fic: X-Men, So detatched from things we need, Jean, Ororo
disclaimer: not mine
fandom: X-Men
set: er, in that time after the Search for Cyke, I s'pose, not that I know all that much about it.
rating: PG? Some language, I think.
characters: Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Scott Summers
pairing: Jean/Scott
length: 1000
genre: angst, introspection
notes: I started this for Purim Gifts, but hated the seven paragraphs I had at the time. I ran across it a few nights ago and figured I'd try to finish. Title from New Order's 'Times Change'
so detached from things we need
by ALC Punk!
The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky in golds and reds, pink and blue and purple as the light deepened and the clouds shifted. Jean Grey sat on a chair outside the boathouse, feet up on the rail of the dock, watching as the color mellowed further. Behind her in the small structure she shared with her husband, she had responsibilities. But for right at the moment, there was the sunset and a need for having nothing on her mind.
A gust of wind signaled the arrival of Ororo Munroe, resplendent and poised for an instant before she relaxed, padding barefoot to drop down on the chair next to Jean's.
They neither spoke nor looked at one another until the last of the light had slipped away and the night had deepened, slow twinkles signaling the location of awakening stars. Jean broke the silence first, stretching and giving a little sigh. "Haven't watched one of those in a while."
Ororo shifted, foot tapping against Jean's as she found the cup of iced tea Jean had been drinking and took a swallow. "There has been no time to do so." She replied quietly, ice clinking in the glass as she set it back down between them.
For a moment, Jean's muscles ached with the memory of the last several weeks. Pitched battles and sessions in the Danger Room that had left her blind with exhaustion and a headache not even vicodin could relieve.
"People like us," Jean murmured, "We don't get the kind of time...."
Ororo shifted, understanding without either of them finishing the sentence. There was no point in lamenting the loss of being simply normal. Growing up on the streets of Cairo, shifting to a life as a Goddess, Ororo Munroe had never been normal. But Jean Grey had, once upon a time, been a normal little girl, just as bright and cheerful as other girls her age.
"I don't miss it," Jean said to the unspoken thought. Her lips quirked, a gesture unseen in the darkness of the night.
"There is always Robert's solution."
"Bobby watches B-movies and Godzilla. I'm not sure that's normal, 'Ro." It probably was more normal than Bobby would like to think, though.
Ororo gave a delicate shudder, "There was one about invasions last week--"
"The Invasion, I think." replied Jean, shifting a little so she could reach down for the tea. It was bitter and diluted from the ice, but still tasty. "Bobby swore it was an old X-Men adventure. Said he thought someone had pumped one of us for information about it."
"It was quite... familiar, in its way." Ororo agreed, taking the glass Jean held out for her.
Yes. Aliens invading, taking over bodies and bursting free--it was a science fiction cliche, at this point. Still... Jean tilted her head back and stared up at the stars, tracing lines between them almost as an after-thought. "A time none of you, of us, would like to revisit."
The silence stretched again before Ororo chuckled. "Are we so old that we nap at the fall of dusk?"
A grin stretched Jean's lips, "Just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
There was too much truth in her statement, and Ororo was quiet when she replied, "Indeed." Her hand reached out, finding Jean's in the dark. "Let it not drop until after the weekend."
"Oh?"
"Remy is planning an outing to Salem Center. It has been far too long since we saw the humanity we claim to protect."
Jean grunted, though she was still smiling. A movie and dinner sounded nice, and far too staid for people who saved the world every few months. Still, it was better than sitting around, waiting for Apocalypse to drop by for lunch. "What movie?"
"I didn't ask."
Knowing Remy LeBeau, it would probably be a cheesy romance comedy action flick. Jean had to give the man credit for having the balls to like that sort of shit. "If they're playing something good, can we ditch him?"
"Yes. As long as it's not about sports." A rumble of thunder accompanied Ororo's shudder of disgust.
Jean giggled, then settled back into silence. She tried hard not to think about how there weren't often nights like this, where they could just sit in the darkness and watch the stars. Thinking like that was sure to lead to an alien invasion. When it didn't, she turned her thoughts to more practical matters, making a note that Bobby had used the last of the nutella and Warren had complained about the lack of Cheerios.
"I should get some sleep." Ororo stood and bent, her lips brushing Jean's forehead. "Take care, Jean."
"Good night, honey."
When Ororo had been gone for several minutes, Jean got up and went into the boathouse, some of her contentment slipping away. Scott was still where she'd left him, tangled in sheets and dreams he wouldn't tell her about. She sat on the bed, cross-legged and feeling unutterably small before reaching down to stroke a hand over his face.
He woke a little, hands reaching blindly for his glasses.
"Go back to sleep," she murmured, "It's all right."
The tension didn't leave him, though, and his hands found the glasses on the nightstand, putting them on as he rolled back towards her. Eyes finally open behind the red lenses, he blinked for a moment. "Jean? How long did I sleep?"
"Long enough," she replied lightly. "You needed it."
"We should--"
Jean shook her head and reached out to touch his face. "Go back to sleep, Scott. There's no alien invasions tonight."
For a moment, a flicker of humor touched his lips, then he nodded and lay back down, too tired by his recent ordeals to object more. She took his glasses and kissed his temple, then settled with her back to the headboard, "I'll still be here in the morning."
It was a promise she planned to keep even if she couldn't quite bring herself to sleep yet.
-f-
fandom: X-Men
set: er, in that time after the Search for Cyke, I s'pose, not that I know all that much about it.
rating: PG? Some language, I think.
characters: Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Scott Summers
pairing: Jean/Scott
length: 1000
genre: angst, introspection
notes: I started this for Purim Gifts, but hated the seven paragraphs I had at the time. I ran across it a few nights ago and figured I'd try to finish. Title from New Order's 'Times Change'
so detached from things we need
by ALC Punk!
The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky in golds and reds, pink and blue and purple as the light deepened and the clouds shifted. Jean Grey sat on a chair outside the boathouse, feet up on the rail of the dock, watching as the color mellowed further. Behind her in the small structure she shared with her husband, she had responsibilities. But for right at the moment, there was the sunset and a need for having nothing on her mind.
A gust of wind signaled the arrival of Ororo Munroe, resplendent and poised for an instant before she relaxed, padding barefoot to drop down on the chair next to Jean's.
They neither spoke nor looked at one another until the last of the light had slipped away and the night had deepened, slow twinkles signaling the location of awakening stars. Jean broke the silence first, stretching and giving a little sigh. "Haven't watched one of those in a while."
Ororo shifted, foot tapping against Jean's as she found the cup of iced tea Jean had been drinking and took a swallow. "There has been no time to do so." She replied quietly, ice clinking in the glass as she set it back down between them.
For a moment, Jean's muscles ached with the memory of the last several weeks. Pitched battles and sessions in the Danger Room that had left her blind with exhaustion and a headache not even vicodin could relieve.
"People like us," Jean murmured, "We don't get the kind of time...."
Ororo shifted, understanding without either of them finishing the sentence. There was no point in lamenting the loss of being simply normal. Growing up on the streets of Cairo, shifting to a life as a Goddess, Ororo Munroe had never been normal. But Jean Grey had, once upon a time, been a normal little girl, just as bright and cheerful as other girls her age.
"I don't miss it," Jean said to the unspoken thought. Her lips quirked, a gesture unseen in the darkness of the night.
"There is always Robert's solution."
"Bobby watches B-movies and Godzilla. I'm not sure that's normal, 'Ro." It probably was more normal than Bobby would like to think, though.
Ororo gave a delicate shudder, "There was one about invasions last week--"
"The Invasion, I think." replied Jean, shifting a little so she could reach down for the tea. It was bitter and diluted from the ice, but still tasty. "Bobby swore it was an old X-Men adventure. Said he thought someone had pumped one of us for information about it."
"It was quite... familiar, in its way." Ororo agreed, taking the glass Jean held out for her.
Yes. Aliens invading, taking over bodies and bursting free--it was a science fiction cliche, at this point. Still... Jean tilted her head back and stared up at the stars, tracing lines between them almost as an after-thought. "A time none of you, of us, would like to revisit."
The silence stretched again before Ororo chuckled. "Are we so old that we nap at the fall of dusk?"
A grin stretched Jean's lips, "Just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
There was too much truth in her statement, and Ororo was quiet when she replied, "Indeed." Her hand reached out, finding Jean's in the dark. "Let it not drop until after the weekend."
"Oh?"
"Remy is planning an outing to Salem Center. It has been far too long since we saw the humanity we claim to protect."
Jean grunted, though she was still smiling. A movie and dinner sounded nice, and far too staid for people who saved the world every few months. Still, it was better than sitting around, waiting for Apocalypse to drop by for lunch. "What movie?"
"I didn't ask."
Knowing Remy LeBeau, it would probably be a cheesy romance comedy action flick. Jean had to give the man credit for having the balls to like that sort of shit. "If they're playing something good, can we ditch him?"
"Yes. As long as it's not about sports." A rumble of thunder accompanied Ororo's shudder of disgust.
Jean giggled, then settled back into silence. She tried hard not to think about how there weren't often nights like this, where they could just sit in the darkness and watch the stars. Thinking like that was sure to lead to an alien invasion. When it didn't, she turned her thoughts to more practical matters, making a note that Bobby had used the last of the nutella and Warren had complained about the lack of Cheerios.
"I should get some sleep." Ororo stood and bent, her lips brushing Jean's forehead. "Take care, Jean."
"Good night, honey."
When Ororo had been gone for several minutes, Jean got up and went into the boathouse, some of her contentment slipping away. Scott was still where she'd left him, tangled in sheets and dreams he wouldn't tell her about. She sat on the bed, cross-legged and feeling unutterably small before reaching down to stroke a hand over his face.
He woke a little, hands reaching blindly for his glasses.
"Go back to sleep," she murmured, "It's all right."
The tension didn't leave him, though, and his hands found the glasses on the nightstand, putting them on as he rolled back towards her. Eyes finally open behind the red lenses, he blinked for a moment. "Jean? How long did I sleep?"
"Long enough," she replied lightly. "You needed it."
"We should--"
Jean shook her head and reached out to touch his face. "Go back to sleep, Scott. There's no alien invasions tonight."
For a moment, a flicker of humor touched his lips, then he nodded and lay back down, too tired by his recent ordeals to object more. She took his glasses and kissed his temple, then settled with her back to the headboard, "I'll still be here in the morning."
It was a promise she planned to keep even if she couldn't quite bring herself to sleep yet.
-f-