not ease the guilt. He loved her, as he had loved no one else.
It did not matter that she had become something that she detested, that she had looked at him and asked him to do this. He hadn’t been able when she asked, unwilling to believe that she had become Phoenix. It had taken the events of the last few days to convince him, to make him realize that while Jean was still there, Phoenix dominated her mind and controlled her body. The Jean he knew would rather die than let Phoenix wreck the havoc that she was so willing to spread. He had seen that as he approached her, knowing what he had to do, knowing that he was the only one who could. She had known it too, and the part of her that was still Jean had welcomed him, even with the knowledge that Phoenix’s death was also her own.
He cursed his own healing ability. The very fact that his body healed itself so rapidly from otherwise fatal wounds was the only thing that had allowed him to reach Jean. As she threw the force of her mind at him, his body just continued to heal itself from the horrific damage until he reached out to hold her. He knew that only he could stand the damage to reach her. Only he had a chance to stop her. He was the only one who could kill her. He hated himself for what he had done. But it was easier to hate himself than anyone else. If it had been Storm or Kitty or Hank or anyone else who had killed her, he would have felt that he could place no blame on them, but inwardly hate would fester and eventually he would lose control of himself.
He couldn’t even hate Charles Xavier. The man had tried to help her, first by setting up the psychic blocks years ago, when Jean was a child, then by trying to reestablish them when she had come back to them just weeks ago. Logan hadn’t understood at first, had accused the older man of trying to manipulate Jean, to control her. It hadn’t been until Logan had experienced Phoenix that he realized the extent of her power and the necessity of what Xavier had tried to do. By then, it was too late; Xavier was gone, Jean was with Magneto and the rest were scrambling to protect not just mutants, but the rest of humanity as well.
He wept as her body grew cold in his arms. He couldn’t find the strength to let her go, to fall to his knees as he wanted. He could only stand immobile as tears mingled with rain and coursed down his face. When someone, he never knew who, approached and tried to take her lifeless body from him, he let out a howl worthy of the animal whose name he carried and clutched her tighter. He bared his teeth in a snarl and raised the claws of one hand, feeling the unknown man recoil in fear.
Suddenly Storm was there, her hand gentle on his arm. She spoke quietly, reassuringly. Her words were lost in his howl, but she kept speaking until her words penetrated the fog of grief surrounding him.
“Logan, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re all here with you. Let her go, Wolverine. Let Hank take her. We’ll take her home. Home with us, where she belongs. Where you belong. You saved her, Logan. You saved Jean. You saved us all. Let us take you home, you and Jean.” Storm repeated over and over, Hank to one side, Kitty and the boys on the other. She kept her hand steady on his arm, keeping the contact, knowing that Logan needed an anchor, something to hold him in the face of the grief swelling inside his heart and mind and soul.
None of them could ever tell how long they stood like that, a circle of support and grief around Logan and Jean. Suddenly Logan abruptly thrust Jean’s body at Hank and turned to Storm, almost knocking her over as he fell into her arms. She staggered but held him tightly against her, murmuring reassurance and acceptance to him. Kitty and the boys clustered around them as his unearthly howl receded and became sobs of anguish.
Storm held him until the sobs became dry, until finally he lifted his head, realizing for the first time where he still stood and who was around. The presence of the other X-Men, all with tearstained faces, he accepted, but clustered at a safe distance were the remaining military forces, all regarding them with distrust and apprehension. The pale bald boy was incongruous with the rest of the surroundings. Logan wondered briefly if he was an angel of some kind, but the insecurity written large on his worried features negated that theory as quickly as it came. Drawing himself to his full height with a deep indrawn breath, Logan kept one hand resting on Storm’s shoulder as he looked from one to the other of the X-Men.
His gaze resting on Jean’s still form held tenderly in Hank’s arms, he said shakily, “Let’s go home.”
Wolverine led them from Alcatraz to the waiting plane. Storm, following a step behind, knew it would be a long time before he recovered, before he forgave himself for doing as Jean had asked. But he would recover.