The Rose: Thresholds

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott and Jean see the Rose to its new hiding place, and Jean makes a decision.


Jean watched as the solemn faced monk placed the Rose on a pedestal in the roughly hewn room. Honestly, aside from the lack of fine polish on the walls, this room looked almost exactly like it's previous home, and looking around she would never have guessed that it was buried deep in the side of the mountain. The monk turned and nodded silently to the two X-Men, and Jean bowed more deeply as he left them, passing down the long, dark passageway back to the main part of the monastery.

#They're so very complacent about us locking the Rose away, and yet so adamant that it not be destroyed. I have no idea how, but I'd swear they have some secret entrance into this room and are convinced that, as long as no one who leaves the monastery knows how to get to it, everything will be ok.# Which, actually, was probably true. The monks weren't exactly the sort to go down to the local pub and let the secret slip over a pint of foul rice-beer. #He's out of range,# she added. #Whenever you're ready, Scott.# The distance would keep the noise of the blasts from bothering the monks, and all Jean really had to do was stop any of the debris from hitting Scott. The destruction of the entrance was entirely his show.

Scott frowned a bit and walked forward to examine the entrance to the room again. He needed to block it off fully, but make it look like a natural rockslide as much as possible. "Finesse work," he muttered dryly, looking back over his shoulder at Jean with a lopsided smile. "My turn to show off."

Leaning against the wall on the far side of Scott from the door, Jean smiled back. It was a little strange, speaking out loud in the monastery. Not that the monks had taken vows of silence, but Jean didn't exactly speak Tibetan. "Impress away," she said.

Collapsing the ceiling wouldn't do it. Nor would a single blast. Scott narrowed his eye, and a blast smashed through the left side of the entrance, the debris collapsing inwards. "I'm not hearing any oohing and ahhing," he said, and turned his attention to the other side of the entrance this time.

"Well, you know, there's nothing so manly as construction work. Or, destruction work, in this case. My breath's been taken away by the overwhelming testosterone of it all." She grinned at him and, as he let loose with a second blast, added an "Oooooh."

"That's better." He let off two more carefully placed blasts at the ceiling, and debris rained downwards. Scott took a step back, waiting for the dust to settle so that he could get a good look at his handiwork. "And I think," he said determinedly, "that should do very nicely."

Jean nodded, probing lightly at the rock pile. A few stones shifted, settled more closely together, but nothing gave way. "Yes, I think so. I'm not sensing any weak spots, at any rate." Moving forward she stood next to him, peering at the rock pile, then turned and grinned. "Yep, I'm impressed. An excellent display. My feminine sensibilities have been overwhelmed. I fear I may swoon. Hold me, Scott, in a manly fashion."

Scott covered his reaction with a cough. "Dust," he said a bit weakly, trying to banish the altogether too appealing image of holding her in a manly fashion.

Jean was possibly more than a little giddy, what with the concussion, the mission, seeing her husband for the first time in four months and getting to break Mystique's ribs. It had been a long day, and a far cry from the usual routine of meditations and exercise, interrupted by the odd, bland meal. Reigning her high spirits in, Jean nodded back down the hall. "Come on, let's go find the others and go home. I don't even need to pack." It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she processed the fact that she had already decided she would be going home.

Scott's heart did one of those odd little flip-flops in his chest. "Oh... umm. Okay?" He flushed bright red as she looked at him. "I mean, that's... no packing? Really? We could probably head right out, then..."

"I know, me and not packing, doesn't seem possible. But I didn't come with very much," Jean said, "and what I did bring has been being lived in for four months with, um, low tech cleaning and repair capabilities. Don't think I really want any of it, and going home sounds wonderful."

Having a minor panic attack would not be the best response. Nor would whooping in delight, and bizarrely, he wanted to do both. "Okay then," he managed to say, his voice commendably even. "We should go find the other two - I think the monks were feeding them."

"If we wait long enough, Logan may decide he likes it here and wants to spend some time working on his own self control," Jean said, watching Scott out of the corner of her eye. The ambivalence coming off him was perfectly understandable, she told herself. This was big -she was coming home. He'd had no warning and everything had been shot to hell before she left, so it was reasonable he wouldn't know how to take it. Now, the question was, did she bring that up with him. Pausing, she let him take a few steps on his own before he realized she'd stopped and turned to face her. "Hey," she said quietly. "You ok?"

Scott smiled a bit uncertainly, rubbing briefly at the scars on the side of his face. "... yeah," he said finally, almost firmly. "I just... I suppose it's funny, it didn't even occur to me that maybe you'd be ready to come home." And that was kind of appalling, that he'd already been girding himself to get on the plane and leave her. "But this is good. If you're ready. I'm glad."

That flicker of thought, the idea of him getting on the plane without her was almost physically painful and her hand reached out towards him before she let it drop back to her side. Even if Jean hadn't already been sure she wanted to go home, the knowledge that there simply was no way she could watch him leave, let him go again, would have convinced her. "Saying it occurred to me would possibly be overstating it - it sort of just, right now, became the thing I'm going to do, but it feels right. I'm done with Tibet. I want to go home, with you."

The combination of joy and anxiety was really very perverse. Really, it was. But he smiled and reached out for her hand, not having missed the arrested gesture. "Then let's go say goodbye to your hosts and fire up the Blackbird," he said. "I'll be happier when we're well back in international airspace."

Jean took the offered hand with a smile that was possibly rather on the relieved side, and nodded. "Sounds like a plan. And now for more Fun with Signing." Her look was equal parts exasperation and amusement. It had been a long four months.