X-Men fic: welcome, ghosts [your hand in mine]--Scott Summers, PG
[notes at my personal lj here]
--
“I’ve got him,” Scott says aloud, and Nathan interrupts sharply-
“Her,” he says. “You’ve got her.”
“Yes, her,” Scott says, a bit impatiently. “I’m about to-”
The baby tugs the locket out from under the neck of Scott’s uniform, and for a dizzy moment, Scott’s world stops. Serenely, the girl blinks up at him, and Scott’s breath catches in his throat-he’s not good with colours, he sees his world in shades of red, but he knows the colour of Jean’s eyes like he knows the back of his hand or the controls of the Blackbird and this child’s big eyes are exactly the shade that Jean’s were.
No, he thinks, the universe can’t be this cruel. The little girl coos and stares at the tiny snapshot of Scott and Jean, young and stupid and deliriously happy, and he knows just how exactingly vicious fate can be. Live, Scott, live, a broken and beautiful Jean whispers from his memories, all I ever did was die on you, but that isn’t true at all, is it? Time and again, just as he is finished fitting the shards of his heart back together, she returns to him in a blaze of light-
So it would be terribly appropriate, if the baby really is-if it is her. This child was born to a world of flame and fury and destruction, just as Jean-the-Phoenix thrived on it-he can still taste the smoke and smell the stink of smouldering flesh at Cooperstown, can still see Jean in all her blazing glory with her red hair flying about her face. Find yourself, Jean, he remembers telling her at her latest hasty resurrection. All your pieces. You’ll be fine. You’ll remember. And you’ll know what to do.
Did you finally do it, Jean?
Emma is a cool presence in the back of his mind as she goes about dispatching the last of the Marauders and gathering the students. Scott? Her voice in his head is quick and concerned, and he involuntarily twitches his thoughts away from her. Emma doesn’t chase them; she’s not a fan of boundaries, or at least of other people having them, but at this point she’s learned not to pry, not when he’s this agitated. Your heart rate is spiking and you didn’t finish your sentence. Should I worry?
Scott almost laughs at that. You damn well should, Emma, he thinks, and his love for her is almost a tangible object weighing down on his shoulders as he shifts the little girl in his arms. Christ, haven’t they earned the right to a happy ending by now? “No, everything’s fine,” Scott lies. “I’m just-assessing the situation.”
Xavier recalls Scott sharply to the present. “You can’t control the future, Scott,” he says. “You can only allow it to be born.”
“Them,” Scott reminds him, trying to focus his scattered thoughts. “Not it. There are two possible futures.”
“Yes, there are. At least two.” Xavier and Scott both watch the baby, happily occupied with opening and closing the locket. Her eyes flutter sleepily. “And this child is the key that opens both of them.”
Nathan is kneeling to Scott’s left, breathing hard. He’s grimy and blood-splattered and as desperate as Scott has ever seen him, and for a moment Scott’s attention narrows in on his son-what, he wonders, are your stakes in this, Nathan? Are you just playing the enigmatic time traveller, nobly saving all of mutantkind from certain destruction? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?
Scott kisses the baby’s soft, pale hair (blonde now, he thinks, but even ignoring the ruby lenses he knows the girl will have flaming red hair when she gets a bit older), gently cradling her head. He feels his carefully crafted house of cards come tumbling down around him, and he remembers what Jean told him, once, that he works best on his feet, that he’s the most successful where all his plans have fallen apart. Nathan isn’t, perhaps, the most likely choice to raise a child. He’s a soldier, first and foremost, and other people have never been his priority-Scott knows how much Nathan is willing to sacrifice for the greater good, but then, he’s already seen the lengths he will go to in order to protect this little girl.
“Nathan,” Scott says, unwinding the locket from around his neck and slipping it over the baby’s head. “Take her.”
“Wh-what?” Nathan stares, and Scott can feel Xavier go still beside him. It feels odd and not a little exhilarating, to have Xavier playing such a passive role in things, to not see him stepping in and playing leader at the last moment. Scott isn’t a psychic-not even close-but he knows that Xavier is pleased with his decision, and despite their…well, their different views on things in the past, he can't help but feel a bit more confident, knowing the Professor is backing him up.
“Take her out of here. Let her be herself. Choose for herself. And not be a key, or a strategic resource, or a playing piece in someone else’s game.” Scott folds the baby into his son’s arms. “Give her the freedom I was never able to give you.”
Whoever she is.
The baby is a perfect fit in Nathan’s arms, and Scott could almost swear he sees his battle-weary son smile at the sight of the girl waving her fat little fists in delight. Nathan pulls the thick red blanket more securely around the baby, and he does not meet Scott’s eyes. Which is fair enough, Scott thinks; he can’t ask these questions of Nathan, because he doesn’t really want to know the answers.
Not yet, anyway.
(In his mind’s eye, the world is awash in scarlet light, and Jean has that knowing, kissable little half-smile on her lips. Goodbye, she says, and Scott thinks it’s fair to add to himself, for now.)
--
“I’ve got him,” Scott says aloud, and Nathan interrupts sharply-
“Her,” he says. “You’ve got her.”
“Yes, her,” Scott says, a bit impatiently. “I’m about to-”
The baby tugs the locket out from under the neck of Scott’s uniform, and for a dizzy moment, Scott’s world stops. Serenely, the girl blinks up at him, and Scott’s breath catches in his throat-he’s not good with colours, he sees his world in shades of red, but he knows the colour of Jean’s eyes like he knows the back of his hand or the controls of the Blackbird and this child’s big eyes are exactly the shade that Jean’s were.
No, he thinks, the universe can’t be this cruel. The little girl coos and stares at the tiny snapshot of Scott and Jean, young and stupid and deliriously happy, and he knows just how exactingly vicious fate can be. Live, Scott, live, a broken and beautiful Jean whispers from his memories, all I ever did was die on you, but that isn’t true at all, is it? Time and again, just as he is finished fitting the shards of his heart back together, she returns to him in a blaze of light-
So it would be terribly appropriate, if the baby really is-if it is her. This child was born to a world of flame and fury and destruction, just as Jean-the-Phoenix thrived on it-he can still taste the smoke and smell the stink of smouldering flesh at Cooperstown, can still see Jean in all her blazing glory with her red hair flying about her face. Find yourself, Jean, he remembers telling her at her latest hasty resurrection. All your pieces. You’ll be fine. You’ll remember. And you’ll know what to do.
Did you finally do it, Jean?
Emma is a cool presence in the back of his mind as she goes about dispatching the last of the Marauders and gathering the students. Scott? Her voice in his head is quick and concerned, and he involuntarily twitches his thoughts away from her. Emma doesn’t chase them; she’s not a fan of boundaries, or at least of other people having them, but at this point she’s learned not to pry, not when he’s this agitated. Your heart rate is spiking and you didn’t finish your sentence. Should I worry?
Scott almost laughs at that. You damn well should, Emma, he thinks, and his love for her is almost a tangible object weighing down on his shoulders as he shifts the little girl in his arms. Christ, haven’t they earned the right to a happy ending by now? “No, everything’s fine,” Scott lies. “I’m just-assessing the situation.”
Xavier recalls Scott sharply to the present. “You can’t control the future, Scott,” he says. “You can only allow it to be born.”
“Them,” Scott reminds him, trying to focus his scattered thoughts. “Not it. There are two possible futures.”
“Yes, there are. At least two.” Xavier and Scott both watch the baby, happily occupied with opening and closing the locket. Her eyes flutter sleepily. “And this child is the key that opens both of them.”
Nathan is kneeling to Scott’s left, breathing hard. He’s grimy and blood-splattered and as desperate as Scott has ever seen him, and for a moment Scott’s attention narrows in on his son-what, he wonders, are your stakes in this, Nathan? Are you just playing the enigmatic time traveller, nobly saving all of mutantkind from certain destruction? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?
Scott kisses the baby’s soft, pale hair (blonde now, he thinks, but even ignoring the ruby lenses he knows the girl will have flaming red hair when she gets a bit older), gently cradling her head. He feels his carefully crafted house of cards come tumbling down around him, and he remembers what Jean told him, once, that he works best on his feet, that he’s the most successful where all his plans have fallen apart. Nathan isn’t, perhaps, the most likely choice to raise a child. He’s a soldier, first and foremost, and other people have never been his priority-Scott knows how much Nathan is willing to sacrifice for the greater good, but then, he’s already seen the lengths he will go to in order to protect this little girl.
“Nathan,” Scott says, unwinding the locket from around his neck and slipping it over the baby’s head. “Take her.”
“Wh-what?” Nathan stares, and Scott can feel Xavier go still beside him. It feels odd and not a little exhilarating, to have Xavier playing such a passive role in things, to not see him stepping in and playing leader at the last moment. Scott isn’t a psychic-not even close-but he knows that Xavier is pleased with his decision, and despite their…well, their different views on things in the past, he can't help but feel a bit more confident, knowing the Professor is backing him up.
“Take her out of here. Let her be herself. Choose for herself. And not be a key, or a strategic resource, or a playing piece in someone else’s game.” Scott folds the baby into his son’s arms. “Give her the freedom I was never able to give you.”
Whoever she is.
The baby is a perfect fit in Nathan’s arms, and Scott could almost swear he sees his battle-weary son smile at the sight of the girl waving her fat little fists in delight. Nathan pulls the thick red blanket more securely around the baby, and he does not meet Scott’s eyes. Which is fair enough, Scott thinks; he can’t ask these questions of Nathan, because he doesn’t really want to know the answers.
Not yet, anyway.
(In his mind’s eye, the world is awash in scarlet light, and Jean has that knowing, kissable little half-smile on her lips. Goodbye, she says, and Scott thinks it’s fair to add to himself, for now.)