A/N: Poor transition 'cause I stopped GAF after five days of on-off writing. Be warned: closing A/N is a wall of text!
Crossing the Mountain
To her credit, she had patiently waited.
Just as the locals said, the trek to the sanctum was far. It was a quiet journey, and she arrived at her destination without incident. After being welcomed and ushered into the garden, the waiting earnestly began.
That had been an hour ago by Earth's standard, and her tea was long gone.
Idly, the traveler wondered why she was here in the first place. Following a trail of gossip, she discovered this sacred ground the Kree created in the outskirts of the capital. It was, as the gossip described, a place where one found themselves.
The redhead would have scoffed at the thought in her youth. At the time, she was certain of who she was and what she was meant to do… and then she had grown up.
That was a very confusing and trying time.
It was a normal stage in development to lose oneself, apparently. The years had been humbling; she wasn't so sure of herself anymore—especially when she found that all who had once been beside her were gone. Loneliness became her only companion when she reached adulthood.
She thought to blame everyone for abandoning her, only to realize that this was yet another normal part of life. In truth, they were there for her when she needed them; they just weren't waiting on her anymore.
Unknown to her, she was given independence and she had no clue what to do with it. After years of people doting on her, and her struggling to prove she should be past such doting, the sudden lack of companionship was jarring.
Such was growing up, she supposed.
That was years ago. She had grown; she was less lost; she was more experienced.
Now, she was just waiting to be called.
The door opened, and a Kree woman dressed in white and green robes beckoned her.
"Smith will see you now."
She stood, flattening the nonexistent creases on her clothes before combing through her wavy red locks with her fingers in a last-ditch attempt to look presentable—a feeling that continued to be foreign despite all reassurances otherwise.
Her ritual somewhat placating her nervous self-image, she quickly followed the Kree woman.
They did not travel far. The sanctum was not an overly massive structure like she had imagined. It was just right—quaint, its architecture a rustic majesty that made the pristine halls feel warm and sacred. They walked through the carpeted path in silence.
Upon turning a corner, the Kree lead her to a door before stepping to the side. She urged her inside the room with a warm gesture.
"Smith waits for you inside." She said with a slight bow.
"Thank you." The traveler replied with a grateful nod of her own before striding past the Kree.
The first thing she noticed when she entered was how small the room was. Light streamed through the open window and illuminated a lone chair by the screen. A small table stood next to the chair, and atop it a glass and a pitcher of, she assumed, water.
Inwardly, she frowned. The place seemed to be a larger confession booth but—she thought with relief—it offered anonymity.
Subconsciously, she rubbed her eyes.
"Please sit." A smooth and masculine voice urged her warmly, and she acquiesced. He gave her a moment to settle herself before he introduced, "I am called Smith—as in one who creates. A scripter."
His voice was accented differently, albeit minutely, from the traditional Kree tongue, though she supposed that was no longer unusual. Even taking into account the Inhuman's occupation many years back, much had changed since Earth's Great Expansion and the subsequent Galactic Unification, after all. In fact, it was the immigrants from Earth that lead her to this quiet sanctum.
"That's good to know." She commented, all traces of nervousness gone. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at the archaic wordiness of the Kree. "So what do you create?"
"Words." He replied, and she could hear the cryptic smile in his voice. "Stories."
"Stories?" The traveler skeptically asked, rubbing her disbelieving eyes with the back of her hand.
"Yes. Everyone has a story. I create their text—and it is my job to store them."
"Ah, like a historian." She concluded, nodding to herself. Their reality was truly vast—filled with strange cultures and jobs. "How long have you been at this?"
"It feels longer, at times."
"Oh? Tell me a story." She suddenly declared.
"I cannot divulge much without consent."
"But you can divulge something." The redhead pressed. Maybe it was the desire for conversation that drove her or maybe it was wanting something in exchange for her giving him her story; she really couldn't tell why she asked something so vague, but she did. "Where I'm from, we call this an exchange. Tell me about the woman outside—that Kree nun you have."
"A Kree?" The man behind the screen-wall sounded. He was amused by her description, the woman could tell, but why? He was silent for a moment, likely contemplating her offer. "She's a Skrull." He finally said.
"A Skrull?" She parroted disinterestedly. What was so special about that mention? "That's not so—wait," The traveler cut herself when realization hit her. "-didn't the Kree almost drive the Skrulls into extinction?"
"Yes." He affirmed in satisfaction. "One might also say the Shi'ar harbor the same level of hostility against mutants, but look where those two races are now."
"On separate planets?" Her jovial quip never betrayed the laps her heart ran at his casual mention of her people. Did this man know?
"A treaty of nonaggression and mutual growth." He clarified with a short chuckle. "That, in itself, is another story."
"But back to the Skrull?" She prompted before they could digress further. "I notice you never gave me her name."
Even stranger, the Skrull woman never gave hers even when she introduced herself.
"She gave up her life for the Majesdanian she loved. Upon bringing peace between their two races, she returned only to find that the Majesdanian had already married another woman."
"…It's like a bad rom-com without the com." She stated flatly, brushing her red locks behind an ear to relieve herself of the irritation the story brought forth.
Smith chuckled at her analysis. "Indeed, isn't it? But that is her story." The way he spoke sounded like he was concluding their digression; she inhaled deeply and waited. "Now, back to you—what story will you give me?"
"I'm not sure where to start…" She softly admitted while rubbing an eye.
Where does one begin a tale as colorful as hers? Her pilgrimage throughout the many galaxies had only proven to her that no planet produced as much oddities as her home planet.
"Starting with your name is always a good place." The Smith kindly offered. "One's name tells a lot about oneself."
"I guess…" She trailed, unconvinced but still willing to try. She had traveled this far, after all. "I am called Hope." The woman identified in the same manner the Smith did. With her knowledge of alien cultures was still lacking, she thought it would be best to copy. "As in, one that brings salvation to the despaired."
There was a pause after her declaration, and Hope wondered if she had offended the Smith with her imitation. Just as she was about to offer an apology, his wizened voice returned with a question, "And do you?"
"I'm working on that." Hope shrugged and relaxed on her seat once more. Her eyes took on a contemplative light as she reminisced out loud, "But I'm not sure I was named for that role. I got my name from… a woman my dad loved; a woman that loved me when I was a kid; a woman who… whose face I can't even remember anymore."
"You fear your name is not your own?"
"Not anymore." Hope explained. "I used to think my dad only named me Hope in her memory, but now I know better." Roses blossomed on her cheeks as she recalled her childhood tantrums with much embarrassment. "Still,-" She intoned a tad more forcefully after her brief pause. "-I exist because she did. I'm her legacy—the proof she existed…"
"You must have loved her."
"I like to think I did." Hope sheepishly admitted while rubbing her eyes. "I can't really remember because it's been so long…"
More than two decades, in fact. Whenever she thought of the woman of her namesake, Hope recalled sunshine and, more vividly, red hair—red as the blood that engulfed her when she was murdered.
"You seem troubled." The Smith's comment wrenched her from her dark recollection.
"You could tell?" She quipped, this time without any jovialness to her tone. It was a defense mechanism deeply ingrained into her—pressing on the attack when she found herself weakened. Maturity could not completely abolish her habit, though it did allow her to control the way it manifested. "Tell me, are these screens one-way?" She asked before delivering three loud and sharp knocks on the wall.
"Your anonymity is ensured so be at ease." Her listener kindly replied.
Hope shrugged. "Well, you're a better empath than I thought."
"I've had my years." He said. "And those years had their years."
"Yeah?" Hope nodded. She didn't find it at all difficult to trust the Smith. "I've had my own years on years, too. It's… kinda why I'm here."
"I see." He murmured, and she heard him shift on the other side. "Would you like to tell me more?"
"Alright."
And so she did.
She told him of her childhood—jumping into the future and dodging bullets with only a gruff and aging soldier as both father and friend.
She told him of her return—all the death, all the sacrifice, and all the hopes and dreams she was supposed to carry.
She told him of the turning point—of believing in her own righteousness and abandoning her family.
She told him of the aftermath—finding out that the normalcy she had craved for ceased being fulfilling, and she threw herself back into a life of running and gunning, eventually reuniting with her gruff old man.
She told him of the carnage—all the blood that followed her dying father as he struggled to revive her after a horrific injury, and the rift that grew between her and her beloved old man.
She told him of everything that came after. The carnage only continued; regret only deepened.
Why did she do the things she did?
What made her so self-assured?
When did her world become even more complicated?
Who did she become?
Where would she go now?
She rubbed her weary eyes.
With every story she told, Hope began to see more of herself. She began to see things how differently she could have handled matters but, alas, such was the fallacy of hindsight. It was only so clear because an outcome had already manifested.
Still, her reflection was not in vain. A spark had lit up in her mind; a candle burned in her stomach.
She could not name it exactly, but Hope felt like she was about to reach an answer.
"Sometimes, I can't believe all the things I said and did." She confessed, ending her tales. Embarrassment no longer colored her features—not when she had already shared a lot of herself with the Smith.
"You were young. Stupid. Selfish. It is not so bad." The Smith comforted her when her anecdotes finished. "One storyteller once said that it is better to be young and foolish rather than remain foolish when old."
"And how old is old?"
"It is difficult to say in these times." Honestly, who truly knew how long one might live now? "Still, that same storyteller goes on to say that foolishness prior to the age of twenty-five can be blamed on family; foolishness past that can only be blamed on oneself."
Family.
Hope blinked and her body ignited at the spoken word. Flames surged within her; her breathing grew fast and labored, and she had to remind herself to breathe.
That was the feeling; the release her body desperately yearned.
Family!
The Smith once more startled her with his empathy.
"What is it you wish for now?"
"I wish…" She glanced at the man behind the wall sharply. Her mind could see him, now; the revelations seemed to unlock something within her and absolute certainty had taken hold of her. "I wish to make my family whole." She told him softly, and reached out. The screen between them shook. "Smith… Scott, won't you come home with me?"
"…."
"It is you, Scott." Hope pressed, a giddy smile contorting her face goofily. "I can tell, you know? And yet… who would have thought we'd bump into each other in a place like this, right?"
The world… their world was truly a strange and marvelous serendipitous place.
Decades since they last met and light-years between them; how abysmal was the chance of this occurrence?
And yet, it happened.
A miracle.
What she was feeling—this rush was truly the joy of the miracle of meeting.
"Hope…" The Smith—Scott Summers started, bringing her thoughts back to the present. His tone was no longer the sagely voice he used. It was perplexed; more than that, it was old and weary, but it was unmistakably the tone of the Scott she remembered. "How did you know?"
"Familiarity, mostly, but you forget the ability I hold. Your eyes made mine tingle." She told him, rubbing her watery eyes. Her heart began to slow from its frantic drum as excitement gave way to solemnity. "It's strange—when I spoke with you, when you comforted me… it's just like before, you know? Even when you started talking cryptically like the Kree, I just knew it was you."
"Before was so long ago."
"See what I mean? Just like a Kree." Hope nodded to herself and surmised, "You must have been here for a long time, Scott. You must have been lonely here…" she trailed, her eyes pleading with him through the wall that separated them, "…so please, won't you come home with me?"
"Hope…" Her heart fell. "I am home."
"Your family isn't here." She reasoned.
"My home isn't there."
"Can't you come home with me? Can I be selfish once more?"
"Hope, I have a life here."
She closed her eyes.
Those words pained her. They were words she could not refute.
Years and light-years later, it was only natural that Scott would find new life.
She was an adult now. She could no longer force matters as she used to.
"Scott, I…" She tried. The screen between them shook once more as she pressed her forehead against the cool barrier. "…" Hope pressed her eyes shut. This was too bittersweet and she hated it. She wasn't supposed to be like this.
Inhaling sharply, the woman forced a smile. "Will I see you again?"
"Of course." His simple answer felt like sunlight breaking an eternal storm. "You know where I live."
"I'm departing today, Scott." Hope told him. "I'm returning to my home in the moon."
"Earth's moon?"
"Of course, you silly Kree." She snorted happily. "My journey was long but… but I think I can continue it anew."
"I won't wish you a safe trip." Scott said, and the screen shook between them. "You will never learn anything by playing safe. Instead, I wish you happiness."
She stood up and breathed.
It felt like her first true breath in so long.
"Take care of yourself, old man." She teased him, rubbing the joyous tear from her eye. "Come visit us sometime."
-0-0-0-
It would be years before they next met. As was the circumstance, light-years were between them. Still, they kept in touch about as often as a grandchild did with their grandparent.
On one summer day, she had invited him to the Summers family villa she owned on the Blue Are of the Moon, long-since terraformed for habitation.
Scott had declined.
Despite the heaviness Hope felt, she didn't press any further. He was a grown man so much older and just maybe wiser than her; she was sure he had reasons for declining a family reunion.
It was why she was gobsmacked when she had to put her game of darts against her uncle Nate—who was an incredibly proficient cheater despite his vehement denials of using his tk—and answered the front door.
He looked older than she remembered.
Though the years were kind to him, his hair, combed neatly, sported a lot more white than brown. Straight lines ran across his forehead, while curved ones curled at the sides of his lips. His frame—at least, what she could see from his indistinct sleeveless jumper over his baggy dress shirt—was somewhat stockier than his traditional slim appearance.
She might not have recognized this aged man if they met on the streets—that is, of course, if they should meet without his telltale ruby-quartz shades.
"You look beautiful, Hope." He complimented her. His words were less stiff now.
They were much warmer than she recalled—but then again, she could not recall the mundane from her growing years. It was unfortunate, but a colorful life only meant that the vibrant colors stood out from those of warmer hues.
"Hey there, old man." She smiled at him—and felt both awkward and comfortable at the same time. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, and her delight at his appearance reflected from her eyes.
"A friend dropped by." Scott told her, and Hope instantly knew where his gaze was. She glanced sharply over her shoulder and managed to catch the blonde head of Illyana Rasputin, Ruby's plus one, peering from the window behind her before she quickly retreated from their view. If Hope knew the woman right, she was likely claiming her pot from winning a bet she started with a gullible schmuck. "She offered these old bones a ride here."
Illyana had popped in unannounced. He would have proceeded straight to the gathering, but he had to stop by the nearby mall to buy clothes for the occasion. It was only proper, after all.
Hope placed a hand on her hip and shook her head in a slow and cynical manner. "Was that all it took to bring you here? A free trip?"
Scott coughed into his fist—and spoke through it as if hoping it would muffle his embarrassed tone. "I'll have you know that my wages as Wordsmith can barely cover a one-way trans-galactic trip, much less a return."
She gaped at him before hanging her head in defeat. She sighed, "I would have happily bought you a ticket, you know. All you had to do was say."
His cheeks flushed. "…I'll remember that, next time."
She raised a skeptic brow at him; they both knew he was just being too stubborn to ask. "Guess it runs in the family." She muttered under her breath. Banishing such thoughts, she extended a hand to her grandfather. "C'mon, old man. Let's see about fattening those bones s'more."
He took her hand before suddenly frowning.
"Scott…?" She glanced at him in concern.
The aged former leader of the X-Men turned his unhappy gaze towards her. "…am I really that fat?"
She could not help it; she sniggered at the unexpected question. At his offended look, she explained,
"Not quite,-" Hope Summers reassured her grandfather, Scott, and, feeling mischievous, teased him conspiratorially, "-but wait 'til you see Nathan!"
Scott stared at the beaming woman before the corners of his mouth twitched. Chuckles rumbled through his chest and Hope's joyous giggles joined it soon after.
They both would treasure the laughter they shared as Hope lead her grandfather to where the rest of the family were happily enjoying the sun and barbeque.
Summer was truly endless.
Omake: Twirk it like…
"So how did you wind up being a, well, story-keeper in Kree territory?"
"I needed something to occupy my time."
"Yes, which is usually why jobs are important—but you sidestepped the question. I really doubt the Kree posted an ad looking for a story-smith."
"…it started with a drink."
"…huh?"
"I caught up with the Starjammers when I left Earth. We went pub crawling across all the galaxies we stumbled across—all in search of the ultimate beer."
"That's… not so bad."
"Somehow, our drinking buddies always approached me to tell their stories."
"Must've scored a lot, right?"
"…I was almost raped a lot. When I wound up in a bar in Hala, well, things sort-of got out of hand with my drinking buddy-at-the-time." His shudder deepened Hope's interest. "Apparently, everyone loves a man that can listen. Everyone."
"So why did you listen?"
"It should have been harmless." Hope stared at him, unconvinced. In an ashamed voice, he relented, "…and there was free beer."
"Why in Kree-space, though?"
"…said drinking buddy provides lots of beer for my services."
Hope shook her head incredulously. How the mighty have fallen… "I think she wants to get inside your spandex, Scott."
"I know. I didn't realize that she was trying to get me drunk until much later, though."
"So why didn't you? Was she ugly?"
"No. She was very beautiful, in fact, and she had red hair."
Hope sighed at his last point. Somethings never really changed.
"But…?"
"But she kept telling me about the things she wanted to do to me with her hair, and I knew to stay the hell away."
"Urk." Hope retched.
"Yeah. On the bright side, I've an answer for one of life's greatest questions: tentacle-play is not exclusively Japanese*."
Omake: Cyclops Appreciation
"Hope, what are you doing?" Rachel asked when, on her way from the toilet, she spotted the younger redhead crouched before her computer.
"Processing stuff." Hope absently told her aunt while she was busying fiddling with her work through touchscreen.
Rachel peered over her niece's shoulder. "Who took all these pictures? And why are they all of dad?"
"Ruby and Illyana did, and as for why…" Hope stared at her in thought and Rachel chose to patiently await the reply. Moments later, Hope inhaled deeply before continuing, "What I'm about to say is strictly confidential." Hope's green eyes narrowed determinedly. "By no means will this information reach Scott."
"What informa-" Rachel's question never formed as Hope tapped the screen to reveal a website filled with Scott Summers—in varying ages and states of undress! "What the hell is this?" The incredulous aunt demanded of her mischievous niece.
"This is a fan-page." Hope stated proudly. "Scott's fan-page."
"Boys of Summer, DILF Edition?" Rachel read the heading, aghast.
"It occurred to us that Scott is still single." Hope explained with a nod and candidly declared, "Luckily, he's still got a very sexy bod."
"He's your grandfather!" Rachel hissed at the scandalous woman.
"I'm not gonna bend over and take his one-eyed monster." Hope raised her hands in reassurance, oblivious to her aunt's incoherent stammering. She would have been offended at the insinuation had she not understood where Rachel was coming from. "But I'm sure some lady out there wants to—she just doesn't know about it yet." At her aunt's conflicted countenance, Hope calmly argued, "Look, do you want Scott to remain a lonely widower forever or do you want him to have someone keep him company into his old age?"
That finally won Rachel over and Hope saw her shoulders relax.
So long as Scott was happy…
Still, Rachel felt it prudent to warn the younger woman, "…The Phoenix won't be too thrilled with you for this, you realize."
Rachel was perplexed by Hope's dismissive scoff.
"We've got a relationship of mutual disdain." Hope waved off the catastrophic threat with casual disinterest. "What do I care if it hates me even more?"
Rachel had to chuckle at that. "Oh, you…"
As the two women continued their plotting, it never did occur to them to ask Scott what he wanted for himself.
How did the saying go?
The more things change, the more it stays the same.
A/N: A short Cyclops & Hope, set in the future. I guess what started this is my trying to remember what I liked about the X-Men. Bendis pretty much killed all my enjoyment for the franchise—and thus Marvel Comics as a whole.
There are a few series I am following, of course: Gillen's Siege (gotta love the cast), PAD's Future Imperfect (Ruuuuby!), and, of course, Hickman's Secret Wars (so what if Cyclops is 'dead'? That was expected. It's the getting-back-up part that I'm eager for). Oh, and Young's Little Marvel; Eye love little Marvel. Once they end… well, I'll likely drop the Marvel line (and my interest in it) entirely.
Back to this story. I was trying to remember what I enjoyed about this franchise, and I stumbled upon one answer: family. Each character develops into intimidating but nonetheless astonishing individuals (obligatory joke: except Bobby!) in spite of their turbulent backgrounds, but still a family they remained.
I supposed I wanted to explore the concept of family with this story. Who, indeed, was the proverbial prodigal member between these two?
Anyway, I then scratched my brains and tried to remember why I used to like Hope (Spalding!) Summers—before AvX (and, y'know, Bendis!) happened. Beyond all the obvious unlikeable traits (burn in a ditch, traitor!), I think I was attracted to Hope's desire for family. I loved those quiet moments—heart-to-hearts between her and Nathan, and then her and Scott. In those moments, she helped humanize those two weary soldiers, and I think it humanized Hope as well. And, I suppose, I also enjoyed how she was a badass chick.
Thus, this story. I tried to imagine an older Hope Spalding. For her, I pictured a lonely warrior who realized the stupidity of her youth and thus devoted her remaining time to reforming her family.
I think there is a way for writers to make Hope like-able again. They should just, y'know, take her history and spin something like-able out of it. Hope's character is ripe for "growing up" stories but, eh, status quo.
In other news, been reading DC Comics again. Caught up with Grayson (that issue with the baby in the desert! Simply. Beautiful!) and Infinite Crisis: Fight for the Multiverse (and what an amazing book this turned out to be). I'm still not a supporter of the SM/WW literal "power couple", and I'm still eagerly waiting for the Bat-Clan to reform (Cassandra, where are you?!), but for now, at least I'm enjoying what I read. Will have to explore the DC side more, I suppose.
*This is in reference to a discussion my friends and I had. A friend posited that Japanese culture is inherently strange because they were able to create tentacle porn as early as 1814. The challenge he then issued was to name another country with tentacle erotica that didn't get inspiration from Japan. We couldn't, though I did throw China in because of their shared history.
