It is a whispered word born of a new meaning in the face of a boy. This notion that you have tried to find and capture for the longest time, drinks on the wine of your heartstrings and threatens to swallow you whole. You know yourself and it knows you, now that you are out of that place.
Perhaps you thought to glean some knowledge on this misinformed adventure into your own soul, but your thoughts are molten, burning you alive, and your heart is a masterpiece written in foreign language. You'd sit and wait for an interpreter, but you haven't got the time. A conflagration has started and you've got to find something to put out the flames before they consume you. They were always afraid of your powers breaking out of the locks and bolts that hold your sanity so delicately into place. Did they ever realize that you were afraid of yourself as well?
You've never feared death. You've stared straight into it's bottomless eyes and felt only one thing. Anger. Death has robbed you of so many things you loved, and left you to live in the misery of their memories. It will not take you because you are not afraid, and it can't be satisfied if you don't tremble in fear at it's coming, but oh how it threatens to take away all of your life's breath, just because it can.
So you've been scrambling, living as much life as you can because you never know when it will all be rudely taken back. You're living on borrowed time. Every Phoenix dies in the end. Always suicide. Are they too, driven by a Fate that is out of their control?
But ever since you met that boy, you fear death, and now it has a reason to take you. You want to live, just to be near him. He is enough to make you long for life with every spark of your being, and death is the only thing that could ever take you away from him. You'd kill and die for him, and if needed, you'd rise from the dead and kill again, just to protect him.
You cling to the whispered word, for now it means life.
She had dreamt of the drowning boy again, with pale pepper grey eyes and light salty hair. He had looked at her and held her gaze steadily for the longest of short moments she had ever known, holding her in the infinity of his depthless eyes for uncountable time, stared like she was a spellbinding fire sitting by the river bank, slowly burning away under unblinking eyes. This time she got to her feet and looked straight back at him, with a perfectly dreadful sense of premonition that always visits in the deepest of dreams, and the flames leapt in his reflective eyes.
For an instance she forgot herself in the reality of the dream, the depth of her youth, the tickle of grass blades beneath her feet, the bubble and whine of the tireless black river, and the very real boy standing on the opposite bank with tight lips and sad eyes. When he began to wade into the famished water, the blood red sky came crashing down on her, and she became aware of another repeat dream closing up around her. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to have this dream again. The images barreled onward trapping her in the nightmare that she thought she was rid of.
Just before the boy sank below the waves, mobility struck her, blinding like the lightning, and she was diving into the inky black water, without a breath, without a thought, faster than a heartbeat. The water had looked so intimidating before, but now all traces of fear had vanished. She swam out to him as swiftly as her body would allow, cutting a straight course through the waves pounding into her in angry protest. She was just in time to catch two fingers before they slipped below the surface, lacing two of her own through them stopping him from sinking any further.
To her surprise his fingers tightened around hers, and they were sealed together by four fingers. Four fingers that would ether save them or drag them both to the bottom. Her other hand found the rest of his arm and she tried with all her might to pull him up. It was impossible. She was being dragged into the depths of the river now too. The water was claiming her, just as it did the boy, filling all her senses, pulling her beneath the surface. She could still escape, but she would rather die than let go of the boy. The river set itself up to arrange just that.
Everything was black. There was a deafening roar in her ears. Her head spun. No air. Slowly and silently death surrounded her until the roar faded and everything around her became peaceful and set. Like fallen soldiers her senses shut down one by one. Taste. Smell. Sight. Hearing. The last thing she was aware of was the touch of the boy's fingers, intertwined with her own. Crack!
At the sound two students in the Xavier mansion sat bolt upright in their beds at the exact same moment. Though they lay in separate rooms, they both had been jolted awake from the same dream. Each tried to control their ragged breathing, swallowing and gulping mouthfuls of air as if every breath was their last, staring around with skittish eyes and rattled nerves, trying to find the source of the noise that had brought them out of the prison the dream had been.
Rain was pouring down in torrents all around the estate. Lighting flashed and thunder screamed again. Another summer storm had come to visit during the night. The realization that it had only been the thunder that woke them did not entirely sooth. The rain was indicative of a river, a river neither of them ever wanted to visit again.
Jean remained sitting, her ever busy mind always thinking, processing, sorting out her own thoughts from the thoughts of what might be a thousand others. She knotted her hands together around her knees with four fingers, two fingers clasped together on each hand. She wasn't supposed to be having that dream again. It wasn't hers, and yet, somehow it had become hers. It made more sense than she would ever admit to herself. She had become accustomed to denial of things deep inside her mind. It was so much easier to float on the surface of all these deeper thoughts and exist in the sensation of the present moment.
Scott. He forced her further into everything than she ever wanted, grounded her with reality. Nobody else had ever done that to her, and she didn't know how to take it. He symbolized a past so troubled and so isolated, that she could not overlook the memory of her own past. The saying terrible tragedy loves company held true here. He identified with her on that level, even though his prison had been an orphanage, and hers an asylum. He trusted her completely, which was more than anyone else who knew she was a telepath had ever done. They all pretended to be at ease, when really they were just plain scared she would read their thoughts and know everything that lay at the cores of their beings every dirty secret, every lie, everything. They saw her as a walking violation to their right to keep all these things chained to the inner recesses of their souls never to see the light of day. She had always told them otherwise, but they would never believe her. They were always afraid. Scott, a boy who had always been naturally distrusting, had never once been scared of her in this way.
He smiled at her more than most people did, laughed for her more than he would for anyone else and would make her laugh in return. He talked to her about things that mattered to him, listened to her when she did the same, and when they weren't speaking he did things to her without even uttering a single syllable. He was the only person she had ever known who could make her laugh herself to tears and then cry herself to pieces in the same moment, though she had to admit she liked it better when it happened backwards. It was a most flawless universe they had perfected around their friendship. So perfect that she woke up in the mornings with only one desire, to sit with Scott under that oak tree and laugh together until her belly ached with the unbearable sweetness of existence, and she could actually savor the tang and honey taste of it in her mouth.
More and more, she was beginning to notice what an attractive boy Scott was. Even with those glasses he had a full-lipped, pearly white smirk, that graced his face in the rare times that he was alone with her. Even as terrible as the dream had been, she had taken one thing back with her that she would never forget. The sight of Scott's eyes. The most amazing blue eyes in all the universe had to be kept hidden because they were lethal. Irony bursted from every seam of that thought. Life was cruel like that, especially to Scott. Now that she had seen his eyes, the memory alone would not satisfy.
She let these thoughts rule her mind as the minutes dripped slowly past. The clock on her beside table read 5:02. The storm that had startled her awake was already fading away, and the blue haze of pre-morning mist hung around the air outside her window. Distantly she heard the sound of a song bird starting its own rhythmic chant and knew that there would be more joining him soon. The herald of the morning sang on with a shrill voice and a determined heir, as if the burden of bringing Spring back to the gardens forsaken by the night was all his alone. Didn't everyone feel like that at one point or another?
She rose. She did not know what propelled her, the song of the bird, now being joined by another, or merely the chanting in the shadows of her own mind. The dream had given her a good jolt and she was still reeling from it, too awake to go back to the haven of sleep, and something told her she would not be alone in her suffering. She didn't know how she had come to develop this sixth sense when it came to Scott, but she didn't at all care too much either. Scott could sense her just as much, and it was comforting sometimes. The telepathic blunder that had happened two mornings ago had only strengthened what was already there.
She walked downstairs barefoot, the soft carpet giving way to let her tired feet sink into the luxurious burgundy. She felt no real compulsion to change out of her baggy T-shirt and shorts, and walked through the corridors with her hand trailing along the wall. When she was a younger girl, she never would have dreamed that her teenage years would be spent like this, treading the hallways of the Xavier Estate barefoot, in the early hours of morning. She never would have dreamed she was telepathic either, and now it came as second nature to her. She never would have dreamed a lot of things. If only everyone could live according to childhood dreams. Surprisingly, she did not regret any of the turns her life had taken. This course had led her to Scott, and now, she could not image how she could go back to her old life, knowing he existed.
The banister slid cool under her fingers and the floor in the hall downstairs was ice to her feet, so she increased her pace, intent on reaching the boy on which her thoughts were all centered on. She trotted to the kitchen, where she knew he would be. And there he was, lazy smirk still lavishly adorning his features as if time had stopped since the last she saw him, and was only starting up again now. Right where they left off. He was sitting on one of the stools around the bar in the middle of the kitchen, spotting her immediately as she entered the kitchen as if he had known, just as she had, the instant she would walk through the door. He was nursing a steaming cup of instant coffee like it was a bottle of whiskey, looking tired and restless at the same time, like someone who was afraid to go to sleep after having a nightmare. The same nightmare.
"Hey Red," He offered his simple customary greeting, but tonight it meant more than that. He didn't look in the least bit surprised to see her, nor did he try to cover up that he had known. He was acknowledging what they both already knew, that the connection between them was very real, and getting stronger by the day.
"Hey yourself Summers," She padded into the kitchen and plopped down on a stool beside him.
"So now you know what it feels like to drown," Scott sighed, his smile lessening, "Why did you jump in after me? . . . er him."
"I think you know why," Jean fixed him with a look and again was stricken with the fact that beyond the visor she was staring into the bluest eyes on the planet, "I'd never let you drown Scott. I'll either save you or die trying."
Those words struck a nerve somewhere, and Scott became aware of that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, like someone had released a cage of butterflies in his gut. She was being sincere. She would. He could never let her die trying to save him. Now he had to get out of that river, if only just to pull her ashore and make sure she was safe. He couldn't yet name this feeling she brought forth in him, couldn't quite understand the jumbled mummers of this whispered word, but he knew it was something profound. Something in him was scared to look, for fear of what he might understand. It was an absolutely terrifying thing to care about someone so much.
"Scott," Jean was drumming her fingers on the table top, hesitant to disrupt his thoughts, "You know it's not raining anymore."
"That it is not," The smile returned to his face and he stood up, "Care to go for a walk Ms Grey."
"That depends," Jean's answering smile was teasing, "Where are we going?"
"Far away from the house where no one can hear you scream," Scott faked a sinister voice and chuckled wickedly.
"Sounds delightful. Lead the way."
On the outside the world had not woken up yet, and the new son still rested in its cradle with only the faintest tints of frayed yellow light in the east to show that it was coming. A soft mist was still falling in drops that weighed less than tears, left behind in the wake of the larger storm that had passed over quickly and was gone without enough time to fully pummel the grounds, as the storm the night before had. The gardens were all drowning in shadows with invisible birds still rasing a chorus to the heavens. In the almost blackness it was easy for two figures to slip out of the house unseen, still barefoot and clad in pajamas they made their way along familiar paths, led by every instinct in them to the old oak that waited by the water.
The sopping wet grass squelched between her toes but Jean didn't mind. The night had not completely drawn back her sable cloak. The enchantress was still working her wonders on the world. The heavens where still a dim and bottomless pouring forth mist from the abyss, blanketing the earth so quietly it could not be heard, so light that it seemed to float to earth. Beyond the clouds she knew that the moon and stars would still be visible, but not now. The blackness was tangible. The enigmatic and impossible to pinpoint sounds of night creatures still buzzed and echoed, bouncing off the blackness like rattling bones, eerie, but so captivating that shivers of awe run wild across one's skin.
They passed through this realm, without speaking, as if that might break the haze. The orchard was a regiment of silent black sentinels, with their innocent pink dusted blossoms drawn up tight. Standing in the white and silver mist the clan of them transformed the grounds into a fantasy land. The mist was damp enough to cover everything, including them with a light sheen of moisture, making their hair stick to their necks and leaving their clothes feeling floppy, like they hadn't finished drying quite yet. Twice Jean heard the thrumming of an insect's wings as one darted past her ear, and sometimes a toad or a vole would rustle in the grass when they came nearer and disappear from sight.
"You know if this mist rises soon enough, there may be a sunrise," Jean said softly to her companion, who she could just barely make out in the shadows.
"I wonder how it would look from the top of the oak," Was his reply. Then he sought out and captured her hand with his own and dragged her closer to him until he could whisper to her. He carefully pushed her hair aside, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke, "I can hardly see you, Marvel Girl. You're not allowed to leave me until you show me that sunrise."
Thrills raced though her, not at his words, but because of what he had done. They had never discussed what had almost happened in his bathroom the other night, and now she wondered just what sort of game they were playing, dancing around each other, and pretending that this mutual attraction didn't exist. In the isolated fairy world of the orchard, she felt a new courage surge through her veins. She stopped and turned to face him. He looked at her curiously, the lines of his face disguised in shadow, and the pixie dust mist beading into droplets on his ruby glasses. How hard for him it must be to see her with the darkness magnified in his glasses and drops clinging to them. Then she realized why he had grabbed her hand. He couldn't see at all.
"Scott, if you don't want to do this . . ."She started, "I mean . . . I don't want you to get hurt."
"You forget that I have lived blind before. You learn different ways to survive," His lips quirked up at her concern, "And besides, I trust you won't lead me into any of these trees. I'd trust you with my life."
Jean frowned at him. It touched her to know that he would trust her with his life, but this was a serious matter. What if he got hurt? How could he be so unconcerned with the situation?
"Well I'd certainly try not to, but Scott, I've never led anyone before in my- . . . wait," Her curious frown deepened, "How did you know we were in the orchard?"
"Like I said, you learn different ways to survive. I can always smell the orchard, sweet and pollen covered in the Spring turning into spicy and tangy when the apples come in the fall," He could imagine the huge 'O' that her cherry satin mouth would form when she heard those words. He wanted to tell her the rest. He wanted to tell her that she always smelled like the orchard, even in the winter when the trees were all naked skeletons. She was his constant Spring, but he couldn't tell her that. Not yet.
"Wow," She said simply, staring into his face with awe.
She wanted to finish what they had started with intent in his bathroom. Just being alone with him in the orchard stirred up so many complex emotions. Now was not the time though. Right now she just wanted his company as a friend, and perhaps in a day, a week, a year or maybe more, they would be ready to examine all the boundaries they had crossed. Someday she would be ready to accept the depth of her feelings and finally admit that the whispered word existed. Scott seemed to sense every one of these thoughts, and ended the moment by bringing the hand he held up his mouth and placing a chaste kiss on the back of it.
And she led him through their fairyland, in a universe all their own, shielded by the walls of her telekinesis. The mist was orbiting them now but never touching them, carrying with it the scent and taste of apple blossoms and the sounds of the night on the outside. Everything turned perfect like this when it was just the two of them. Soon they left the orchard behind and traveled along familiar paths until they came to the lake and the oak beside it. Jean let out her breath in a gasp.
A sunrise was indeed starting right over the water. It was only a small sliver of modeled orange and yellow with hues of pink, peeking above the tops of the trees, distorted and cloudy in the mist. It cast a luminous reflection across the white wine water, filled with tiny mist ripples across its silken surface. Too beautiful for words.
"Oh Scott," She breathed when she finally found her voice, pulling him closer to the edge of the lake where she stood, as if that would help him see.
"It's hideous isn't it," Scott smiled ruefully and stared off in the direction of the sunrise he could not see.
"No," She turned him toward her and reached to touch his temples, "This is what I see."
She again felt the warmth of his mind merging with hers and indulged herself in the sensation for a few moments, wrapping his essence around her like a blanket. What would she ever do if they lost this? She decided to ponder this at a later date and instead turned her eyes towards the sunrise, hearing Scott's gasp when he saw the sight she had given him. Her TK shield dissipated when she concentrated on the link, causing the mist to come down on them again, but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.
They stood like that for a time that seemed like a second and a lifetime all at once, engulfed in the rising sun to the east, making a slow ascent into the sky and lighting up the world around them by slow degrees casting dancing orange flames on the water's surface. The sky was changing from deep black to a navy blue and grey.
Finally, she let her hands fall, and he caught them in his own, bringing them down to their sides. He could see a little bit now in the increasing light, but not enough to be able to make her out completely. He couldn't make out the expression on her face, but this was enough. She had shown him an earth-shatteringly beautiful display of color, through her own eyes, and again he truly appreciated the powers that had been bestowed upon her. They were quiet a pair, the Queen of Hearts in all her radiance on the throne of the sunrise and the Keeper of Silences, never able to express his emotions in words.
"I want to see it from the oak," Her hands slipped out of his, and the two of them raced toward the oak only a few feet away.
For all the dimness in his sight, Scott was still an agile climber. He nimbly moved upwards, scaling the slippery wet branches, with bare feet and damp pajamas. Jean was close behind, trying eagerly to get to the highest branch she could. When he reached his destination, he turned around to watch her.
The next series of events happened in staggering slow motion. She was just about to swing herself onto the last branch when she lost her balance and stumbled. The tree shuddered violently. Scott's breath stopped in his throat. With a surprising act of strength aided by her telekinesis she was able to maintain a meager hold on the tree, so she did not fall, but she had not safely recovered yet. With blind and frantic kicks she finally got her feet back on the branch below that, and she was clawing at the top branch, trying to keep her grip.
Wet branches aren't good for climbing however, and Scott watched in horror as her slender pianist's fingers lost their grip on the soaked branch. He was already moving to help her when her footing slipped.
And she was falling.
She spilled towards earth with wings spread out and eyes wide, like a Phoenix falling from her kingdom in the heavens, so stunning, and so terrible at the same time. With silent certainty the end loomed nearer, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He watched, paralyzed as her light form collided gracelessly with the earth. Arch of back. Crack of bone. Shriek of pain.
His fallen Phoenix lay shattered, her fragile form spread prone across the ground. The sky wept, the sympathetic drops of mist beading on her ivory skin looking paler than he'd ever seen her and the scarlet tresses spread around her head, with curling wisps coiling across her porcelain face. One of her legs was bent backwards at an odd angle, and she wasn't moving. Fear was the lightning bolt of emotion that ran through him breaking his skin into a cold sweat instantly. 'Please let her be alright' was the mantra he repeated in his mind while he leapt down to the ground with as much speed as he could manage with all of his limbs crumbling and seemingly ready to give way under him at any moment. 'Please let her be alight'.
Amazingly he made it to the ground without collapsing, and was at her side in an instant, hands shaking with terror, "Jean!? Speak to me! Jean!!!"
She blinked and stared up at him with pain clouded eyes, tears prickling in their endless green depths, "Scott," The distance in her voice frightened him, "My head . . . I can't think."
His own head was beginning to pound in answer. Someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of his brain and just pounding. He bit back a growl of pain and was startled again when a white-hot knife of excruciating pain stabbed through his left shin. He couldn't contain the cry of pain that barged from his mouth without restraint and was surprised to hear that he wasn't the only one. Jean's scream came in synchrony with his own. He clutched his leg in reaction and found that it was perfectly fine, but one glance at Jean and he realized the source of both of their pain. Why hadn't he noticed it before? The twisted leg was grotesquely out of position, and a fracture was clearly visible under her skin. Her left shin had broken.
He fought to stand, against the stinging needles of pain in his leg, and repeated over and over again in his mind that the pain wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. He had to overcome it for Jean's sake. It wasn't real, but oh god it hurt. On top of that his head was still pounding, and he saw spots of oily flourescent color wafting in and out in front of his vision. He took one look at Jean, sprawled on the ground in unspeakable agony, the screams silenced in her throat before they reach her parted satin lips and her gemstone eyes still clouded as affliction seized her thoughts and strangled them. His pain was forgotten.
"I'll go get help," He rasped fighting an inner battle with his mind, so locked with hers that her pain became his own.
"No," She begged, and the telekinetic force of her plea knocked him to his knees, "Don't leave me Scott. Don't leave me," This she repeated over and over again, clutching his shirt with a mad desperation until her cries became only whispers.
He couldn't. Not when she was begging him with all the strength she had left in her to stay by her side. Even if he could, he wouldn't. In this moment he finally grasped the concept his heart had known all along. She meant everything to him. He carefully lifted her head into his lap, and tried to think wonderful things. If they were so linked that he could feel her pain, just maybe he could turn that around. He tried to think of the sunset last night, of the sunrise this morning, but these thoughts were interspersed with flecks of color and shocks of pain. She latched onto these thoughts though, breathing raggedly and urging him to stick to them. If he could just sooth her long enough for help to come . . . He had to get help.
"Somebody help!"
The night was waning as fast as his strength, but the mist, now turning into rain again was relentless. The spots were getting bigger and bigger. It was hard to keep a grip on reality. The telepath in his lap was about to pass out. His screamed another petition to the heavens at the top of his lungs.
"SOMEBODY HELP!!!"
The effort of his scream took the breath from him and his head swam, but he couldn't stop.
"SOMEBODY HELP!!!"
She was fading fast. He shouted over and over again until his voice was hoarse from wear, and ran gentle fingertips up and down her lifeless arms, trying to return some feeling to her. Think of the sunrise. Don't stop. Must get help. Pinprick pierce. Pounding.
Then suddenly the pain faded and disappeared into a thoughtless black abyss. She was out. He huddled her closer to him and shouted the rest of his voice away. 'Where nobody can hear you scream' Suddenly those words invoked a true terror in his heart. What if nobody could hear him? Panic gave way to hysteria and before he knew it he was sobbing.
"Oh God Jean. Oh God no."
He had never even given much thought to God in the past. As far as he was concerned, God had never given him much thought. But now more than ever, he prayed that there was something up there who would help him. If not for his sake, then for Jean's.
He leaned over her to shield her motionless body from the freezing rain, pressing tender kisses to her forehead and damp crimson hair. His soaked clothes clung to him and the frosty rain nipped at his skin, causing shivers to rake through him. Still he clung to Jean, his only keystone. The silence in her mind was stifling his senses and pulling him under.
Then there came an angel sloshing through the rain under the shroud of rising mist and blackness. Scott had to squint at first to make the figure out, but as the figure trudged nearer toward them he could make out battered grime-caked boots squishing through grass and mud as fast as the feet contained in them could go. A large worn and ratty garbage bag of a coat was draped over the entirety of the figure's body, with a hood flung far over face, and sleeves disguising arms.
Scott called out weakly, his voice choked and his consciousness evanescing, and then slumped against his broken Phoenix whispering silent prayers in his mind that would not form on his lips. The stranger finally reached them at his lumbering run and pulled back his hood. Grey hair frothed forth and dampened quickly in the rain, and bright brown pools of eyes widened with concern under gnarled eyebrows. The waxen faced gardener who tended the apple trees looked down on them in alarm, fear racing through him at the sight of the two children huddled on the ground.
Scott recognized the stranger and looked down at Jean to indicate her injury, but only managed to mumble the word "broken". Then the world suddenly skewed and shifted, falling out of focus too fast for him to hang on. The last thing he remembered was the sight of his Phoenix with face like frosted glass, and tresses of deep velvet wine, and then blackness consumed thought and sense.
Dawn broke like a china vase, spilling cidery light across the sky's canvas. Below it, a black river still twisted and tossed in its bed like a large glossy snake, weaving a trail through the sentinel woods, damp and heavy, fierce and quick. Of all the things it wanted, it wanted to crush the life out of every creature that wandered into its depths. Out of bone, into dust, filtering through the black daemon like time itself.
The light emitted shadows of glory and mirth through the cracks and fractures in the blood red sky. Dawn was casting and spinning her spell of enchantment and wonder, splashing vivid color over everything it touched. The river roared and spewed foam in defiance.
But out of this river there came a ghostly visage of life. Crumpled and battered, there came the beating of determined hearts and fatigued lungs burning for air. Then a hand broke through the surface, followed by an arm and then a face, with dark chocolate hair and sky blue eyes swallowing the sugary air and pulling a girl to the surface as well. The girl held the boy up as one by one he lifted the stones from his pockets.
Determined now, the boy and the girl carried each other to shore, each drowning, each saving, coughing water and fighting the current until their limbs felt like jelly. Still, they fought onward, heavy hearts beating as one. Then, a bare foot touched the silty river bottom, followed by three more and driven by new hope they went on. A journey that neither could have made alone would be completed together, arm linked with arm, heart linked with heart, each driven by the desire to rescue the other. They would save each other and together they would live, or together they would perish.
Sharp rocks sliced open tender young feet til they bleed into the ebony river, restless water pounded into muscle and bone making every nerve quake with lassitude and wet clothes dragged down helpless bodies like deadweight. Then chin surfaced into neck and neck surfaced into shoulder. Air flowed freely now into open throats and the fractured sky broke above them, with the Dawn exploding through. Wishing and knowing are two different things and know is what they did as they rose out of that river. They would live.
As waist gave way to knee, and limp turned into sag the boy collapsed and the girl crumbled, stumbling the last distance through the shallows and tripping onto the empty back, numb with exhaustion. And so boy and girl lay boneless and amazed side by side on the river bank under the light of the first morning this dream world had ever seen. Wordlessly they pulled closer, murmuring away wounds and pouring sweet devotions into each other's ears. They bleed every tragedy into each other until all that was left was a joy, a joy that they always got out of being together, and an overwhelming gladness to be alive.
And a nameless word from ages past whispered through maze of mind and abyss of air that maybe this was how it was always meant to be.
Sunlight was the first thing she registered, harsh in its invasion onto her face. She blinked in annoyance and rolled over, burring her face into the pillow. She wanted to go back to that wonderful dream, and she willed every sense in her to shut down, so she could return to that riverbank and never have another care in the world. When her body refused to cooperate, she grumbled and blinked again, deciding upon figuring out where she was.
Bits and pieces of the events before her dream came back to her. She had been in Scott's arms, and everything had hurt so badly that she wanted to die. Thoughts seeped through her brain and returned to her in pieces and tumbled around in a jumbled mess. She sorted out each sentence by sentence until it all was clear.
She had been climbing, yes, that was it. Climbing what? A tree . . . the Oak. She had been climbing to see the sunrise, and she had slipped. She had slipped and then she had fallen, and oh how it hurt. Her leg and her head had burned with pain, so great she couldn't move, and then Scott was there, panicking, wanting to get help, and for some reason she had asked him . . . no pleaded him to stay with her. And he stayed, holding her, trying to sooth her mind and screaming for help at the top of his lungs. She remembered his fear, his pain, and his attempts to assuage hers, and then everything had gone black. Where was she now?
She was laying on her back with a plain white ceiling above her. She shifted and realized that she was in a bed, and the same shin that had burst into pain earlier now felt numb and heavy. Closer examination of her surroundings proved that she was in the med lab, though how she got there was a complete mystery. The activity in her mind had returned back to the steady hum that she was used to, but the mental signature of her best friend did not escape her.
Sure enough, when she tilted her head to the side she spotted a mop of brown hair resting soundly atop her bed, disguising the features of Scott Summers. She easily deduced that her companion was fast asleep, given the gentle rise and fall of his back, though how he could manage it in a sitting position, she couldn't even begin to imagine. He had once of her hands clasped in his own, and even as he dozed, he would not relinquish it. Her eyes wandered over him fondly before they were snared by the glimmer of light reflecting on glass.
There, positioned perfectly on a small end table, was a single vase packed with lovingly arranged tickled-pink blossoms, Apple and Lotus to be exact. They wafted a pleasant mixture of aromas throughout the sterile med-lab, and for some reason that simple gesture alone touched her deeply. Gently she raised a hand and ruffled the chocolate head of hair that was presently heaped across her bed.
Slowly he raised his head and she was met with his expressionless quartz lenses, but it was impossible to miss the look of happiness that spread across his features when he found her awake. She felt his relief wash over her, and returned his smile.
As for Scott, it had seemed like hours since he had been woken by Dr. McCoy, and informed of Jean's condition. Apparently, the gardener summoned help when he found the two teens collapsed on the ground, and they had both been carted off to the med lab. While, Scott sustained no real injuries, Jean had indeed broken a shin and hit her head pretty hard. Dr. McCoy had gone on to puzzling about how Scott could have passed out though he was physically unharmed. Scott found that he knew the answer, but was unwilling to indulge the good doctor at the time. He didn't care if the doctor believed he had fainted for no good reason or not. The important thing was Jean. She was awake.
"Hi," She murmured, squeezing his hand that was still latched onto hers in a death grip, "Are you gonna let go of me, or am I gonna have to get a crowbar?"
He laughed and slowly let go of her hand, "If you're making jokes already, I think you'll be alright."
After that, came a moment of silence. They both stared at each other for a long while, trying to regroup and figure out what to say next. Almost around the same time they both came to some conclusions about confessions that were long overdue. The whispered word settled into the room, deafening all other noises save the beating of two hearts. It took each only a moment to make up their minds and clear their throats. Then the words finally came.
"There's something I have to tell you."