Chapter 44

Jean is just getting ready for bed when there is a knock on her door. She focuses on the mind behind...and not being able to read it concludes who it is. "Come in, Clark!" she permits him.

Clark sticks his head in. "Hey," he greets her. "It's not too late is it?"

Jean shakes her head and waves him inside.

Clark steps in and closes the door behind him. "So, sorry I haven't been able to spend more time with you today," he apologises.

"It's ok," Jean says in understanding. Yes, she was slightly annoyed she couldn't seem to get 5 minutes with her own boyfriend but it was all explainable.

"How are you? I heard that the Collector launched some sort of psychic assault on the world's psychics."

"Honestly, I'm fine," Jean says. Though slightly troubled she can't quite remember how it all ended. "I just don't understand what it was all for. Do you?"

"Haven't had a chance to ask yet," Clark mumbles to himself.

"What?"

"Um, there may be a way to get answers but honestly that's a conversation for everyone and it's kinda late and been a long day..."

Jean shakes her head and smiles at his babbling. She sits on her bed and pats down the space next to her. "Come here a minute," she requests.

Clark hesitates slightly. That may be something to do with the fact Jean's dressed in her robe and well, have you seen Jean's figure? Not to mention just how much of her legs are exposed. Geez, he only has so much will-power you know but nonetheless he does as requested

"Clark, do you remember promising to talk to me about everything?"

"Right now? That's a lot to get through Jean," he cautions. It's late.

"I know and I'm sure much of it is something we all need to hear but for right now I just want you to answer me a question."

"Ok."

"Did the army really torture you?"

"Oh that," Clark says in realisation as to what this is really about.

"Clark, don't make light of this," Jean lightly warns him as she takes his large hand into her smaller ones and strokes the back of it with her thumb.

"Jean, for once I'm really not. Was it unpleasant? Yes but I've been through much, much worse. Honestly the worst part was having to listen to Lex drone on his utter rubbish."

Jean frowns. "Lex was there?"

"Lex was in this up to his eyeballs."

"I mean I heard he made a bargain with the Collector but hadn't gotten the details," Jean admits.

"Oh boy, tomorrow is going to be such a long day," Clark whines because tomorrow is when they are all going to have to sit down and go over exactly what has happened.

Jean has to agree. "But that's tomorrow. Tonight...tonight I want you to stay with me," she says, her voice lowering in its timber, rapidly approaching husky.

Clark looks at her intently. "Stay? As in...stay?"

Jean bites her lower lip as she undoes the strap on her robe and guides Clark's hand inside. She practically moans aloud from just that feeling. For whatever reason her skin feels super-sensitive right now under Clark's touch.

"Are you sure?" Clark asks her because they've only ever sort of half-talked about this. "I'm not human, Jean. There are risks," he cautions her, hanging onto whatever last shred of restraint he has because, sweet Rao! He is so close to the Promised Land right now...and boy was that lame. He's never saying that out-loud.

"Clark, I've been sure for at least a week," Jean assures him. "You're not human, yes. Show me what that means," she tells him.

Ok. That's his last shred of restraint out the window as he crushes her body to his, her lips to his and shows her exactly what it means.

Boston, Massachusetts...

Pulling up to Emma's town house was a certain red car driven by a certain ruby shades wearing young man. Not even his brother knew Scott had come here but after hearing about what happened to all the psychics an overwhelming need grew within to check up on Emma.

And no, he couldn't have just phoned. After their break-up Emma had all her numbers changed...but even if he had her number part of Scott thinks he would probably have driven all this way anyhow.

If he was truly be sensible he would be asking himself what hold it is she has on him.

But where Emma is concerned Scott is not his usual, bland sensible self which is why he is here, knocking on her door. To his surprise she opens it herself. "Thought you would have the help open the door," are the first words out of his mouth.

"Went home for the night. I'm not a slave driver, Scott."

"I didn't...I never meant..."

Emma giggles in a very unlike her manner and Scott realises she's teasing him.

"Funny," he dead-pans.

"Yes, my humour is one of my most underappreciated qualities," Emma intones. "Then again most people have a hard time getting past the staring at my breasts stage of interpersonal interaction."

Scott is trying not to let his mind drift to those...impressive assets. He is still a guy after all and well he has seen everything from when he and Emma were dating. "Why are you always so blunt?"

"Because people are idiots and being blunt is the only way to get through to them. Now, being blunt but hopefully not rude, what brings you here Scott?"

"As if you haven't already read my mind," Scott points out because Emma respects no boundaries.

Emma folds her arms across her chest. "Perhaps I want you to say it."

She never makes it easy. "I came here to see how you were. The Professor said what had happened to all the psychics."

"Did he indeed. Well as you can see I'm fine, Scott. Takes more than some all-powerful alien intelligence to defeat me. However, if you need more reassurance why don't you come inside," she invites him in.

Part of Scott knows he shouldn't. Knows what it is he is signifying if he accepts her invitation. After all what has been resolved as far as their differences and issues goes?

But as always seems to be the case with Emma, Scott doesn't do what is sensible and walks in the door.

At the Institute...

Back in Bayville Clark and Jean weren't the only couple sharing intimacy. Peter and Kitty were too. Peter had stuck around ever since the Prom...and the attack by the robots. Yes, he was there and by the way robots are a lousy audience. Not even one cracked smile from all his jokes.

Course he was mainly sticking around to keep an eye on Kitty. Her behaviour, that had been worrying him...was still worrying him.

Ok, that was lousy phrasing. Point is those worrying(he so needs a thesaurus) comments that would slip from her lips without her noticing, it kept happening and he may be wrong but it seems to be occurring more frequently.

What it meant Peter wasn't sure. He knows what he feared the most. That the Carnage symbiote bonded deep inside Kitty was starting to wake up.

What to do about it he didn't know. Didn't help that Kitty was 'distracting' him.

As in practically ripping his clothes off and being far more aggressive than he had ever seen her.

And dear Lord in Heaven it was good...great...magnificent.

He lies there, sweaty and utterly spent and if his brain was not addled in post-coital bliss it would occur to him that normally there is no way Kitty can wear him out. She never has before...until tonight.

And the petite girl is currently sprawled atop of him as sweaty and spent as he is. "Now...that...is what I call a good workout!" she proclaims breathlessly, huge smile adorning her face. Ack, why did they ever stop doing this? Because it had been awhile. Oh, wait, it was her. She hasn't been in the 'mood'. Idiot. But she guesses all she needed was a good old fashioned, near end of the world crisis to get her juices flowing again. Which, if she was thinking rationally, is exactly the opposite sort of thing that would turn her on.

"Uh huh," is all Peter can manage in response.

"Love you," she says with a tired sounding yawn.

"Love you too," he says gathering her in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

Kitty snuggles into him as exhaustion overtakes them both and they fall into a deep sleep.

Kitty finds herself wandering through the seemingly endless corridors of some 1970s looking hotel. How she came to be here she really can't remember...but she also can't seem to find her way out. The place is like a labyrinth.

Then she hears it. A gently sung but rather creepy sounding song.

#Mary had a little lamb,

Little lamb, little lamb#

Kitty is oddly compelled to head towards the voice.

#Mary had a little lamb,

Whose fleece was white as snow#

As Kitty walks, the corridors begin to change, to deteriorate. Wall paper is peeling. Dampness. Decay.

The singing is getting louder.

#And everywhere that Mary went,

Mary went, Mary went,

Everywhere that Mary went

The lamb was sure to goooo!#

Kitty reaches a door from behind which the singing is coming from. The door is coated in something...tar like. Red and black in colour. It seems so familiar...like out of a tried to be forgotten nightmare.

#So one day Mary decided to eat it up,

Eat up, eat it up!

So one day Mary decided to eat it up

and drink its blood dry!#

With lyrics like that you would think Kitty would run for the hills...but nope. Out of her own volition her hand reaches for the knob, twists it and opens the door.

The room is like a sight straight out of hell. It's all Kitty can do not to vomit at the sight of prostrated people in varying states of being dissected hung on the walls. Dried blood cakes everything. In the centre of the room is a chair with a high back with the singer sat in it but Kitty can't see who it is.

#Because you see Mary had a secret side,

Secret side, secret side.

Mary had a secret side…#

Kitty reaches for the chair...when it spins round and she finds herself looking face to face with...herself...only not quite. This Kitty's eyes were blood red, a sinister smirk adorns her lips. Her clothes were blood red and black in swirling patterns that changed as if alive. This Kitty finishes off her song with one last line, spoken in a deep, almost orgasmic growl;

#...And Carnage was its name-o!#

One last line and an insane cackle.

"NOOOO!" Kitty screams in absolute terror as she kicks and rips at the sheets covering her body.

"Kitty!" a voice shouts in panic, a hand touches her shoulder...and without even trying Kitty grabs whoever it is and throws them across her room in a display of superhuman strength into her wardrobe, smashing it to pieces.

It takes Peter a second to get over the shock. He never saw that coming. It was so quick even his spider-sense didn't give him enough warning to react in time. He ignores the shattered wood around him and springs back to his feet. He spots Kitty still in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, rocking back and forth slightly.

He's actually seen this before. After she has had a nightmare about...well about being Carnage. "Kitty," he speaks gently as he softly plops himself back down on the bed beside her. His hands reach out and rub her arms gently. "It's ok. I'm here."

"No," Kitty whispers in a hoarse sounding whisper.

"No?" Peter queries gently...and find his girlfriend looking up at him, her eyes...her usually brown eyes...he has to stifle a gasp. Her eyes...they're black and red in colour.

"She's awake," Kitty half-sobs.

It's finally happened. What they all feared. Carnage is back. Peter pulls her into a death-grip hug and just holds her, honestly just as afraid as she is. "No matter what I love you," he tells her.

Kitty says nothing. She screws her eyes tight shut as in her mind all she can hear is her own twisted voice, all she can hear is Carnage's insane laughter.

Speaking of people having nightmares...

Bart's sleep is interrupted by a scream. A woman's scream. Is that...mom?

Bart gets out of bed, opens his door and walks along the hallway to the stairs and as he walks down he finds a sight he can barely comprehend. His parents are there in the middle of this...lightning storm?

There is this gold and red lightning circling round the foyer with his parents huddled together in the centre of it...and then standing there in front of him is this...demon...dressed in yellow with glowing red eyes.

"Run, Barry, run!" a voice commands him but Bart...or is that Barry?

Bart can only stand there, frozen in fear...and just as the demon reaches for him…

"Arh!" he screams as he shoots awake in bed, breathing heavily. It takes him a minute to remember where he is. He's at the Institute...in his and Clark's room. Clark...ain't here. He never came back from seeing Jean. Lucky devil, Bart thinks to himself as he imagines just what his friend is probably doing.

Bart rubs his face. Man, that was a crazy dream he was having.

Suddenly there is a gust of wind.

"Found you!" a heavily distorted voice states.

Bart gasps in terror. It's him. The man in yellow.

"Did you really think you could escape me...Flash?" the man asks.

Bart is moving in an instant...but it's an instant too long as he finds himself slammed up against the wall, powerful left hand round his throat, choking him. He claws helplessly at it, unable to escape.

The man in yellow raises his right hand and starts to vibrate it until it is a blur.

"I told you, Flash. I always win!"

The next thing Bart knows is what it feels like to have a hand shoved through your chest.

"ARH!" he screams even louder than before as he...wait for it...wakes up in bed. He covers his face with his hands as he tries to compose himself.

God, what was that?

Bart has no idea...except whoever...whatever that man in yellow was elicited utter terror in his heart. He doesn't think he's getting back to sleep after that...but he does have a question.

Why did that guy keeping calling him 'Flash?'.

Speaking of nightmares(you maybe noticing a theme here). Although at first it seems like the most wonderful dream...

She's soaring through space. Planets, stars, whole galaxies, she passes by them at impossible speed. The fabric of space and time is hers to bend to her will as she likes.

Wanting to be somewhere else she simply rips open a hole in the fabric of space-time, enters and emerges somewhere else.

Flames more than cover her figure. She is the flames and the flames are her. She is Power. She is Fire. She is Creation. She is Destruction. She is the Source of Life itself. Incarnate.

Plunging down through the atmosphere of a small world she soars over an alien culture. Long ago she gave these creatures life. Let her see what they have done it. With that most precious of all gifts. Life.

What she sees does not please her.

Ruin, waste, war.

She gives them life and they squander it. Lay waste to this once beautiful world.

Righteous anger swells up inside her breast.

Time to start again.

She soars away from the planet towards the star at the centre of the system. Into the fiery ball she plunges. Deeper and deeper to the core where the miracle of creation takes place.

Atoms being smashed together in nuclear fusion creating new elements. The building blocks of life, of the universe itself. She can feel it and see it on a level few, if any, can understand. The atoms dance in her hands at her whim, streaming burning plasma rolls around her. Forces that would disintegrate most beings but not her. She revels in it.

It's all so beautiful.

In one way it's sad it must end but end it must...so that something new and better can be born from the ashes.

Her hands grabs the trails of plasma and her energy surges around her. Stars are such a delicate balance between the nuclear fusion wishing to blow it apart and gravity trying to crush it down.

Disrupt that balance...she gasps in elation as the fusion in the star's core accelerates. Faster and faster, the forces grow and grow until gravity can no longer hold the star together.

It explodes, outward, in a supernova and those that squandered her gift of life are washed away in the purity of fire, her fire.

But it is not a waste as one might think. Their bodies, their atoms will be spread out on the cosmic winds and one day, millions, perhaps billions of years from now, they will make new worlds, new life. Thus is the cycle of the cosmos.

And she, the Fires of Creation soars onward on her journey, fulfilling her purpose. She stops briefly when she spots the pale skinned figure with dark hair, floating there in space, shaking her head in sadness...or is that disapproval?

Green eyes acknowledge the figure. Her sister. She too has her purpose.

But it is only a brief pause. Jean Grey...or what use to be Jean Grey but is now so much more has so much to do. She smiles in joy at her handiwork. So much destruction...so much new creation. It's a thrill like no other.

Once upon a time she use to have another life but it's nothing more than a faint memory now. Compared to the unbridled passion and limitless power she feels now it all seems so small and unimportant. That's why Jean embraced her, took her completely in, bonded as one. You could argue Jean was seduced by the power or perhaps even sold her soul for it but none of the why matters now.

Whoever Jean Grey was is nothing compared to what she is now.

And the billions she just murdered are nothing important in the grand scheme.

Proof absolute that Jean Grey is gone and what she is now fills space with her fiery bird-like form.

She is Life Incarnate. She is the Fires of Creation and Destruction. She is the Phoenix.

And will remain so until the end of time.

Jean opens her sleepy eyes ever so slowly, completely missing the few last embers of fire flowing over her skin before they fade away. Her groggy mind takes several moments to remember why she feels so good, contented and satisfied.

Could be she was having a wonderful dream. Something about soaring through space but its fading fast.

No. Something else. Another reason she feels oh so good.

Oh right. She slept with Clark...and it was wonderful.

Her previous experiences hadn't really prepared her for what it was like to make love to her alien boyfriend. The sheer raw, overwhelming power you can sense boiling underneath his surface.

There are muscles aching from overuse she didn't even know she possessed. Totally worth it though. Even if she may not be able to move for about a week.

Jean can't help but smile...and it's not just from the pure physical satisfaction. What they did last night was a result of the emotional deepening of her and Clark's relationship. They were letting each other in. Clark had been opening up, letting Jean see past his layers and the more she saw the more she wanted him.

Her hands wander over her body, following the tracks Clark left behind. Jean can almost still feel the echo of Clark's touch...and when they were joined together as one…

A knot forms on Jean's brow. When they were joined together, as physically intimate as possible for two people to be, lost in the throws of passion and pleasure...as a telepath her mind automatically tries to reach out and connect. On Clark it's impossible...or is it?

Because just now it occurs to her...it was faint but for a moment or two there she could swear they connected. That she felt him...his mind, brushing against her own...or she was just imagining it? Was she just wanting that natural bond a telepath seeks with her lover so much she is imagining something happened that, in reality, didn't.

On instinct Jean's mind reaches out trying to find him...and that is when she notices he is not in bed beside her.

Forcing her tired body to move she sits up, holding the sheets to her body. "Clark?" she queries as she sees a figure in the darkness.

No response.

Jean reaches over and clicks on the bedside table lamp. She blinks, adjusting to the sudden brightness...before she gasps at the sight before her.

Not just the mess her room is. A result of her losing control over her powers when she was, you know, lost in the moment. Kinda impossible to keep complete control when you're racked with overwhelming waves of pleasure but that's not relevant right now.

No what she gasped at was her walls. Her walls that are covered in what she knows are Kryptonian glyphs...and that is because Clark is writing all over them. Where the heck did he get the pen from?

Not relevant.

Jean spends a moment watching him...in nothing but a pair of boxers and normally she would totally appreciate that view. In fact she just spent the last few hours seeing a whole lot more.

Arh! Not now Jean!

The red-haired goddess makes her sore body get out of bed, wrapping the bedsheets around her curvy figure and wanders over to her boyfriend, deep concern filling her. "Clark?" she tries again, her mind trying to reach his. It seems as impenetrable as ever, making her earlier thought that they somehow connected seem to be incorrect. He doesn't seem to hear her as he continues to write.

Jean looks at the images. They are the same glyphs written over and over and over again. She touches his arm and inhales sharply as a massively powerful presence suddenly brushes against her mind.

It's Clark.

Oh god she wasn't imaging it. She really can...how?

She shakes her head and reaches into herself. Her eyes flash with golden psychic energy and she pushes back against the force trying to make a connection, trying to reach him but it's too strange...too alien. There is...it's hard to describe. It's not like what she 'sees' with a human mind. There are no words. She's not reading his actual thoughts. It's almost like...colours? Images...abstract images if anything. Perhaps the waves of his emotions...which are cold, like the arctic breeze right at the moment.

She doesn't have time right now to decipher them. So she decides just to telepathically yell loudly, "Clark!"

And it seems to work.

Clark stops his writing and looks at her, his gaze...utterly alien. He cocks his head slightly. The weight of his mind bears down and focusses upon her. It's almost like a mountain dropping on her. She never imagined just how powerful his mind might be. She fights through it. "Clark?" she queries in hope.

"Jean," he says, his voice cold, alien, robotic.

"W-what are you doing? What is all this?" she asks, her voice stuttery, fear gripping her. She hasn't seen Clark act like this since...since Jor-El, or whatever it was calling itself Clark's father, brainwashed him.

"It's a warning," Clark states, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.

Jean swallows, probably about to regret asking this. "What does it say?"

Clark gazes at her, his eyes dark, making her shiver with the intensity...and not the good kind of shiver. He gives his reply. "Zod is coming."

Yep. She definitely regrets asking that.

Author's Note: Emma truly is the forbidden fruit ain't she. Oh the Peter, Kitty and Carnage 3-way has begun. Does that sound dirtier than I meant it to? Anyway, yes Carnage is awake at last. Hey, look it's the Flash's arch-nemesis...kinda. And the Bart/Barry issue I've raised, who this Bart Allen actually is, is going to get an answer soon. Well the Phoenix did warn that Jean's final evolution was starting and consequence number 1; the evolution of her telepathy to allow her to sorta read Clark's mind. And goodie, Clark's all zoned out, in brainwashed mode again. I bet he's totally missed that happening to him. Thanks to everyone who wrote reviews. This is indeed the last chapter of this story but we'll be back soonish with the next one; Year 3.3 Kneel before Zod. Not ominous in the least.