The Spirit And The Setting Free

by Amanda Sichter

'How you doin', Cyke?' Logan settled down in the chair next to the medilab's bed. It was a comfortable chair, made for sitting in for long periods. The whole medilab had been transformed now, into something that almost approached a bedroom – books lining the walls, bright prints where they could catch the eye of the patient, the bed with a cheery coverlet. The only thing they couldn't change was the smell. No matter how hard Jean tried to bring in the scents of the outside world, the hospital smell still pervaded.

'Pretty – crappy – Logan,' wheezed out Scott, in response to the question. He made a grotesque sound, something that had once been laughter. It was changed now, into a harsh, gurgling, wheezing sound. The disease had starting eating into his voice in the last few weeks and holding a conversation had become an exercise in patience. Not that any of the X-Men showed anything less than the patience of a saint when they were in Scott's presence. However long it took him to get the words out, they would wait.

''Ro take good care of you?' asked Logan.

Scott's head rolled slightly from side to side, his equivalent of a shrug now he couldn't move his shoulders. 'Best – she – could,' he whispered. 'Least she – doesn't – cry.' He grimaced slightly.

Logan nodded. They'd had to take Rogue off the roster lately, mainly since Scott's voice had started to go. She had been brave at first, chattering cheerfully to Scott as his legs and his hands and his body had started to fail on him. But when he couldn't answer her any more, when his laugh had started to turn into that obscene gurgle, she had failed to hold back the tears. Each time she had assured the others that next time it would be different, she would keep control, but each time she had succumbed to her emotions. In the end, it had been easier to take her off the roster.

'Where's Jeannie?' Logan asked. Even though Jean had her rostered times, more often than not she was in the room, holding Scott's hand, bolstering his faltering body with her own strength, doing whatever she had to to make him comfortable.

'Sent – her – to bed,' Scott said. 'She – was – so – tired.'

Logan nodded carefully. Jean was driving herself to exhaustion, everyone knew that, but they couldn't stop her. She was going to lose Scott, she knew it, and she would spend every possible second of her time with him. Only Scott himself could ever persuade her to get some rest. The others had tried and failed.

'You – take – care – of – her,' whispered Scott. 'When – I'm – dead. Promise me!' His voice – quavering, uncertain – was yet fierce.

'Of course, Cyke,' said Logan. 'You don't have to ask.'

'You – love – her,' said Scott. 'I – trust – you. Make – her – happy.'

'Cyke. Scott. I never . . .' Logan floundered for words. 'You're the only man for Jean, Scotty. She worships you, Cyke. I could never replace you. I wouldn't try.'

That grotesque sound again – that ruptured laugh. 'Don't – want – you – to – replace. Just – care – for her. She'll – need – someone – keep her – alive. Make – her – laugh. Do that – for me.'

'I promise,' said Logan. He put everything, every ounce of love and sincerity and passion, into his voice. Scott heard it and nodded slightly, content.

'I'm – dying,' he said, softly.

'Not yet, you're not,' whispered Logan, fiercely. 'There's still time. Hank's working night and day to find a cure. There's still hope, Scotty. It ain't over 'til the last breath wheezes out of you, Cyke, and that won't be for a while yet.'

'Hank – want – two Nobel – prizes?' asked Scott. 'He's found – his – cure, Logan. He – stopped – Legacy. Not – his fault – I – get – motor – neurone – disease. Hank – can't – save – me – now.'

'He can. He *can*.' Tears glinted in Logan's eyes, beneath his frowning brows.

'Too – far – gone,' said Scott. 'Can't – work – my – body – any more. Can't – talk – much – longer. I – hate – this, Logan. I – can't – eat – unless – someone – feeds me. I – shit – myself. I – can't – fight – can't read can't control – myself. Everything – falling – apart. I'm not – a man, any – more. I'm a baby – a 34-year – old – fucking – baby. Help – me – Logan.'

For an instant Logan didn't understand what he meant, but then cold fear shivered down his spine. 'Help you, Cyke?' he asked. 'Help you die? Scott, I can't do that. I couldn't. There's still a chance. There's still

Jeannie.' Anguish laced his words.

'Do – it – for – Jeannie,' said Scott. Strain etched across his face until Logan noticed that his hand moved slightly. Logan knew what he wanted, and reached down and clutched Scott's hands. Feebly, the fingers encircled his, so gently he could barely feel them. It was all the strength left in a hand that had once held the fate of all of mutantkind in it and been strong enough to handle it, to accept the responsibility and carry the weight of the world. Now, there was nothing left.

'Don't want – Jean – keep – seeing – me – like this,' wheezed Scott. 'Not – fair – on her. On – the – others.' He took a deep breath. 'On – me. I – want – to – die, Logan. Be – free – of – this joke – of - a body. Trust

you – to – help – me.'

'Oh, Scott, Scott,' said Logan. 'How could I do it? I don't know if I could do it? What could I do – slit your throat? The others – they'd never understand. Jeannie'd never forgive me.'

'Gotta – be – you,' said Scott, his eyes wearily closing. 'Beast – can't – do it. He's – a – doctor – he'd never – forgive – himself. Jean – won't – let me – go. The others . . . – you're – my – friend – Logan. I – trust – you to – do – it.' He smiled, a slight twitch of facial muscles that still obeyed him, if only just. 'You're – the – practical – one,' he finished.

Logan took a deep breath, feeling suddenly selfish. 'I can't, Scotty,' he said. 'Jean would know. It would kill her to know I'd done it.'

Scott twisted his head from side to side in negation. 'She's – asleep,' he said. 'If – you – do it – she – will – not – want – to – know. She – won't – try to – get it – out of – your – head. And – I'll – be – gone.'

'But I don't know how to do it so she wouldn't know,' muttered Logan, his voice hoarse with anguish. 'I think she'll notice the claw-marks.'

The laugh again. 'Logan – Logan,' chuckled Scott, feebly. 'Always – the – same. Always – the – violent – solution. Don't – need – claws. Just – turn – up – the – rate – on my – drip. Drugs – in there – can kill me. Take me – away – from – this – pain.'

'But Hank?' said Logan. 'He'll know. He'll tell.'

'No – he – won't,' disagreed Scott. 'He was – the – one – who – told me – about – the – drip – in case – I – wanted. But – I won't – put – it – on – his conscience. You – can – do it – Logan. You – are – the practical – one. You – can – survive – the – knowledge. Hank – will – not tell.'

'You've covered every angle, haven't you?' said Logan, and his voice was suddenly wry.

'I've – been – lying here – for – eight – months. Get – to – think – a lot.' Scott opened his eyes and they were filled with pleading. 'Do – it – for – me,' he begged, and his voice was suddenly wretched with emotion.

Logan could have withstood the requests, but he could not withstand the look in Scott's eyes. There was pain there, pain beyond imagining, and hopelessness and fear and misery, loss and sorrow and a desperate need for respite.

'For you, Scotty,' he said, and reached out and gently turned the drip up to maximum.

'Thank – you,' said Scott, and his eyes filled with relief. 'I – knew – I – could – trust – you.'

'I'm glad you trust me. I'm glad I could do this,' said Logan and gently stroked the hair out of Scott's eyes, away from the visor that had defined Scott's whole life. When they buried him, Logan would make sure it wasn't in the visor.

'I – know – you – loved – Jeannie,' said Scott. 'That – didn't – get in – the way. You – were – my – friend, Logan – and – my – team-mate.'

'You were my friend, too, Scott,' whispered Logan. 'I hated you, in the beginning, because I loved Jean so much. But you taught me how special you were. I never thought anyone would ever be worthy of the Phoenix, but you were, Scott, and you proved it to me, over and over again. The world needs people like you, Scott. It's not fair that this happened. We shouldn't have to lose the ones we love.'

Scott smiled, weakly. 'Love – you – too, Logan. Love – all – the X-Men. Tell them – I – love – them.'

'I will,' Logan promised.

'Tell – Jean – I – love – her.' The words were becoming more slurred as the drug began to shut down the last of Scott's systems.

'She knows, Scott.' Logan noted the sudden flit of anguish across Scott's face and added, 'But I'll tell her.'

'Tell – her – I'll – be – waiting,' said Scott, and died.

'I'll tell her,' whispered Logan and lay his head down on the white sheet and cried until there were no more tears left to cry.

Finally he lifted his head and released the hand he was still holding. He lay it gently upon Scott's chest, once so strong, now thin and wasted. Logan reached up and took off the visor and flung it viciously across the room, so it clattered against the wall and spun away. He lay his hand softly on Scott's brown eyes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and closed them.

He walked back to the door, opened it and turned. The body, under the white sheet, hands crossed on the chest, eyes closed, looked so peaceful there. At peace with everything at last, thought Logan. No more battles, no more fights, no more need to save the world. No more screaming against the fate that put you in a body that stopped working just when you needed it most. No more effort, Scotty. You can put away these former things and wait for us. We will come to you. All of us. One day. When our fight is done. Rest in peace, Scott Summers.

Logan closed the door and went to tell the others that Scott's long, last fight was done.

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