Happy Happy Christmas!
Title: This is How I See You
Author: cataclysmiic
Fandom/Pairing: X-Men, Jean/Scott
Notes: For the Christmas song challenge at jeannie_x_slim. I picked Sarah McLachlan’s “Wintersong”, because it IS a Christmas song, damn it. Really, I swear. It totally counts.
Dislclaimer: I don't own them. Though I will accept one as a Christmas gift. :)
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,395
Summary: “Merry Christmas,” she whispers, and slips something small and wrapped in a shiny red bow into his hand. The wrapping crinkles slightly in the silence, the bow feels soft against his palm.
"And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and by"
-- Sarah McLachlan, 'Wintersong'
Scott wakes with his head spinning. Disoriented for only a moment, he reaches up instinctively to make sure his visor is securely in place over his eyes, and drops his hand weakly onto the mattress. It’s a leftover habit from when Jean still slept beside him in this bed every night. His worst fear had always been that his visor would shift during the night and that he might accidentally harm her.
Silly, he thinks. He should be over things like that by now.
Slipping out of bed, his cotton pajama pants make a sshhft sound against the crisp sheets.
He had to get up. He finds more and more that the longer he lies awake on that bed the more his mind wanders, the more he strains to recall how her warm body felt beside his, how the steady rhythm of her breathing often lulled him to sleep on particularly troublesome nights. He can almost feel her the longer he lies on that bed, can feel her hand on the small of his back, how it startled him and warmed his heart at the same time. He can hear her voice murmuring “Scott, baby, what’s wrong?”
He can feel her hands pulling his face to hers; can feel them guiding his head to rest against her chest. He can hear her heartbeat and can feel her strength.
Sometimes he lies in that bed for hours and hours, imagining. Thinking. Remembering. Pining. But because this particular morning is worse than all of the others, he stands and moves to the window.
The moonlight reflected on the snow sends contrasting shadows of extreme dark and light across his skin, and he feels safe and hidden inside them. A twinkling rainbow of Christmas lights wink up at him from the porch below. Though he can’t see the colors, he knows that they’re there.
“Scott,” her voice whispers in his ear, sounding distant and echoing. “Scott, wake up.”
Slowly he stirs, eyes struggling to focus, the heavy weight of sleep slowly but surely lifting from his mind.
Dawn hasn’t even broken the horizon yet, and a thick blanket of snow has settled over the mansion grounds during the night.
Scott blinks over at Jean. Her green eyes are sparkling, she’s still in her cream-colored nightgown and she’s smiling as wide as a sunrise, and just as beautifully.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispers, and slips something small and wrapped in a shiny red bow into his hand. The wrapping crinkles slightly in the silence, the bow feels soft against his palm.
His face breaks into a grin, and replies with the first thing that comes into his mind. “I adore you.”
Jean knows that Scott’s Christmases as a kid were less than satisfactory (people always seem to forget that children at orphanages deserve the holiday, too), and so she tries to make each year a little more special than the last for him. Jean outdoes herself every year, and to him, one Christmas with her is worth a thousand that he missed out on when he was younger.
“I love you, Scott,” she reminds him needlessly.
He brings her hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I love you too, Jean.”
Scott is downstairs now. He’s standing over the sink, a glass of water that he doesn’t really want poised perpetually before his lips.
A lock of brown has fallen over his visor and is obstructing his vision, but he doesn’t bother to swipe it away.
Despite his own melancholy, there is an undeniable sense of joy and excitement in the still morning air. He knows that in a few hours time he will be in the rec room, positioned amongst his colleagues and dozens of hyper, giggling kids, clearing away destroyed wrapping paper, switching Christmas albums every hour and helping put together endless miniature model trucks and train sets.
The thought doesn’t bother him - far from it.
But he wishes…
He wishes…
Nevermind. Nothing, not even a Christmas miracle, as cliché as it undoubtedly sounds, could make that particular wish come true.
For lack of something better to do, Scott pads his way down the hall and into the rec room. Expecting to find it empty, he’s a little surprised to see someone already occupying his usual spot on the sofa.
Their eyes lock, at least, Emma thinks their eyes lock - she’s never one-hundred percent certain - and he moves to sit beside her.
“Can’t sleep either?” She inquires with the air of one commenting on the weather.
“No. I figured the kids would be up soon anyway and that I should prep myself.”
Emma shifts in her white silk robe and grips her teacup tighter with both hands. She breathes in deeply.
“So,” she begins after a lengthy silence, “what exactly is Christmas like around jolly St. Xavier’s Institute?”
Scott thinks it over. “Not like it used to be.”
Emma isn’t sure whether to take this as a cue or as a warning, and so she remains silent. After a moment she steals a look to the man. She has a wild, horrible urge to poke around inside his mind, but refrains. For some reason, when she’s around Scott Summers she feels exceptionally awful about how she’s chosen to live her life.
When she glances back, Scott’s looking at the Christmas tree. If she were to finagle a guess, she’d say he was staring at the very top.
“Quite the makeshift star,” she comments. The monstrosity of an ornament at the top of the tree looks at least a decade old, even though it probably isn’t (things tend to age quicker than they should around this place, she’s noticed). It seems to be made of a yellowish-gold sort of tissue paper, and absolutely drenched in sequins and glitter. “Arts and crafts project?”
Scott swallows. “Yeah, actually.” The tone of his voice surprises her. “A few years ago around Christmastime Jean and Ororo disappeared into the city for a few hours. They said they were going to go find the perfect tree-topper. I’m thinking they’ll hit Pier 1, maybe the Pottery Barn. But I walk into the kitchen that night and they’ve got all the kids in there, empty craft store bags all over the place, and everyone’s helping to decorate this enormous star.”
Emma’s eyes are following Scott’s face closely.
He laughs in a way that tells her, without any telepathic aid, that he’s recalling a very fond memory. “It was hideous, actually, and there was glitter and Elmer’s glue everywhere. But…Jean…you know, she told all the kids what a beautiful job they’d done. And it’s been our prized ornament every year since.”
Emma feels something hard and very unpleasant in the back of her throat. She swallows it down, and whispers, very quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Scott finally turns to look at her. “Anyway, looking up there got me thinking…last year Jean had this idea to have a massive snowball fight after we opened presents. We made teams, built forts…the kids loved it.” His voice had become stronger, and Emma knew that he was trying his hardest not to let any emotion come through, and he was doing a damn good job of it. He was a master when it came to that. “I thought maybe we could try that again.”
“Of course,” Emma whispers. And then, because if she didn’t just blurt it out she’d come to think better of it, “I know I’ll never be as wonderful as your wife. A woman like that…” she laughs a little bitterly, “I can’t even imagine competing with. But Scott,” and with the next two words out of her mouth came a fraction of her dignity and a fraction of her humility, “I can try.”
Scott looks over to her.
“My Christmas present to you.”
“Thank you, Emma,” he whispers. “I appreciate the gesture.”
She gives him a small, very rare, smile. “I know that you miss her. They all do. I can see how well-loved she was.”
Scott nodds, and tries to keep his face from twisting to match the pain he feels inside.
He stands, and moves towards the door. “Will you do me a favor, Emma? I’m going to go lie down a little while longer. Let me know when the kids are ready to open presents?”
Emma nodds. “Of course.”
“Thank you, Emma. Merry Christmas.”
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