Out of the Wreckage
by ALC Punk!

"What happened to her?"

"She died."

"There's a lot of that going about."

For a moment, the man stared at her. Then he set his glass down and shook his head. "That's not funny."

"I know." Pain. There was so much pain around her. It wanted to tumble her, tug her around, pull her under and swamp her within itself. She resisted. "Tell me about her."

He nodded, as if she had answered something. He picked his glass up again. "She was a plant."

"Oh?"

"Big as life. Blue skin, gorgeous eyes, incredible body. And, whoa--" He paused to sip contemplatively. "She could do this thing with her ear, y'know. Like a mental zap." He tilted his head and nearly fell off his stool.

Reaching out, Jean caught him with her telekinesis, resettling him firmly. "Telepathy?"

"Whoa." For a moment, his eyes went from blank remembrance to something sharp and aware. Then he shook his head. "Priestess. She was a Delvian." He waved a hand, "They have these powers." He chuckled suddenly. "She was gonna get a T.V. ministry if she made 11th level."

The pain twisted at her again, and Jean suddenly felt as if in another instant she would be somersaulted end over end until she shattered into nothingness. She pushed against it, clinging to her margarita glass as her companion continued.

"Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan. A mouthful. But there was something about her. So serene and confidant. As if nothing could ever stop her." There was a long pause as he downed the last of his drink and waved down the bartender for more. A companionable silence fell between the two of them.

Jean felt vague surprise. The other patrons of the bar didn't really seem to notice them. In fact, they seemed to fade oddly in and out. She wondered if it was the firelight she saw in her mind's eye that was occasionally blinding her.

"Crichton." He said suddenly.

"Hrm?"

"John Crichton." He waved a hand, "And you are?"

"Ah. Jean Grey." She took his proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Crichton."

"Just call me John. It's easier. Anyway. Where was I?"

"Serene."

"Right, right."

They both paused again, and this time Jean noticed surprise in his eyes as he watched the other patrons. "Do they... do they even see us?"

"I don't know."

"Ah. Huh." With a shrug, he returned to their conversation. "So. Zhaany. She was wise and calm and beautiful--I think all of us males had at one time or another *very* impure thoughts about her." He paused and eyed Jean. "Kinda like I am, now. You know you fill leather out *very* well, Miss Grey."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Thank you."

"We had a run-in with another ship, got caught with our pants down in some ways." He let out a soft chuckle, it turned bitter after a moment. "Wormholes. Always the end and the beginning and the cause. Life sucks like that."

"I've noticed."

"The ships fused together, but in the end only one could survive." Another pause as he drank some more. Anger was beginning to fill him, something dark and ugly. Some of it was self-directed. "I was so blind, Jean. So incredibly trusting. And they took total advantage of that, pulled the wool right over my eyes."

The anger ricocheted through her, memories spilled with it and Jean winced softly as the push nearly catapulted her back into a maelstrom of pain. Reaching out, she began siphoning it off. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known--"

"Bull and crap, Jeannie." He slammed his bottle down onto the bar causing droplets to spring up and dot his hand and the bar damply. "I had seen enough of that backwater backstabbing crappy end of the universe to *know*. Trust no one. They're all out to get ya."

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "John... I can only guess at your self-loathing. But I don't think it was all you."

"No. Yes. Maybe. In the end, it didn't matter. They almost convinced us to abandon our ship and her pilot. Living beings to be thrown away as so much detritus and garbage."

"It was a choice. And you took it back, didn't you."

"Not soon enough. She died on that other ship--sacrificed herself for us." Another laugh, this one so tinged with such bitterness it cut like glass shards at her.

"But not in vain."

"Oh, no. Zhaany wouldn't have it any other way. There had to be some redeeming feature. And so we got out. We lived. We survived." The bitterness was still there.

The pain tugged at her, more insistent this time. She shoved a handful of the glasses behind the bar towards it, watching as they swirled away into a whirlpool of nothingness. "I'm sorry."

John studied her, "What's your story, Miss Grey? Long-lost love? Broken heart? Or just a night on the town where no one can see you and nobody knows your name?"

"You do," she whispered as a different pain flared through her. For John was so like Scott was--but she couldn't think of that. Not like this. She straightened. "I shall tell you a story, shall I?"

"It's your call."

"And my round, too." She waved down the bartender and waited until he had finished refilling their respective glasses. "It begins with a school. A young woman arrives there, fresh from graduating with a doctorate in two sciences. Full of determination and pride, she--"

"Young? Doctorate?"

"Middle-aged, then?" Jean suggested, an amused smile curving her lips.

"Late 20's, then." He closed his eyes, "Describe her for me."

"Blonde hair, blue eyes, figure out of a Playboy."

He snorted, "Go on."

"She taught there, students who were special, different. But then a threat came, and she had to help face it." Jean stopped talking to drink carefully. The alcohol burned a path down her throat, and she wondered whimsically if it fed the flames inside.

"And her name?"

"Doctor G--Summers." Not her. Push the pain back, focus on other things. Details, realities. "Doctor Sarah Summers." Scott wouldn't have laughed.

One eye opened, and a very shrewd look touched her face before it closed again. "So, she taught. But something bad happened."

"She had a special power, you see. Moving objects with her mind. But it was very limited. A gnat in a whirlwind as some might say. And yet some part of her knew it could be different. So very different."

"Powerful. Evil mojo?"

"She thought so. To use such power as she could have found might have destroyed her mind, her will to do good. And she couldn't have that." Sarcasm touched her for a moment. I couldn't have that, could I? Self-righteous little prig.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Right."

"Then the students were kidnapped by the military--"

"Hold it." He had both eyes open and was studying her. "You said these students were special, different. How?"

"Mutants. A disruption of some section of their DNA which allowed them special powers, or a special look. Some were merely physical, but others--others were catastrophic."

"So, these kids got kidnapped by the American government."

A wry smile touched her lips. "Politicians wouldn't have ever known. The common people wouldn't have cared. But some of us did. They were tracked down, the base invaded. And then something happened which shouldn't have." It rolled over her, then.

Energy, red, blue, gold--Scott's optic blasts hammering at her until she had to push back so hard--and something snapped inside, tremors shook the earth around her.

"Two lovers fought. And Sarah Summers lost control of her powers, for a moment, something deep and primal lashed out. They broke a dam together."

"Kinky."

She half-smiled, but his eyes were closed again. "It was too late, then. She tried to hide it, but it was there, hovering on the edge of her mind. The power, the potential for destruction--and then there was a way out. So simple, so easy. Quick, clean..."

"And she sacrificed herself for them all."

"Something like that. The Blackbird wasn't functioning enough to get off the ground with the extra weight. A wall of water was heading for it." The pain was back, dancing along her nerves, sliding itself into her bones as if it could suck the marrow out and leave brittle calcium behind. "But to use her powers she had to be outside, I--she affected the electrical components, fried them."

"And so you went outside."

"Yes."

He was watching her now, eyes calm. "And you got them up, but there was nothing left to save yourself with."

Jean felt tears streaming down her cheeks suddenly, and reached up to wipe at them. "I--"

"And you let yourself die."

"No, I--"

He caught her hand. "Jeannie. Listen to me. I get it all right? Sacrifice. We all sacrifice, some of us do it the ultimate way. But we have to grieve and move on. You have to let *them* grieve and move on."

The pain was hovering, now, waiting. "I..." But she couldn't stop it now, couldn't hold back that last leap before oblivion. "I have to let go, don't I."

"Yes."

"But it hurts, John."

"I know." He touched her cheek. "But you don't belong here. You can't stay."

"How--why are you here, then?"

"Because I do belong here."

"Why?"

"I--I left things unfinished, some part of me wants to go back."

"But you can't."

"No. Neither can you."

She caught his hand and gently kissed it. "But I can't leave you here alone."

A smile caught his lips, "It's nice of you to try to stay, but I know you can't. I've watched too many others leave me."

"I could--"

"No." He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "Go, Jean. Maybe you'll get to meet Zhaan."

"I'll--I'll tell her you're doing well."

"You do that," he said softly.

She sniffled. "Goodbye, John Crichton."

The pain cascaded forward, washing over her like a riptide tossing her under. And she was gone.

"Goodbye, Jean Grey."

--

John Crichton, astronaut, explorer, and general all-around 'kick my ass' man. He sat in the bar, ignoring the patrons as they ignored him. Occasionally, the bartender would freshen his glass. But there was no change to any of it, no end. He'd long since resolved himself to that, but he couldn't help wishing it would end, some times.

A soft pop sounded next to him, and he glanced disinterestedly at the newcomer, then blinked. She was different, but the same. "Jean? What'd you do, get a get-out-of-death-free card and play it wrong?"

The redhead didn't reply, instead she grabbed his glass and downed it in one gulp. She slammed it back on the bar. "I am *not* that stupid cow, Grey, you nitwit. Now buy me another drink."

"Oh, yes, ma'am." He half-saluted her then waved the bartender down. "Drinks, my man. Lots of them."

"Keep them coming," The redhead snapped. She cast John a look. "Who the hell are you?"

"Crichton. John. And if you're not Jean--" He studied her, "The resemblance is there, of course. But it's twisted, skewed. Clone?"

"Oh, very perceptive little man." Turning away, she eyed the rest of the bar.

"They won't care, you know. 'Course, I'm not really sure I do, either."

"I'm dead, aren't I."

"Yup."

"Damn."

There was silence between them for a moment, then she gave a short laugh, "It's not the first time of course. I'd so hoped it would be different, though. That they'd... that I'd..." A sigh escaped her. "Jean was here, you said?"

"Earlier."

"At least I'll know that she didn't outlive me." Vindictive spite dripped from her tone.

Deciding to just ignore her, Crichton turned back to the serious contemplation of his drink. Not that it would matter. He hadn't gotten drunk yet, and he knew he'd drunk half the contents of the bar. At least. But nothing helped.

There was another disturbance on his right and with a sudden twisting of space a young man sat next to him. He stared around himself wildly for a moment, then ran a hand through his blond hair. "What the--?"

Crichton silently handed him his drink. "Welcome to the afterlife."

"The what?"

"John Crichton."

"Mark Rivers," The young man replied automatically. Then he gulped down half the drink and coughed. "Damn, that's strong."

"I don't suppose either of you want to tell me stories." John shook his head, "No, that would be too predictable, and I hate being predictable. Besides, I already bored one person--d'you know, Miss I'm Not Jean Grey, for someone as gorgeous as you appear to be, you're not much of a talker."

"Fuck off."

"Gladly. Except for one little thing." He leaned close to her. "I. Can't."

"Try."

"Excuse me?" Rivers was eyeing the both of them, "Should I leave or something? This looks like it could get heavy, and I've never been fond of heavy."

"No, blondie, no leaving. Not until the people upstairs decide it's your time." Crichton shrugged, "Of course, it could already be that and you're just resisting." He waved at the bartender. "Personally, I plan to ignore the both of you and try to get drunk. Again."

"Sounds like a plan," The redhead agreed. "Yo! Bartender! Bring the fucking bottle--make that four bottles."

"Uh..." Rivers half-smiled, "While I'm sure that would be nice. I really don't think I need to drink. I got in trouble enough as it was the last time--say. Neither of you are newspaper reporters, are you?"

"No." Shaking his head, John picked up a peanut and tossed it up, he missed catching it in his mouth and sniffed. "But she might be."

"And you are, ma'am?"

"Pissed off."

Both men studied her for a moment, then looked at one another. John spoke first, "Well, she is a redhead."

"My aunt Judy was a redhead. She was... a difficult woman."

"Oh, why don't you two go fuck somewhere and leave me alone."

"Temper, temper, miss clone." Crichton slung an arm around her shoulder. "I think--"

Something slammed into him and he went flying backwards to land on a table, splattering the drinks and pretzels there. "Oof."

The people at the table didn't even notice him, instead one of them reached out and picked a pretzel off of him. John eyed them and carefully extricated himself from the table and its contents.

Rivers was staring from him to the redhead and back again. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

"She may not be the genuine article, but miss clone here definitely has some of Jean Grey's powers." John replied, stalking back over. He leaned against the bar and looked at the redhead. "Don't you, honey."

"Madelyne." She snapped, apparently tired of being called miss this and that.

"Well, Maddie. Nice to meet you."

"Not nice to meet you." And then she frowned. "There's... something tugging, I--"

John tilted his head and watched as she simply disappeared, her glass with her. "Hope she's happier wherever she's gone."

"Uh... Yeah." Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I think... I think I should be going."

"You take care now."

"So should you."

"I will," John said to the sudden empty space. "As soon as I finish what I've left undone."

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!