AN: I never thought I'd be writing another X-Men fanfic after being on a two year hiatus, but I guess things change, right?

As always, enjoy!

All he felt like doing was baking cookies. Even in his dark attire the mood still overwhelmed him. Besides, whenever the kids were anxious, she would bake cookies. So on the day of his fiancée's funeral, Scott Summers baked cookies.

As cliché and Hollywood as it sounded, there was something missing from inside of him both mentally and physically since she'd been left behind. Wiped from his mind was her presence, that little buzz that notified him she was near- just down the hall or in her office. Wiped from his arms was her lovely body and the sensual way she would press up close to him at night.

He did not feel her at all, in fact, and that's what scared him the most. Since the week of her demise, he'd desperately wanted to break down like he had on that god damn plane. He couldn't. He replayed that scene of her letting the water go again and again. No tears came. He just couldn't feel anything.

So instead, he baked cookies. He set the timer and leaned against the counter, his head tipping back slightly. This was the first time when he didn't feel hands on his body, patting his shoulder or rubbing his back. This was the first time when sad eyes didn't follow his every movement, watching for him to finally collapse. Yet, he still kept up his morning daily routine, rising early for a morning run, a little Danger Room exercise, then a quick shower before beginning a day of classes and dealing with unruly teenagers. He found solace in this schedule, keeping himself busy until it was time to sleep. And sleep he did not.

Dreams found him as he closed his eyes, but they were soon shoved away, washed away by the nightmares. There were times when he was down there with her, tugging on her hand to come back inside. Others showed that it was he who had secured the ramp and she was left behind, desperately knocking on the undercarriage of the jet, begging to be saved as the water swirled towards her. But every single one ended the same: she perished in the dark water, ripped from his mind and his life. Yet, even with these nightmares that tore a good night's sleep away from him, he shed no tears and wracked no sobs.

It wasn't that he didn't love her. God knows that he would have thrown himself in front of that water if it meant she would have lived. The confusion of the situation, however, was what plagued his mind since that day at Alkali Lake.

Damn Logan, but he'd asked what Scott never would have the courage to. Why did she leave the plane? He'd heard excuses from anyone who wished to comfort him: she was a hero; she was an X-Man; she was doing what needed to be done; she didn't want to see you die.

His fingers carved at the granite countertops, an overwhelming sense of burning resentment fueling his heart to pound faster. This is what he needed, he realized, to feel alive. Although he hadn't felt it then on that plane, he was sure that he had died along with Jean at Alkali.

"Jean," He whispered hurriedly, as if she had just left the room and he needed her back with him, "Jean." A blur of memories rushed past, tickling his mind, before burning out quickly. He repeated her name, hoping for the emotions to rise up from the ashes, but instead, the timer for the cookies rang, piercing the quiet. He'd never admit it, but he jumped, leaping into the air for a fraction of a second, as the buzzer sounded.

Like he'd watched Jean do a thousand times, he slid on her favorite oven mitts- the ones covered with bright autumn leaves- and cracked open the oven's door. The delicious smell burst into the room, awakening his senses and the breaking open the floodgate of emotions and memories inside of him. He stumbled back from the appliance and wobbled uncharacteristically onto a nearby barstool.

There, in the kitchen on an ordinary day in March, Scott Summers pressed the oven mitts to his face and cried for her, wept openly like a newborn would for its mother, as his cookies burned.

AN: Not as overly tragic as I'm used to writing, but I do like the symbolism. I've always been a big JOTT fan- both in the 90's cartoons, the movies, and the Evolution series, and I have to admit, Scott Summers is one of my favorite characters to write aside from Logan. He has so many layers to toil with and investigate through and this makes him a pleasing individual to write.

And with him being the leader and always hiding his emotions, I thought he would become so good at it that his emotions over Jean's death would be more like a dam bursting- no allusion intended- sudden and unexpected, much like in the movie when he's sobbing on Logan's shoulder.

Note: I'm not exactly sure which month they traveled to Alkali, and with my knowledge on Canada's climate scarce, I just threw in a date that seemed plausible.