It is a whispered word that seeks you out and grabs you by the hand, but you've spent so long denying it's existence that you refuse to except it.
To deny it though, you must deny her, and you've never denied her anything.
Her. Your savior and tormenter, salvation and damnation. She blends them so well that they begin to mean one and the same to you.
It surrounds you when you are near her, always just out of reach, whispering figments in your ears, demanding to be spoken for. It nudges at your back, whimpering for your acknowledgment, teasing you with glimpses of simmering emerald catseyes, bending your will foreword and then backward again with a flash of burning crimson tresses, driving you mad, until you can no longer ignore it. But you must. You will be six feet under, tortured and maimed before you give in. Nothing has even held power over you like this before, especially a meaningless word, laughing and tempting with a crooked finger under a cape of green, cavorting with abandon in the eyes of a girl.
You know its name. Ever since it found you again –since you came to this place– it has been tearing down the walls of your memory, savagely ripping open old wounds and boldly prodding long buried black and purple bruises and scars with needles, til they burst like fat violet-ebony balloons. You've always known its name in some distant corner of your mind. It used to be a gold enigma, now it is a enormous, glutenous, complicated nuisance, that you cannot except, even though it is at your back at all times, lurking in your shadow.
You've been beating it off with a stick these days, but you are losing your will to fight back and it knows your resolve is crumbling. For every strike you take it lashes back twice as hard. Every time she catches your eyes it tries to sink its teeth in, and every time your gaze lingers too long it lays down in your path, attempting to break your stride. It is irresistible in its sweetness but haunting at the same time. You know it is only a matter of time before it gets you unaware and makes you its own.
But even now, you refuse to name the whispered word. You've grown accustomed to it's sweet murmurs in your ear, but you refuse to become attached. Attachment only brings pain. Your newly opened memory will testify. Naming it would confirm acceptance, and you have not been defeated. Yet.
Denial. It will always be a part of human nature. It is amazing what people can't see when they don't want to.
You call the whispered word nothing, for fear you'll get too attached.
Morning came creeping slowly onto the horizon, extending brilliant fingers of light across the sky and casting a soft pink glow that swelled over the sky, interlaced with crimson, violet and gold. Sunlight streamed across the damp grounds of the Xavier Estate, and rivulets of shimmering gold chased away the residue of the previous night's storm, washing it away and leaving behind only the distant memory of anything other than the peace of the morning. Flowers crept out of their beds again, gardeners reappeared in the early hours and the birds reappeared, ruffling the water off their backs and singing lustily to urge the new day forward.
It was this liquid gold peace that descended like a veil over the estate, intoxicating anyone who witnessed it with its perfume, ensnaring the senses for a moment, and making everything stop, so that simply existing is enough to pacify one for the moment. It drifted through the windows of the estate, glittering off floating dust specs and making them shine like strands of gossamer. The hall and the adjoining rooms were still completely silent.
In the first room the sunlight meandered aimlessly through the haphazard blinds that someone had obviously tried to draw closed and then became quite frustrated. It was a spacious room with first rate, polished wood furniture arranged tastefully. Shiny and expensive keepsakes were laid out on shelves and dressers, creating the image of a very rich inhabitant. The only thing that detracted from this image were all the clothes, books, papers and knickknacks strewn around sloppily and the state of its occupant. A blonde haired boy with a pair of wings dozed noisily in his grand king-sized bed, his head halfway buried under one of his pillows so that only tufts of blonde were visible. His thick spread was in a lump at the foot of his bed and his cotton sheets were in a disordered heap around the bed, with one leg underneath them and one leg sticking out at an odd angle. His arms were thrown out to both sides, as if he had just been through a particularly fitful dream, but now he rested peacefully, for the most part.
The second room the sunlight reached had all the blinds and curtains open, allowing the light full access to its inner reassesses. It was a fairly blank room, with no personal effects anywhere, save a suitcase at the foot of the bed, since it's occupant had just moved in. A generic dresser sat in one corner and a set of empty shelves in another. All in all the almost empty room appeared even more vast than it really was, creating a large area of floor for the sunlight to dance across, creating a pool of golden light to fill the expanse. The girl in the bed, slept peacefully, with her sheets drawn up around her and her white hair fanned out on the pillow in unkept waves of snow. She had slept deeply the whole night, melting into the bed as if she had never slept on anything so soft in her entire life. Well-toned ebony arms were folded neatly around the sheets, with the sunlight playing across the smooth skin.
The third room was an odd mixture of opened and unopened drapes that hadn't been touched or bothered with for months, but the sunlight did not mind and flitted in where it could, tickling across the carpet and across the bed. The room was neat enough, with only a few items here and there gracing the floor. It was also remarkably cold compared with the rest of the house, but not so cold as to cause discomfort. Various plans for pranks were laid out in explicit detail and filled according to a system that an ordinary person would never understand. A half opened drawer revealed a impressive stash of candy and twinkies along with a box of trading cards. The bed however, was empty. The sheets were pulled taught at one side spilling onto the floor, and rolled up tightly in them was a young boy, with his head resting in slumber mere inches from the night stand and his feet cocooned above him in the tangle. He still slept and perhaps it was for the better, because the new position restricted movement.
The fourth room was the room of a boy who could not sleep. All the shades were drawn in this room, preventing the sunlight from witnessing his distress, so it could only glow behind the shades casting a yellow hue on them like old fetid paper. The dim light that filtered in through the cracks fell across the peaceful face of a boy who had slept this night, on top of his covers, with a black puppy resting at his head and a redheaded girl beside him. He still wore his ruby tinted shades, making it impossible to tell if he was awake or asleep, but the deep contented breathing that was coming from him told a different story. His brown hair was serving as a nest for the puppy, who's little chest was also rising and falling rhythmically. Every now and then she would twitch in her sleep, but even rough pawing could not wake the boy. His arm was thrown over the waist of the girl beside him, as if it was a completely natural instinct, who was also fast asleep on top of the covers with her hair fanned out around her. She did not belong there. There was a vacant room in her place somewhere down the hall. The sunlight knew this, and yet, never had there been such peace inside that room before.
Morning came and went upon that scene, sparkling and fluttering in all of it's spring splendor, and still they slept on oblivious to the rest of the world. The dawn sunrise gave way to the midday sun, who's rays were more persistent. The dappled sunlight barged past the barriers at his window and warmed the side of Scott's face, casting slanted shadows across the bed and causing him to stir. Before he opened his eyes he made sure they were properly covered. When he felt the familiar weight of his glances he lazily opened his eyes and was startled by what he saw, until the events of last night flashed back to him, like a silent film before his eyes.
It is a humbling thing to see your life mapped out before your eyes. Ambience was the flaxen strands of gossamer flecked with gold, lining up like tears of glass across her face and hair, clinging to the tips of delicate eyelashes and falling like snow on parted lips, lighter, brighter, beautiful. As he looked into the face of beauty beyond compare his thoughts became remarkably clear. A day, perhaps a year, maybe more, he could see into his future, into seconds that extended beyond moments, stretching into days at a time. Then the warped premonition spawned a notion that hit him full blown to the side of the face, leaving him in a dizzying haze that was so exciting and so terrifying that it was impossible to piece the emotions apart without tweezers. It was a rush to his brain, roaring in his ears, as beautiful as the sunlight and as sure as the rain, he knew beyond a doubt that he would know her for the rest of his life. And, he, the Keeper of Silences would always be bound to the Queen of Hearts without mercy, without escape, til it left them both in tears. Whether in the pain of memories or in person, he would never forget her.
Then and there Scott Summers decided that no matter what, someday, he would marry Jean Grey.
She sighed in her sleep and stretched out a hand, catlike, rotating her shoulder blades and extending each finger. Her eyelashes fluttered, dragonfly's wings, and opened like the first sunrise following his epiphany. Nothing so simple had ever looked so stunning in all his life. One day, perhaps a year, maybe more . . .
She smiled like ruby satin, the way he'd always imagined her to the senses, sight, smell, sound, touch, taste, and said nothing. Silence is the best sort of language in these times. He was so entranced by her that he almost didn't see the tears. At first they were simply damp sparkles on her cheeks and pools in her huge green eyes, but she was still smiling. The world was still turning. Then a small sob eluded her careful control. It was enough to stop the world.
"What is it?" He didn't trust his own voice, but somehow he forced the words out.
Midday sun was filling the room slowly like sand in an hour-glass, suffocating, blinding. A girl, a boy and a puppy lay in the silence, soaking up the heat like sponges, and they still lay facing each other, with the world tilted ninety degrees, and Jean was crying beside him, her tears dampening the bed spread, drowning them both. She tried to blink away the tears to deny their existence, but he reached out a hand and caught them on his fingertips, keeping the proof.
"Your dreams," she whispered wiping away the rest of the salt herself, shutting her eyes tight, so the rest of her tears pinched out the sides, "Your dreams," She repeated again, as if trying to shake the remaining sediments of an unpleasant memory.
She had seen the light haired boy with the bright void eyes that had haunted Scott's dreams, staring expressionless. He was still filling his pockets with stones, tight lipped, frowning in concentration. He strolled barefoot on the sand with the water licking at his toes. The colors had been wrong, but she hadn't noticed. In the dream, that was the way they had always been to her, light, dark and red. The trees around the river were all onyx figures against the backdrop of a fiery red sky, and the river was a deep dark black, waiting to claim the light haired boy in its depths, reaching, lapping at his feet with a fervent desire and whispers of false promises, promises of release, promises of sweet oblivion. Promises. Promises. Wrapped in dark chocolate and tied with a bow.
She sat on the opposite bank, as an observer frozen in time and space, forced to watch, but never interfere. She was younger in the dream, about as young as the boy, but somehow that made sense as well. She sat cross legged in a simple sun dress of indiscernible color, with childlike hands in her lap, knitting together thistles and dandelions into an infantile sort of necklace that only a child could appreciate for it's guileless beauty. She didn't dare step into that water.
He stared straight at her as he walked into the river, with the starving water curling around him. The rest was terrible confusion. She was crying, screaming for him to stop, but she could not move and her voice went unheard. Then color erupted everywhere in a luminous flash of lucidity, jolting in its starkness, and the colorless boy became a different boy with brown hair and blue eyes. Dark chocolate brown, sky blue. Scott. Then something snapped in her head like an elastic shockwave and she was hurled rudely into consciousness, too dulled by the suddenness of it all to cry, too haunted to do much more than smile and fight the tears when she found him safe and sound beside her. It had been too real for comfort and the bitter aftertaste still remained.
It had only just dawned on her that this dream was not her own. It bore another signature, and had been dreamed many times before by the boy beside her. And she had wept for him.
He didn't understand. He opened his mouth to speak, but she halted him before he started with a finger on his lips, light like the tips of butterflies' feet, delicate, satin, halting him in his tracks. Her other hand flew up to his forehead, tracing the lines of his crinkled brow, and a fleeting image of the dream flickered through his mind across the link, but soon flickered out like a changing channel, thrusting him back into his previous thoughts.
He almost wished he had told her she was beautiful yesterday. When was the last time she had heard it from someone who meant it like he did? But yesterday had flown, the eternal unreachable memory, and the present flowed onwards, turning seconds, into minutes past, never to be recaptured again, fading behind the veil of the past so quickly that they were gone before one could realize what they'd missed.
And that she was, lying beside him crying his unshed tears like crystalline shards of the rarest jewels he had ever seen, spilling over her porcelain checks and the red wine cut embedded there. That was what she had always been, wine, gemstone and satin. Could one die of intrigue?
'And the Phoenix cried tears of diamond and pearl, healing all wounds.'
He had read that in a book in the Professor's library a year or two ago, but now that single phrase came back to him, and he couldn't place it. Why did he always come back to The Phoenix when searching for a creature that described her? It made more sense to pick an earthly creature, a real creature, but everything she did absolutely oozed with the same unshakable notion. She dripped with fire, sensation and life. Could it be possible to heal wounds of the heart with something as simple as tears, chasing away the nightmares and distilling the shadows? He doubted nothing when he was with Jean.
He lost the ability to cry when his mutation manifested, but his sorrows had fallen upon a merciful heart, born of flame, selfless and beautiful. She bled his tears from eternal emerald springs, the purest elixir he had ever known. The dream of the drowning boy was now a shared reverie, healed seamlessly by tears. His walls came tumbling down and the song of The Phoenix filled the room. Sound glistened in the form of a perfect silence, beading into beams of sunlight, rolling into tears and peeling into ethereal melody. She was his Phoenix, and he knew he would find want of nothing more the rest of his life.
"I'm sorry," Was all he could think to say.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Was the equally verbose reply.
The question stopped him cold in his tracks. There really was no good reason why he hadn't told her. 'I was afraid' wasn't going to cut it here. She wanted the truth in all of its complexity. He gave it to her in a lump, and left it for her to unravel.
"I didn't think my dreams were worth anyone's time."
"But you know what they say it means if you keep having the same dream over and over again?"
"Who said I keep having that dream over and over again?" Again he was shocked at the way she pounced on a conclusion that was way too accurate for comfort.
"Scott, I'm not as stupid as I look."
"I don't think you look stupid," He told her before he got to what he really wanted to ask, "Why did you have my dream anyway?"
"I don't know," She puzzled over this for a moment, "I think it has something to do with that time that I went into your mind. I don't think the connection worked properly, or I did something wrong."
"So it never turned off?"
"I wouldn't say that exactly," Jean propped herself up on her elbows, dusted the tears from her eyes and mopped her hair out of her face with one sweep of her hand, "But something, I don't know what, is allowing me to access traces of your feelings, and I dreamt your dream. That definitely wasn't happening before . . . at least to my knowledge."
Every word scattered through the air into a formless frenzy when the black puppy suddenly yipped and squirmed over Scott's head. She seemed to have been waiting for the best possible moment to disrupt conversation and had pulled off the feet admirably. Within moments she had righted herself and was busy sniffing along the mattress, coming between Scott and Jean, black tail whipping around excitedly.
"Are we still not going to name her?" Jean asked, running a hand over the puppy's back.
"What sort of name did you have in mind," Scott sighed.
A slow grin spread across her face transforming the entire atmosphere, "I was thinking, something to do with music."
They both sat and pondered for a moment, and then an idea came to Scott, "What was that song you were playing last night called?"
"The Rondo Alla Turca?"
"No, the other one. The one you stopped in the middle of when we found her," Scott had always liked that song best and it seemed fitting to him that the dog be named after that particular song, regardless of what the name of it turned out to be.
The name that rolled of Jean's lips couldn't have been more perfect, "Fur Elise."
As she said it the same thought struck her, and like lightning striking in the same place they both said it together, "Elise."
The dog's ears perked up and she turned to look at him with a curiously contorted look on her continence, as if she was trying to make sense of the word. Elise she was. Once the name was decided upon it seemed impossible that she could ever be named anything. She looked like an Elise now that they thought about it. She had a lithe frame with a slim build, a dark black sheen, a perfect pointed muzzle, ears made of velvet and the deepest onyx eyes either of them had ever seen. Yes, Elise she had always been and was meant to be.
"We are probably expected downstairs," Jean sighed glancing at the digital clock by Scott's bed, "It's 11:20"
"Yes, it would probably be a good idea to avoid suspicion," He did not meet her eyes this time, but she knew what he meant. There was no need for them to be forming bad impressions, despite wether they were true or not.
Jean rolled off his bed and found her feet. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn yesterday. Looking down at Scott's bed she saw again the brightly colored circles that took up most of the top sheet, so carefully painted on by Bobby's artistic yet misguided hand. Scott saw where she was looking and chuckled to himself. He hadn't even remembered the state his bed was in the entire night.
Jean ensnared his gaze again with her glittering impossibly green eyes, "I'm going to go take a shower and get dressed. See you for lunch I guess," She let the last part come out as a chuckle.
"Yeah, I should do the same."
Lunch was a fairly uneventful affair. Jean came downstairs dressed in another simple shorts and T-Shirt combo, intent on making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to pacify the cravings of her stomach, and eat it on the veranda that overlooked the pool, until Scott located her. Elise followed her down and instantly perked up when she noticed that there was another human already occupying the kitchen.
Ororo was perched on one of the marble topped counters with a mixing bowl in her lap, her naturally platinum white locks draping over her shoulders, hiding her face from view as she stirred the contents of the bowl with a wooden spoon. She stirred and looked up quickly when she heard Jean enter, and again Jean was stunned by the way her presence immediately drew all eyes in the room. Her warm butterscotch features glowed in the light of the sun shining through the kitchen windows, and Jean could swear she had never seen eyes so blue in all her life. Except for once, in a dream. She imagined that Scott's eyes would look very similar to Ororo's.
"Hi," Jean smiled genuinely, the puppy skidding past her feet eager to see Ororo, with claws scrapping on the tile floor as she tried to regain her balance.
Ororo responded in kind with a smile of her own, and this time Jean felt that she was actually being acknowledged by the other girl, "Hello, Jean isn't it? I'm sorry, I was distracted last night when the professor introduced us."
She set the bowl down on the counter and dropped to the floor to greet an ecstatic Elise, who took all the attention lavished on her with great enthusiasm. Jean could already see that Ororo would easily become the dog's favorite. The black lab hopped around from foot to foot, trying to bath Ororo with her salmon pink tongue, as the other girl's nimble fingers stroked her behind the ears and down her back.
"Yes," Jean nodded, "It's no big deal. We can have an introduction now."
Her voice sounded so plain next to Ororo's rich alto. She spoke so eloquently and with such serenity that Jean found it hard to image what she would be like if she got angry. Though, no doubt she could. Her voice was yet another mystery to the compound secret that was Ororo.
Ororo nodded, "Alright, but before we do there is one pressing question I have that was never answered last night," Jean tilted her head questioningly waiting for her to go on, and that she did with a small smile, "What exactly is your dog's name?"
"Elise," Jean replied still testing the name on her lips, "If you want the truth, we just got her last night."
"Oh?" Ororo looked up in interest.
"There isn't much to tell," Jean sighed and went to the pantry as she spoke, retrieving bread and peanut butter and placing them on the counter without the aid of her powers, she wanted to surprise this girl, "We, me and Scott that is, found her last night during the storm. I got this cut on my cheek from the rescue in fact. Scott wasn't fond of the idea that we keep her, but I insisted that we just clean her up a bit. We had just finished giving her a bath in Scott's bathtub when the Professor returned with you. I suppose you are responsible for us being able to keep her. When the Professor saw how delighted you became when you saw her, there was no way he could refuse. He still has yet to speak to us on the manner of letting strange animals into his house while he is out though."
Ororo listened to the story with a slightly bemused expression playing on her features. She rose from the floor with a grace that was present in all of her movements and returned to her batter. Elise, seeing that nobody would be paying attention to her, began to explore the kitchen.
"He didn't seem too mad when I spoke to him at breakfast. He let me have the kitchen to make cookies," She indicated to the bowl, "I also much apologize for the storm last night. I'm afraid that was my doing. It was traveling ahead of me. I do believe the weather will be quite nice today though."
"What!?" Jean nearly dropped the jelly she was placing on the counter.
"I see the Professor never informed you of my mutation," Ororo raised a platinum eyebrow in amusement.
"No," Jean's eyes widened in interest.
"I am able to guide weather patterns and often do it subconsciously depending on my emotions," Jean's eyes were growing wide with wonder as she spoke, "Where I came from they used to call me The Weather Witch, but that is a story for another time. What about you? This is a school for mutants is it not? What have you got up your sleeve?"
"Nothing near as impressive as what you can do," Jean said stepping away from her creation and telekineticly lifting the two slices of bread and slapping them into place, before catching it in her hand and saying with the utmost seriousness, though unable to mask the playful smile that warmed her features, "I seem to be followed by ghosts."
Ororo's azure eyes had turned to saucers, and she continued to stare as Jean walked towards the table while the pantry and refrigerator doors opened by themselves and everything returned to their normal places, even the used silverware that floated over to the sink, "Ghosts eh?" Ororo smirked, catching on the humor, "They seemed to be at your beck and call."
"That's the crazy thing about it!" Jean cried, throwing her hands out dramatically and falling down at the table, "So my parents sent me here to have them exorcized."
"I see," Ororo's wry smile was hard to miss, "Well, now I know that you're a telekinetic, anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"Yes," Jean admitted, "I'm also telepathic. This is the part were most people run away. They think the telekinesis is cool, but when it comes to reading minds, nobody wants me in the same room as them. I'll understand if . . ."
"Hey, most people don't take to kindly to the fact that I can bring hurricanes about when I'm angry," Ororo said seriously, walking over to Jean and sitting across from her, the cookie dough momentarily forgotten, "We've all got our own quirks."
Elise trotted dutifully over to Ororo again and began jumping and yipping placing her front paws on the chair and nudging her legs with her nose. Ororo affectionately stroked the eager puppy's head and the wag of her tail sped up.
"If that's what you like to call it," Jean sighed and gazed out the kitchen windows longingly, "It does look like today will be beautiful. Perfect for horseback riding," That would make up for her deterred trip to the veranda ten fold.
"Horseback riding?" Ororo's voice was full of amazement, "I had no idea there were horses here."
"Yes," Jean nodded, "We can all go after getting a bite to eat."
"That would be absolutely wonderful, but I do hope that Bobby kid doesn't cause as much trouble as I I think he would."
"Oh, so you met him," Jean grinned, "Yes, Bobby is sometimes prone to childish flights of immaturity."
"I met everyone at breakfast except for you and that tall dark and handsome who keeps to your side," Ororo raised an eyebrow and crossed her fingers under her chin, watching Jean's amusing reaction with interest.
Jean blushed in spite of herself and spoke to the table, "Scott is just my best friend. I think he'll be down in a little bit."
Ororo chose to avoid further comment on the issue, but her sharp mind was already putting the pieces together for her. She hadn't even witnessed the two teens exchange a single word, and yet there was an almost palpable connection that wrapped around them, sealing them from the rest of the world. Words were not needed in bonds like that. Her instincts told her that they were inseparable to a degree that extended beyond the simple friendship that Jean claimed to, and her instincts weren't usually wrong. She would not pass judgement however, until she had seen more.
"Whatever you say," Ororo's tone was too sugar-coated for Jean's liking, but she let it slide. This girl wasn't the only one in the mansion with suspicions, "I'd like to finish those cookies, and then I am amenable to whatever the rest of you decide upon."
Jean looked like she was about to say something, but she suddenly perked up and turned towards the doorway. Moments later Scott Summers stepped into the kitchen. Elise trotted over to him, tail thumping wildly.
"Ah ha!" He grinned and pointed at the sandwich in Jean's hand, "The peanut butter and jelly monster strikes again! You're the one who's taking all the bread! I knew it!"
Jean guilty eyed the sandwich and then looked at Scott, "If you want one, there's still bread left."
"Thank you," Scott sighed and turned to look at Ororo, "And how are you this morning?"
Ororo indulged him with a response, though she could tell all his attention was on the girl across from him and their drama of sorts with the sandwich. She found her lips quirk up in spite of feeling on the outside, and watched the scene unfold.
"Yeah, just the end pieces," Scott scowled putting on an expression of disgust.
Jean eyed him steadily an stood up, placing her hands on her hips, "Well, what are you gonna do about it Summers?"
Scott squared his shoulders and walked right up to her with the glare still plastered on his face until they were forehead to forehead glowering at each other. It looked to Ororo as if he wanted to kiss her, in fact it looked exactly like he was going to kiss her. Then, in a split second he snatched the sandwich from Jean's hand and made a run for it.
"SCOTT!" Jean shrieked before taking off after him still screaming threats, "THAT WAS MY SANDWICH!!!! If you even think about eating it I'm gonna kill you!"
Ororo looked at the black lab who appeared to be just as stunned, and silently thanked the goddess for emptying the kitchen so she could continue baking in peace. The leader and the lady had it bad for each other.
That evening Jean and Scott walked Elise down to the old oak by the water with a worn red leash she had scrounged up in the attic. They offered the others a chance to come with but all of them had suddenly invented plans of their own and hastily shuffled off with overly congenial looks on their faces, not that either of them truly minded much, but their continued avoidance of these outings, like they knew something that neither of them were aware of, was slightly annoying.
Elise made the journey last longer then usual because of her unfailing tendency to chase after anything that moved. Little crickets hopping along the stony path, small squirrels and chipmunks moving around in the bushes and even birds flying or perched weren't safe from Elise's bark.
She tangled her leash around Jean's legs constantly and once she snagged Scott's, binding them together and causing them to trip and fall into a mass of tangled limbs and leash. Blushing and laughing at the same time they helped to untangle each other without hurting Elise, who was still attached to the other end, barking and bouncing on her imaginary springs, clearly proud of herself for the stunt she pulled. It wasn't until Jean was practically in Scott's lap, while trying to pull the leash off their feet, that the laughter silenced and only the blushing remained. Suddenly, the whole trip was more intimate than intended.
He wanted to say something. Unknown words were creeping up his throat and begging to be spoken, but she rendered him speechless and tongue tied, as usual. Wether or not, his awkwardness showed, Jean did not indicate that she noticed. She simply cleared her throat and slipped the leash off of them without saying a word. There would be a time when they would have to address this attraction, but now was not it.
They slipped among the greenery and along down the path with the triumphant puppy hopping along ahead of them. The remainder of the evening was spent under the old oak by the water absorbed bliss and completely indifferent to the rest of the world. In the fading evening light they sat on the bank of the lake barefoot, watching Elise splash in the shallows, chasing after all the startled fish Jean normally feed who were looking for a meal. She could not catch a single one, but that would never deter her from trying.
Out of nowhere a swish of water smacked into Scott's face, dousing his entire head and shirt. He turned and glared at his giggling friend who exploded into full blown laughter when she saw his expression.
"Jean," He growled.
"What?" She asked innocently through her giggles, "I hope you don't think that I did that, because I would never-
Without warning Scott splashed her back. Her laughter was silenced, and she yelped when the cold water hit her. It was Scott's turn to laugh.
"I hope you don't think that I did that."
"Whoops, my hand slipped!" She returned by sending another curtain of water at him.
She was still snickering when Scott turned and gave her an absolutely demonic look. She shrieked and tried to get away, but he was faster. In one sweep her scooped her up and carried her out into the shallows. Through giggles and half-hearted struggling she tried to protest but he carried her out deeper.
"Scott!" She screeched, "If you don't put me down . . ."
"As you wish," He complied and deposited her unceremoniously into the water.
When she resurfaced she was quick to pounce on him and dunk him below the silvery spray. When they both resurfaced grinning and gasping for breath they each looked back towards the shore. In the ebbing light they could still make out the form of Elise against the green backdrop, staring at them with a most confused expression. Jean smoothed back her wet hair and flashed Scott and mischievous look.
"Tag. Your it." She said simply, letting her fingers graze his shoulder before swimming away.
Scott sighed happily and launched his pursuit. With a little effort he was able to catch up to her, and she took up splashing to dissuade his chase. When he succeeded in seizing her waist he picked her up and dunked her, before he cut back through the water to get away.
The game lasted until the sun was merely a flaming orange dot on the horizon, casting silken pink rays over the darkening sky. Elise was pacing the shoreline barking at them, seeming to say that it was time to return to the mansion.
The game of tag continued, through soaking clothes and dimming light, all the way home.
Quick Notes: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. I promise that the fourth and final part will be up no later than 12/12. And with that, I'd like to get all my thanking and disclaiming and babbling done here so that nothing takes away from the final part, which I will post completely devoid of note.
Thank you to anyone who has every reviewed and thank you again for looking over the errors. If you come back even though I kept you waiting forever, thank you for being patient.
SA7