A/N: Told you I wasn't on hiatus... I have big plans for this fic, and I'm gonna keep writing if people keep reading… and reviewing, inevitably. (: So if you like it and you want more, REVIEW!

A more happily action-packed chappie to make up for six months of silence (finally done with junior year!). The prose style is spare, because I still have a jam-packed summer ahead of me. Song used is Rise Up by Third Day. Oh, the symbolism, it hits you between the eyes!

"It sometimes feels as if "real life" is about how we deal with whatever is thrown our way while we journey on... on through the triumphs, on through the failures, and on through the status quo. Real life. It is so hard to move on with it when we feel so dead inside. Every ounce of energy depleted, every ray of hope gone, every thing empty. But there exists a voice. One that our hearts recognize. One that calls us out of our tomb, and revives our hope, and restores our strength. "Rise Up" and "keep going" He shouts. This is not the end. We have only just begun. This song wraps up the message of hope that we are striving to communicate, and the truth that God will meet you Wherever You Are… it sends you on your way, ready to embrace all that "Real Life" has to offer." - Brad Avery (Third Day)

A day passed without a sign.

After a conference with Moira and Xavier, Hank had gone into Jean's room to try to scrounge up some clue as to her whereabouts. He found Logan and Scott already there, quarrelling violently and all but throwing the furniture at each other. Hank broke them apart, assigning Scott Jean's bedroom and Logan the bathroom, dividing himself between the two. He didn't envy Logan's job. The floor was flooded with cold, murky water mixed with makeup, perfume, toothpaste, and other toiletries that had been on the dresser. The ceiling and walls were streaked with the same. Every surface looked like it was dripping with vomit. There was something gruesome about the whole thing.

Logan cleaned up silently, only directing the stray mutter Scott's way. But Scott himself was on edge. Neither of them had been able to go back to sleep the night before.

When Hank couldn't take it anymore he fished out his Zen player and turned up the volume, drowning out the constant bickering going on over his head.

Well, I was there when you were torn apart

Now a piece of you is gone

Somehow you wish that you could only find

A little strength to carry on

Turning over Jean's room took the three men a full day. They found nothing.

You've tried so hard to make it on your own

That your heart has come undone

So I am here to prove that I alone

Have the power to overcome

Saturday came the next morning, and there was still no word.

For the umpteenth time that year, Ororo laboriously rearranged the school's timetables to accommodate the loss of another teacher. She dumped all of Jean's chemistry classes on Scott, pushed some of Scott's algebra classes onto Logan, and finally absorbed as many of Jean's biology classes into her own schedule, piled on top of a full history, geography, and ethics classload. Goodness knows she had only been through high school biology herself, scraping through with a lot of help from Jean, but she had a school to run. Her school. And if that meant night after night of re-teaching herself everything from photosynthesis to DNA, well, so be it. Sacrifices would just have to be made.

Cleaning out her closet, she came across the handbag Jean had bought her as a birthday present (A/N: Remember this prop from Chapter 7? I enjoy tormenting Storm so much that I'm going to butt in on her emotional and ethical moment here). That seemed so long ago. Ororo bit her lip, hesitating. She'd loved that bag. It was a killer combo for fall. No need to hold back in the fall and limit her wardrobe to browns and beiges, she went for some color. Still in the earth tone family, the Azzardo green leather was a stunning option. The top handle featured lush leather braided detail and tan suede lined the inside. Completely elegant, easy to put over her shoulder, and a stunning shade… (A/N: "What the fudgemuffin?" you cry. Review taken from purseblog dot com!) Finally making up her mind, Ororo swore and tossed the bag into the furthest corner of her closet and buried it under some larger bags she never carried anymore (like her Juicy Couture bags. No wait, of course Ororo never outgrew her Juicy Couture bags!). She wouldn't carry that bag again.

(Ororo caught the author making since comments. Ororo caused the author grave bodily harm. Ororo has an inadequate sense of humor.)

Don't let your heart be troubled

This world will never keep you down

It will never keep you down

On the third day, the San Francisco Federal District Courts had a special delivery. Four vans of felons, accompanied by the highest security forces, being brought to court, top priority. The survivors of the Alcatraz incident.

Pyro was among that number, and he was at his moodiest. All the police officers had been specifically instructed not to carry lighters with them, and two officers carrying heavy-duty fire extinguishers flanked the teenager on either side.

Here he was, hands chained behind his back, being marched into court like a common criminal. Pyro sneered. The Alcatraz trials would be a farce.

"Move along," blared an officer, yanking him forward.

Pyro struggled. "You've got nothing against me," he shot back. "I'm a minor. This court has no jurisdiction."

"Shut up, mutie," the officer snapped, shoving him hard between his shoulder blades. Pyro stumbled, but regained his balance and carried on, head held obstinately high.

How had things gone so wrong? Because he'd cast in his lot with the wrong people, all over again. First his screwed up family had made him go to Xavier's, where the teachers kept watch over him twenty-four hours a day and that damn Professor treated kids like they were retards. Then he'd joined Magneto's brotherhood, where his talents and focus had ensured his quick advance up the ranks. But the next thing he knew, he was being dragged out from under a burning car by – could it really have been Bobby? Yes, it must've been, because only Bobby would've gone that far for him only to turn him over to the feds. He hadn't really been hurt, except for his pride. But now he was facing up to life imprisonment just for being on the wrong side.

Despite all that, Pyro knew he'd never strike out solo. He wasn't your typical team player, but he worked better when he knew someone would be watching his back. What he needed – what the whole Brotherhood needed – was real leadership. The way Germany had needed Hitler. Someone in their time of need would rise up. But even then, Pyro hated waiting…

A flash of fiery red caught his eye.

"Hear me now, Brotherhood!" a strong, clear voice rang out.

A woman, sheathed in a stunning skin-tight red costume – Pyro couldn't help following the plunge of that neckline – stood, resplendent, at the end of the marbled vault. Pyro blinked.

It couldn't be…!

"I am… Phoenix." Her voice was eerily quiet, and her gaze was level as she looked Pyro directly in the eye. "And I am fire and life incarnate."

Pyro stood rooted to the ground, in shock. Phoenix – Dr. Grey…? And then he heard it almost before he saw her move. One of his favorite sounds in the world.

It was the sound of a match being struck.

Phoenix winked. Posing for the cameras.

Pyro didn't have to think twice.

The fire that flooded the courts was glorious.

So rise up, my friend

No, this will never be the end

So rise up, my friend

And live again

Hank was jogging past the front lawn in the afternoon sun when news reached him in the form of Kitty, running breathlessly straight through the lawn. He pulled his headphones off.

"Dr McCoy!" Kitty gasped, clutching at her side. "You have to come – the news – Professor X says everyone – has to come in – now!" Without waiting to see if he would follow, she ran straight back through the front wall of the Mansion. Hank envisioned her pounding up the stairs.

Hank ran to the television room as fast as his feet could carry him. It was already full, but deathly silent. The air was full of fear.

On the news, there was a replay some kind of conflagration. Some official-looking building. The streets of San Francisco were already choked with thick, rolling black smoke. There was a great deal of shouting and confusion.

And then a woman in red stepped from the ashes.

"No…" Hank whispered. "No, no, no…"

A headline flashed across the screen. MUTANTS TORCH FEDERAL COURTS!

"No… oh, God, please, no…"

"And now, taking you back live to the scene as events are unfolding right now…"

"Make sure all of our numbers are free," Phoenix said.

Pyro nodded, throwing flames left and right. "What're we trying to achieve here?"

"An impression. A strong one."

"I'm up for taking over the world, even on short notice," Pyro joked.

Phoenix's gaze was steely. "Today you are to defend me, no more, no less. The world will remember us today."

I didn't want you to feel this way

It's not what life was meant to be

And so for you, my friend, I'll take your shame

You can give it all to me

A band of mutants burst out of the burning building, spluttering and choking. As one they turned to look at Phoenix, some readying themselves for a fight. Phoenix raised her arms in welcome.

"Fly!" she commanded. "Be free! And let no one hold you captive again!"

Pyro saw the hesitation. "Go!" he shouted.

The rest of the Brotherhood took off, with cries of "Mutant rights now!" and "Homo superior!" Yet Phoenix held her ground. Police reinforcements and firemen were beginning to arrive.

"Phoenix, why are we staying?"

"Do not go far," was all she said.

And still Phoenix did nothing, even as she was looking with disinterest down the ring of dozens of gun barrels pointing directly at them.

"Freeze!" a cop yelled.

"Burn," Pyro snarled, and hurled another fireball.

"It seems as though the ringleader of the Alcatraz attacks, once presumed dead, has returned…"

It certainly looked like Jean… Something about the situation didn't strike Hank as right. He glanced around the room. Moira shrugged at him helplessly. Logan wouldn't meet his eyes. Scott just looked stared emotionlessly at the television, fires reflecting in his glasses.

"Breaking news: police have cornered two mutants, identified as Phoenix and Pyro…"

Phoenix took a step behind Pyro, shielding herself behind him. Cold sweat ran down Pyro's back, and his skin crawled. Can you read my mind? He thought. Can't you do something?

"Move again and we'll shoot," shouted a cop. Pyro could hear a helicopter approaching, pulling up beside the news chopper.

"Phoenix," Pyro muttered, "Make a move."

She struck another match.

Pyro tensed and unleashed the hottest wave of fire he could. Hundreds of bullets, melted soft by the flames, bounced off him and stuck slightly to the ground.

"Phoenix!" Pyro whispered hoarsely. "I can't keep doing this!"

The second wave of bullets came, and he released another round of fire. This time they struck hard enough to bruise. Panic pulsed through his veins.

"Save us!" Pyro screamed. "Phoenix!"

They would be his last words.

'Cause you've wrestled demons every day

And they've dragged you to your knees

But in your weakness you will learn to find

That I will always be your strength

The van with darkened windows pulled up outside the gates of Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, not even turning up the driveway. Hank ran down to meet it.

"I'm Dr. McCoy," he explained to the driver, who rolled his window down less than halfway. "If you could just tell Tyson that I really appreciate this favour…"

"Our boss isn't interested," the driver said curtly. "You got five minutes in the back of the van. That's it."

Hank nodded and the driver unlocked the van doors. Stepping inside, Hank briskly lifted the lid off a long unmarked wooden box. The stench of blood immediately reached his nose, making his head spin.

The body was sealed in a clear plastic bag, but the blood… the blood was everywhere. The body was riddled with so many bullet holes that it looked as though it had burst. Even then, there was no mistaking that face.

"Jean Grey," Hank murmured.

He could hear the driver protesting something, and then Moira, Scott, and Logan squeezed into the van with him. He looked at them wordlessly.

"No brain activity," Moira said. "I can't be sure… but I am."

"Blood," Logan said hoarsely. Hank understood.

Hank said, gently, "Scott?"

Scott took a sharp breath, as if to speak, but didn't. A moment later, he took another. And another. He cracked a hysterical, lopsided smile that turned into a laugh.

"He's going into shock," Moira said, urgently. "We have to get him out of here."

The driver pounded on the wall separating the front from the back of the van. Hank clapped the box shut. Together, he and Logan half-carried the other man out of the van. As soon as Moira had slammed the door, the van pulled away.

They lay Scott down right there on the road, propping up his legs. Logan pulled off his jacket and threw it over him. Moira grasped his hand.

"Jean!" Scott was shrieking, convulsing, laughing. "Jean!"

"Shh, shh," Moira said soothingly, "look at me, Scott. Just look at me."

He couldn't. He just couldn't. And he never stopped screaming, "Jean! Can you hear me? Jean! Jean!"

In life or in death

Through joy or regret

And all of the secret things you have done

No matter what comes, my friend

Nothing can keep you from the love of God

A/N: But it doesn't end there! The next instalment, explaining even Jean's ridiculous costume (btw, her somewhat cheesy entrance lines are adapted from Uncanny 134), to come sooner as you hit that review button. :D It only takes a second and it sends a whole lot of love…