February 14, 1974
"You know we think you're brave for doing this, right?" Alex asked.
Sean swallowed, his hands stuck in his pocket. He looked at the church, feeling a sheen of sweat cover his hands as they bunched into fists.
"It's not bravery," he said.
He looked down.
"It would have been bravery seven years ago," he said, "Now it's just righting a wrong, something I should've done a long time ago."
Alex put his hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Sean took a deep breath before looking Alex in the eye.
"Sean, don't be like that," Alex said, "You were a wreck back then. I can't blame you for how you reacted. No one could."
Sean shook his head again.
"You know you don't have to do this today, right?" Alex asked.
Sean looked up at him, confused.
"What do you mean?" he asked, "Of course I do."
"Well...the anniversary isn't for another two weeks," Alex said, uncomfortable, "I just…you don't...you don't have to do this now if you don't want to."
Sean shook his head again.
"It's Valentine's Day," he said.
"I know," Alex said.
"Then you know why I have to do this today, right?" Sean said.
Alex sighed and nodded.
"Yeah, guess I do," he said.
Sean gave him a wry smile and opened the door to the car. He pulled a bouquet of roses out of the back, as well as a pink teddy bear. He swallowed, holding the two of them together. They felt awkward in his hands, almost as though they were too bulky and he was holding them wrong.
He looked back at the wall of the churchyard. Sean had married Maeve in that church, Sean, Hank, Moira, and Charles the only witnesses. Maeve hadn't been showing yet, but she'd been carrying their daughter. He still remembered the shy smile she'd given him as he slipped the ring on her finger.
Sean took another deep breath. He couldn't afford to think like that. Seven years ago he'd left at the beginning of February to handle a situation in South America. He'd hoped that he'd be back by the end of February. Instead he'd been back in the first week of March, just in time for his daughter to be born, or so he'd thought. Sean hadn't arrived in time for a birth; just a funeral.
Alex shifted next to him. Sean owed him his thanks for driving him there. He didn't trust himself to do it. However, he wanted to be alone when he visited their grave for the first time since she'd been laid there. He glanced at his friend and Alex nodded, his expression understanding.
"I'll be in the car," he said, "Take as long as you need."
"Thank you," Sean said.
He swallowed before opening the door to the churchyard. He knew exactly where Maeve was buried. Sean walked past the other tombstones to the white one that Moira had chosen. He'd been too numb to do anything other than stare straight ahead for days, feeling ready to break. Looking back on it he couldn't believe that he hadn't.
Then again, he hadn't exactly pulled it together afterwards. Seeing Hank and Carly together, being able to help them, had made him feel like himself again seven years after he had stumbled away from Westchester. There were no more excuses, and he needed to start doing the right thing. And that started with finally putting flowers on the grave.
He found the marker and came to a dead stop. His breath came out in frozen puffs. It was towards the end of winter, and the wind was chilly. His coat didn't seem to be able to protect him from all of it. Moira had said that it would snow later. The clouds were gray, certainly in the perfect condition for it.
Sean crouched down in front of the marker. He reached out and touched the words: Maeve Rourke Cassidy, 1948-1967. His hand trailed further down the marker, reading another, more terrifying inscription: Theresa Maeve Cassidy, 1967. There was no hyphen, no other year that could identify his unborn daughter. The only reason there was a name was because they had discussed it.
He closed his eyes for a moment before he looked at the words that had been inscribed there. It was the one thing that he had chosen.
"The flowers are gone from the garden," he murmured.
Those was the only words that he felt could sum up what he felt with his wife and daughter gone. He swallowed, feeling the tears in his eyes. The grave was well-kept, but he knew that he could take no credit from it. Sean could only thank heaven that he had such good friends, people who would do the duties that he was too weak to perform.
He laid down the bouquet of roses and the teddy bear close to each other. He swallowed again, searching for words.
"I wish I could be handing these things to you instead of just setting them here," he said, "I wish I could see your smile; you liked flowers. I wish I could hear you say 'Thank you daddy.' I wish…"
Sean put a hand in front of his mouth. For a minute he wanted to flee the churchyard and get back into the car with Alex. Alex would drive him back to Institute and take him far away from the bleak place where what had once been his future was buried. From there he'd go to Europe and try as best he could to live his life.
He gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to run. Not anymore.
"Part of me doesn't want to live in a world where I can't do that," Sean said, "And for a long time, I didn't. I just kept carrying my grief, but not living. Part of that meant not coming here. And I'm sorry."
He touched the headstone again.
"But I'm going to do better," he said, "I'm going to…I'm going to be better. And that means coming back here as often as I can, and trying to be me. It means taking charge of this."
He forced a smile.
"It's no less than you two deserve," he said.
Sean looked up.
"I hope you're both looking down right now," Sean said, "and I hope that you understand that I mean every last word that I'm saying."
He let the smile slip.
"Because I do," he said.
"Did you decode the messages?"
Lorna looked up at Emma and clicked off the radio. She'd figured out how to tune into radio frequencies when she was eleven. Cracking codes had been a little more difficult, but she'd been an avid pupil. She'd figured out how to do the most basic ones before she was thirteen. When she was fourteen she'd sat side by side with Emma, racing her.
She smiled and waved two pieces of paper in front of her.
"Boring stuff," Lorna said, "Just the basic movements. And something else."
Her grin broadened. Emma leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and smiling. It was a look of triumph, one that Lorna had seen for as long as she'd known Emma.
"Don't tell me," she said, "Tricky Dick?"
"Tricky Dick," Lorna said, "It appears that they're thinking about calling him in for the Watergate Scandal."
"I thought they would," Emma said.
She tapped her chin.
"Which means I have to find Azazel," she said, "He owes me ten dollars."
"He won't be happy about that," Lorna said.
"No, he won't," Emma said, "But when is he ever happy about losing?"
She shook her head.
"For as long as I knew him that man is a sore loser," she said, "I don't know how Mystique puts up with him, I don't."
Emma gave a theatrical sigh. Lorna rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to get tangled up in a discussion about their relationship," she said, "I get enough of that sort of thing from Angel."
"Oh, I'm not trying to discuss that right now," Emma said, "But, you gave me a piece of good news. So I'm going to do you a favor."
Lorna frowned as Emma tapped her head. She obviously didn't want anyone overhearing.
I'm not supposed to tell you this, Emma thought, But it looks like the situation in Berlin is going to be resolved a lot faster than we thought.
Lorna's eyes widened.
Does that mean-?
Yes, Emma laughed, Your father's going to be back early.
Lorna grinned. Emma nodded.
We think he'll be back in the next few days, Emma thought.
That's great! Lorna thought.
Emma detached herself from the wall and tapped her head. Lorna understood; their mental conversation was over.
"Now then," Emma said, "You can go now. Just make sure the headset wires aren't tangled agai-"
Emma stopped frowning.
"What's that?" she asked.
"What's what?" Lorna asked.
Emma rolled her eyes and pointed to the red bag by Lorna's feet.
"Oh, that," Lorna said.
Emma sighed.
"Lorna, you didn't go out by yourself again, did you?" she said.
Her voice was frustrated.
"I've gone out a grand total of three times in mitigating circumstances," Lorna said, "You make it sound like a habit."
"Did you?" Emma demanded.
Lorna shook her head.
"I picked it up while I was grocery shopping with Angel," she said, "I literally just stopped by in the toy department for five minutes."
"Are you sure?" Emma asked.
"Yes, I'm sure," Lorna said.
Emma gave her a calculating glance. Lorna hated it when Emma was like this. She had never been particularly warm, even when Lorna had been a child. There was a teasing side to her that Lorna enjoyed though, and it frustrated her how rarely she got to see it.
"You're not a child anymore Lorna," she said, "And you know your father wants you to take more command in coming times. And that means not playing childish games."
"I understand that," Lorna said.
Emma nodded.
"Good," she said, "So go off and have fun."
Lorna picked up the red bag, the tissue paper inside it rustling. She nodded at Emma once before going on her way. Lorna walked to the next hallway of the house, one of the many haunts of the Brotherhood. She paused there and closed her eyes. Lorna took a shuddering breath, her gloved hands tightening on the handle of the brightly-colored bag.
When she opened her eyes she continued walking down the hall and onto the landing. Below her she saw Angel reading a magazine and painting her nails. From the way Angel was giggling she supposed that some celebrity or other was getting divorced. She did like to keep up with gossip. Angel, despite being the most free member of the Brotherhood, never giggled when she was serious.
Lorna checked her watch. It was five in the afternoon now, the perfect time. She had been managing the radios all morning, and now she had about two hours. Black Tom wouldn't be back until then. Lorna had never liked him and his oily ways, nor the fact that he was more of a common criminal than a dedicated member of their cause. He was only out for himself, not for mutantkind.
She'd asked her father once why they'd kept him around. Her father had just shaken his head and sighed.
"He has skills we need. Sometimes we cannot pick the tools that we use."
Lorna hadn't liked the answer, but she'd understood it. Still, she didn't trust him. If she'd had to go on a mission with someone she'd pick anyone rather than Black Tom, not that she went on any that lasted more than a few hours. Lorna would rather have Toad as a partner, even if he was incompetent. In the very least he believed in what they were doing. It counted for something.
She knocked on the last door in the hall, her irritated thoughts dispersing. Not everything that had come out of Black Tom's arrival was bad. Lorna flattened herself up against the wall, positioning herself so she'd be behind the door when it opened. She grinned and waited as the door creaked open.
A small girl peeked her head out, her hazel eyes wide and her red hair tumbling around her face. Lorna leapt out from the other side of the door.
"Surprise Terry!" she called.
Terry squeaked before she dissolved into giggles. She hugged Lorna around the knees and Lorna ruffled her hair.
"Happy birthday," Lorna said.
She handed her the package. Terry's eyes grew even wider and she let go of Lorna's legs. Her mouth dropped open as she pulled a stuffed bear out of the tissue paper.
"Thank you so much!" she said, hugging the bear.
"No problem," Lorna said.
She crouched down so that she was eye level with Terry.
"It's not every day a girl turns seven," Lorna smiled.
She ran up and hugged Lorna around the knees again. Lorna laughed again. She was so small. No wonder no one called her by her full name: Theresa. It was too long for such a small girl.
A/N: And I'm back! Bet some of you thought this was going to be about Lorna? While she's going to play a major role in this story, someone else is going to be the star. And all of this? Pretty much canon.