A/N: I'm still alive~
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Hello, World
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"Programmed to work and not to feel…
…not even sure if this is real."
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Jean grimaced as she finally left her disgruntled band of mutants on the space-faring Blackbird. They were on their way back from the Kree homeworld when their vessel was attacked by what looked like a giant whale—if whales had barbed tentacles for fins and acquired a shark's row of teeth.
Not for the first time did Jean have to remind herself that they were in the final frontier, and this was no place to apply Earth's logic.
Jean had also been certain they had finally met their doom. The Blackbird, sturdy and repurposed it may be, was simply ill-equipped to handle anything more than another vessel of similar size. Space beasts, however, were another matter of monstrosity.
It was around the time when their wings had been clipped and it was only through her sheer telekinetic prowess that kept the Blackbird intact when the unexpected happened.
Another vessel hailed them, enquiring, quite bluntly, if there was anybody still alive worth saving.
Bobby had hastily replied with a plea for help, and that's when they saw another ship emerge from the beast's starboard.
It was almost double the size of the Blackbird but still appeared streamlined for speed. It wasn't a passenger ship, nor did it bear any discernable paint or architecture that would have signified its origin.
It did, however, send chills down their spine when the darkness of space suddenly illuminated with a familiar blue light—and two figures wearing space-suits emerged atop the beast just as the first of numerous harpoons sank into it, keeping it in place.
One, a spear-wielding humanoid and, the other, a humanoid with a very, very large and very, very familiar glowing sword.
And everyone in the Blackbird immediately knew who their rescuers were.
It was the missing Illyana Rasputin.
And that only meant one thing…
Illyana and her crew had made short work of the beast. Their movements had seemed almost clinical in its precision, and after a few moments of haggling, the large ship attached itself to the Blackbird, allowing its occupants in and, more importantly, allow Jean to finally rest her hold.
It took them just over an hour to patch up the Blackbird enough so that it wouldn't crumble while it was towed, and during that time, Jean caught glimpses of their rescuers at work as they sliced up the space beast under the apparent direction of the spearman—and a long-unused corner inside Jean's mind itched whenever her eyes fell upon the humanoid brandishing a spear.
Eventually, both the spearman and Illyana returned to their ship, leaving the rest of the harvesters to their task. It took yet another half an hour since before, finally, the crew of the Blackbird was given permission to board.
Naturally, Jean had swiftly volunteered.
Which led her to where she was now—aboard an unnamed ship and strolling through its halls.
Looking for answers.
Looking for a familiar face.
"Jean."
Jean's footsteps stopped.
And she groaned.
She turned around. "Emma." Jean greeted with an irritated smile. "I see the cold of space hasn't changed your distinct style of dress." She made a show of giving the blonde mutant an once-over before curtly adding, "Or lack thereof."
Emma must have been in a sporting mood because instead of scowl, the former White Queen's eyes, instead, glimmered. Like she was having fun. "It's difficult to feel any cold when Scott keeps me very, very warm."
And that was all the confirmation Jean needed to be certain who the spearman was and, more importantly, that Scott Summers was alive.
Still, Jean actually felt that barb. "My husband, you mean." She grumpily stated.
"Only on Earth, Ms. Grey. Out here—well, the laws of the little blue planet do not apply."
"And what of Illyana? They seemed close." Jean questioned before quickly shaking her head. "No, don't answer that. In all honesty, I'm too tired to play this game."
"I can see that. Your crew does feel exhausted."
"That's putting it lightly." Jean sighed once more. "Look, may I speak with Scott?"
Feeling a twinge of sympathy for the earthbound mutant—it was the hair, Emma decided, and no woman should be burdened with such grease-drenched hair—Emma graciously replied, "You know you needn't ask for my permission. Go. He's on the deck."
"Chartering a course?"
Emma shook her head and smiled self-indulgently, as if there was an inside joke only she was privy to.
"No. Watching the stars." Emma ran a hand through her hair before moving behind her, ushering her forward with a soft but firm push. "It's his favorite pastime after a successful harvest."
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The deck was a rather spacious dome-like area atop the ship and encased in glass, allowing the light from the stars to shine through. It felt more like a field than a park, with doubtlessly edible vegetation clustered in specific patches. There was a distinct lack of trees—instead, several tall structures she assumed were crow's nests nearly touched the glass.
It was a bizarre architecture, but one that did make her curious. She made a mental note to find out its purpose at some point in time.
Jean surveyed the land with each step forward—even as the itch in the corner of her mind steered her course.
And then, she found him.
Scott Summers was sat on a bench at the very tip of the deck. For once, he wasn't hunched over and brooding—instead, his arms were outstretched as he appeared to lean back. His spear was on his side.
A surge of emotions swept the red-haired mutant, leaving her stunned. She already knew he was alive, but seeing him alive was another rush entirely.
For a moment, she felt like a teenager all over again, and she discreetly ran a hand through her greasy hair and hoped it didn't smell.
And words- heavens, words! What could she say…?
"Is this seat taken?" She blurted out, inwardly cursing herself at how her voice hitched. She was far too old and tired to sound like a child all over again, but this was her Scott sitting on a bench after wrestling a space whale-beast that almost ended their lives…!
Scott's reaction was immediate, but far more controlled. He turned his head in her direction. "…Jean?"
"In the flesh. And no, this isn't another prank from Emma." Jean replied with a smile, her eyes tracing his face. There was a prickly-looking shade growing on his chin that would definitely need to go soon. She imagined it stinging her lips if she attempted to press them against his cheek. However, she decided he could keep the long hair; maybe he wouldn't mind if she braided one side?
What was new, however, was the blindfold. And she already had an inkling at what lay underneath.
It made her heart twist painfully because there was only one reason Scott would look this relaxed despite wearing only a piece of cloth over his eyes.
But she would get to that, eventually.
"Of course." Scott smiled, in turn. "Have a seat. When Illyana told me the S.O.S. had the Blackbird's signature, I knew it had to be the X-Men. It crossed my mind that you could be on-board while we were harvesting but, well, I wasn't exactly sure. More like hoped, I guess." Scott abruptly paused, his lips pursed into a frown. "Sorry, was I rambling…?"
Jean shook her head, honestly finding his rambling pleasant. "It's alright. It's a relief." She settled herself right next to him, tucking herself against his side and resting her head against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered close and she sighed blissfully. "This is a dream and I'm actually dead again right now, right?"
Scott rested his cheek against her crown. "I sure hope not. There's so much I want you to see out here and I'd be disappointed if you were just another phantom again."
Jean squinted her eyes up at him suspiciously. "Again?"
"Yeah." Scott nodded, his lips flattening unhappily. "It caused all manner of hell and Emma was actually this close to believing in god just so she could throw a studded boot at him, but we eventually realized it was a phantom borrowing your likeness to destroy our ship."
"I'm not quite sure I like the idea that some, what, phantom used my face to destroy anything." Jean said with a frown. The Phoenix Force eating a star with her face once was already bad enough. "Or why it chose my face to begin with."
"It wasn't me, this time." Scott defended against the unsaid accusation. "But we also found the nest of the Phoenix Force. Or, forces I guess we should say."
"Of course." Jean slapped her head and cursed the cosmic fire turkey.
"Side-note. If you do see your doppelganger here, please don't be alarmed."
"Wh-what?" Jean spluttered.
"We're only a hunting vessel, after all. We're equipped to hunt actual, tangible things- not go to war with a colony of metaphysical beings." Scott actually looked embarrassed with the admission, and Jean was once more reminded that, in this final frontier, there was always a bigger fish. "It's only a fragment, so it doesn't do much harm. It used to spook Emma, but she's already resigned to its presence. Mostly, Illyana plays fetch with it."
Jean tried to imagine Illyana throwing a piece of the M'Kraan crystal into the deep depths of space while a diminutive firebird flew after it.
"Pfft."
"Did you just stifle a laugh?" Scott smiled warmly down at her.
"Did not." Jean beamed up at him before, finally, bursting out laughing. "Heavens, Scott!" She giggled. "I really should accuse you of lying, but here we are—both of us back from the dead—reunited far, far away from the planet we were wed."
Scott shared her incredulity. "The world works in bizarre ways, doesn't it?"
"Yes." Jean affirmed before feeling the need to exclaim, "God!"
"Do you want me to ask Emma for the studded boot?"
The suggestion drew another fit of giggles from her lips. "Maybe later." Jean eventually said.
She pulled herself away—just enough so she could glance at him and take him. This—this man was definitely her Scott. The man she had proposed to those so many, many innocent years ago.
Which was why she sobered up as she beheld the elephant in the room.
"Jean…?" Scott prompted, but cognizant of what drew her sudden silence.
"May I, Scott?"
Scott's good mood sobered as well, and he straightened in his seat. "It's… not a pretty thing to look at, Jean." He warned her. "But I've moved on."
It twisted her heart to hear him utter those words, but she steeled herself. "I want to see, Scott."
"Of course." Scott sighed, slowly, before his gloved hands lifted the band of cloth covering his eyes.
And Jean's heart stopped.
"Scott…" Jean gasped, horrified. "Who did this to your eyes?"
Gingerly, she reached a hand out to trace the horrendous scars that kept his eyes shut.
The small smile he had returned only seemed to magnify his next statement. "Humans. A livewire."
"…Why?" She managed to croak. She could feel the tears welling up—sorrowful, sympathetic, but above all, simmering with fury.
Scott titled his head. "Do you really need to ask?"
"No." Jean's lips flattened. "Of course not."
Willfully Belligerent, selfish, and spiteful, with the distinct aptitude to repeat past mistakes and lord their personal freedom above all and at the expense of everyone else.
And while knowing not everyone was like that—not even half, not even a tenth, a fraction of a 7.6 billion population was still an astounding number.
And their numbers were still so very, very few, and dwindling even fewer.
"But I got better." Scott interjected, no doubt sensing her anger.
"Evidently." Jean spat. "That's—this is not okay. Why didn't you return to us?"
Scott shrugged. "I… don't really know anymore. I remember thinking—at the time—that I could just handle it. That I'll be just fine-"
That there was no reason to return to a den of snakes, she could almost hear his tone say.
"—and I was. I did get better. And I'm now captain of this hunting ship."
Jean sighed, knowing that was as much as she could get out of Scott at this point. It was always so difficult for him to speak ill of anyone else—to be honest with himself.
Truthfully, she had been getting disillusioned lately, too.
"A hunting ship…" Jean murmured, taking the change in subject in stride. "That's another story, I'm sure."
Scott grinned. "You have no idea. It's mostly Illyana's fault, though."
"Illyana?" Jean asked, surprised. "How so?"
"She… was hungry." Scott succinctly stated. "Very hungry."
Jean paused.
Jean stared.
Jean's gaze shot outside to the floating remains of the space monster before gaping at Scott.
"No. Way."
And Scott actually smiled at her sheepishly. "It's surprisingly good." He admitted. "And in the hands of the amazing chef we have on board, well, it's even more delicious."
"I'm sure." Jean said, dubiously. She shuddered involuntarily.
"Look, you're all hungry, right?"
"I think we still have a few rations left…"
"Those chunks of protein drowning in preservatives?"
"Hey! You used to love those!" Jean felt the need to defend.
"That was before I ate better." Scott reasoned. "Look, even Emma eats it. She was also the one to scout our chef."
"Emma's also the one that said you're watching the stars." Jean pointed out snippily. That was actually callous of the blonde. Expected, but callous.
"She's not completely wrong." Scott defended.
"What do you mean?"
Scott turned his… gaze to the side before looking back at her. "It might be better to show you." He suggested. He took off one glove. "Give me your hand." He said as he reached out to her with his now bare hand.
"O…kay?" She reached out to him.
And her world exploded with color as soon as their fingers touched.
"Scott!" She gasped, reflexively pulling her hand back. The colors disappeared and she was almost pained at the sudden loss of—of connection. The sudden staggering emptiness of realizing you were alone.
What the hell was that…?
"Sorry, it must have been quite the shock. I should have warned you." Scott apologized. "My—my mutation evolved. Out here." Scott was stammering now—clearly walking on eggshells now thinking that he might have hurt her, but still trying to find the words to explain. "It's—I don't know, but it's like a sight. It doesn't do much, but I can feel the stars and planets. Ip'six thinks it might have something to do with my body absorbing celestial radiation. I can't quite fire anything, but I can share the feed using my hands."
"Ip'six?"
"Oh, right. You haven't met the rest of my crew yet." Scott made a mental note to give her a tour. "Ip'six is in charge of health."
Jean tilted her head. "So… like a doctor?"
There was an eeriness to the resigned smile Scott gave her. "Exactly. He's… like a doctor."
Jean was silent as she took a moment to digest all the information she had just acquired before, finally, deciding. "Hey, Scott…?"
"Yeah?"
"May I hold your hand again?"
Scott smiled at her warmly. "I'd like that."
And as the two joined, Jean made another mental note.
She'd explore Scott's magic hands extensively at a later, but definitely sooner date.
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"The Blackbird won't be able to fly." Scott said. "I know that old bird. You'll be able to continue drifting, but once you enter the atmosphere, gravity will only pull you down."
Jean, with her hand still in his and feeding off the euphoria he gave, asked, "What are you suggesting?"
"We're en route to a port city. They'll have repairmen that can patch up her wings."
"At a price."
Slowly, Scott nodded his head. "Yes. At a price."
Jean giggled, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. "Scott, if you wanted me to stay longer, all you have to do is ask."
Scott blushed in embarrassment, and Jean wondered when was the last time she had ever seen him so free to express himself.
The thought made her reluctantly let go of his hand.
Jean was certain, now.
She'd never be able to convince Scott to return with her to Earth.
It was a saddening realization.
But…
But did that mean she had to return, as well?
After all, was there still something on Earth worth returning to?
Her family was murdered on the basis of fear, and no justice had ever come. Because they were supposed to be better; they were supposed to just forgive the Shi'Ar and move on from the fact that her mother and father and sister no longer existed.
And her husband—the man she had chosen to spend her whole life with—was now here, alive, and offering her a share of the happiness he found…
That made her feel like she was finally home in just a few hours?
Scott, Emma, and Illyana certainly realized there was more out here than on Earth and, certainly, it was only a matter of time before in-fighting tore the X-Men apart. Again. Certainly, trouble and disgruntlement was already brewing—a lot more frequently, even, especially after Scott's departure.
There just wasn't a punching bag as resilient as Scott was, or a leader as unrelentingly focused on turning a dream into reality—up until, as Jean found out, the mutants had abandoned him and he finally decided it was enough.
Left him alone and castigated him behind his back. It made Jean sick to think these were the very same people that welcomed her back with arms wide-open; the very same people that were convinced the Terrigen Mists was an unprecedented accident, but a quick word with Pietro and a glimpse into Black Bolt's mind showed what incited the Inhuman's Silent War.
Scott Summers had been murdered, and the same people that spouted vitriol at him deemed themselves worthy to speak in his eulogy.
Telepathy was truly an unfortunate and burdensome curse.
"Jean?" Scott's voice cut in. "Is something wrong? You've been rather… quiet."
Jean shook her head. Belatedly, she realized her nails had dug into her palms and she quickly unclenched her fists, feeling the tiny joints creak in protest after having been tensed for so long.
"It's nothing, Scott." Jean smiled—and she was glad he was now blinded because, otherwise, who knew what sort of expression her face had made now that the bottle holding in her frustration and disappointment was uncorked. "I think I'd like that."
"Like what?" Scott tilted his head.
"Your offer. From earlier." Jean reminded. "Once the Blackbird is repaired, I'll tell everyone that I'm staying." Permanently, who knew? But definitely for the foreseeable future.
"They won't need you back at the school?" Scott asked, clearly making sure.
Jean's eyes mellowed sardonically. "The institute hasn't operated as a school for a while now."
For all the talk of friendship, camaraderie, and equality, words were, ultimately, proven to simply be just words. Pleasantries and niceties hadn't changed a damn thing.
"That's unfortunate." Scott commented, but Jean needn't read his mind to know he was unsurprised. "So, indefinitely?" He smiled at her, and her heart fluttered.
Speaking with Scott right now, under the stars—it almost felt like before, to a time she had long thought lost forever. But if Scott could find it then, maybe, she could find it in herself as well.
She flicked his forehead playfully.
"Not too fast, mister spaceman." She teased him. "I'll need to see first if I can get along well with the harlot."
"I'm sure you will. Between you and me, I think she's really embracing this whole Warlord of Mars thing she's got going on."
Jean tilted her head. "Is that what that was? I thought she was just an exhibitionist."
Scott scratched the back of his head. "Well, there's that, too." He admitted with a blush.
"Oh?" Jean drawled with an arched a brow, and Scott's flush deepened. "Is there something the spaceman wants to say?"
"Just that I'm—technically—blind and I don't really know what she's wearing?"
Jean laughed. "I'm sure she's worked around your lack of sight, Scott." She took his arm and pulled him along. "And let's take advantage of that. Point me towards Emma's room and come help me choose a piece."
"Yes, ma'am!"
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A/N: To be honest, I had a very different drabble in mind. Originally, I wanted to go with a story with Nakashima Mika's "The Reason Why I Thought I'd Die" as its song choice- because Cyke x Depression is the true OTP and y'all know it—but I decided to pull back. Mostly because it'd be a retread of Cherish, with lines like "just because you ask for forgiveness doesn't mean you're forgiven", "nobody asks the strong if they're alright", and "we shattered him to pieces but, by himself, he gathered each shard and glued them together only to realize that he no longer needed us".
Just think of this drabble as the future of that potential story, I guess. Or a sequel to Cherish. Or something like that.
Anyways.
I chose a better, happier song-choice. Namely, "Hello, World" by Louie Zong.
Inspiration for this happier story is taken from the anime, Drifting Dragons, streaming on Netflix. A sort-of fantasy whale-fishing with a melancholic atmosphere and vibrant crew.
OOC? Yeah, it is. But you're also reading the wrong piece if you're looking for canon.
As usual, if you like what you've read, please drop a review. Take care, stay safe, and definitely wash your hands, y'all! Xiyon, out until next time!