Jean: A Quiet Storm

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

As the group settles in for the night at the safehouse condo, Jean reflects on a past memory.

Trigger Warning: Mention of Loss of a child.




The room on the top floor was barely a room at all, completed only to the point of support beams, a roof, windows, and the outside wall frames. Piles of dusty, warped, and long forgotten plywood sat in one corner of the room. There was enough of an effort to keep things separated from the rest of the house by a few flimsy walls of sheet rock, but it was all interrupted. Just like their lives.

Jean walked to the window, her hair still wet from the shower she had finally managed to sneak in after everything was said and done, wounds tended, and discussions had. Enough time for rest. They needed it. And though her muscles and joints and head ached, she could not sleep.

The condo had a beautiful view: a vast ocean, the waves swirling around a rocky shore. It should’ve been beauitful, given grandeur of what the property was meant to be in that area. Where people went about their daily lives oblivious to the horrors right in front of them.

A prison stood, the Citadel, towering high into the clouds, holding the people she loved. People this government fought so hard to keep from spilling those secrets by taking them.

It was unwise.

They knew what they were getting into going in for the save. They knew it was more often than not a chance that things could go wrong. Still they had hope. But when all was said and done it all went wrong. Too many variables: bad men with good playing hands. Good men ruled by love. Love could lift up and break down. In this case...it broke into so many little pieces that led to a heavy fall.

A flash of light lit up the clouds and thunder rumbled in the distance as a light began to fall. It reminded her of Scott. Of the last time they had spoken to one another alone.

The night of the anniversary of her death.

****
Jean had been true to her word to Kurt and Doug about the spa thing. She tried to force herself to relax, which made only made things worse. The masseuse found rather large knots in her shoulders and neck, which required extensive work. The end result was marginally better but she found herself so sore by the time it was over that she retired early and poured herself into bed and turned on the TV.

The movie The Perfect Storm was on so she changed the channel to the next station, which featured Deadliest Catch. So then she changed it to the next channel, which showed The Hurt Locker , followed by Willard, which reminded her of someone she didn't like. Finally she turned off the TV and threw the remote off the bed with a sigh.

Scott shifted uncomfortably, he wasn't sure why he was here, he had asked around the mansion and had found out Jean had left for a few days. He knew how hard today was for him, but he couldn't even imagine how bad it was for her. He'd had to talk around the receptionist but she had let him through and pointed him at Jean's room. He scuffed his shoe on the carpet and took a deep breath. He was here now, though he didn't know how she'd react but he didn't want to leave her alone on this night. He lifted his hand and knocked softly on the door.

Jean looked up before the knock resounded, having sensed him coming down the hall. She stared at the door for a few moments, then glanced toward the blank TV. Finally the door lock unlatched itself and the knob twisted as the door itself opened.

Scott let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and waked through the door, stopping as soon as he had entered the suite and saw Jean. He felt for the psychic link that normally bound them, hoping to use it to express his feelings but instead found it shut down as it had been since she stormed out of their suite. Scott opened his mouth to speak before he thought better of it and turned a contrite, sad expression on Jean. He wasn't here to argue or fight, he just wanted to make sure she was ok tonight.

"You found me," Jean said. It was neutral, no real malice or pleasure attached to it, just tiredness, a tiredness that matched her eyes. She glanced away, nodding a little.

"Not surprised." It was their job, after all. They found those who didn't want to be found.

She nodded some semblance of a mini bar perched on a table near by.

Scott took her nod as permission and walked over to the mini bar, pouring two glasses and holding one out to Jean. "I didn't want you to be alone tonight," he told her quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks," Jean said quietly as she took the drink, then a long sip from the glass. The burn going down was starting to become familiar.

"You'd think it'd get easier." For awhile it was...tolerable, not great. After all, how many people were obliterated by a wall of water and came back to life to tell the tale? But lately...it only got worse.

Scott swirled his drink as his listened to Jean. watching the liquid moving around the glass. "Right here and now you're alive," he pointed out, "you have friends and family who love you Jean, you don't need to go through this alone.".

"I know," Jean said, shaking her head. "On paper it sounds great. But being around people...asking for help...means putting a burden on them. Its hard to do."

She was calm only in that she was emotionally drained, seeing Scott's face as a blank space, his voice words from someone she didn't know. Not the man who stared at her from the windows of the Blackbird as the water swirled around them, the one she kissed in an alleyway before wiping the memory away, the one who's face shattered and turned dark when she told him about the child he'd never know.

She fell silent for a few moments before glancing up.

"Why did you stay with me? After all I've done to you."

The problem with being emotionally drained was it was easy to see, and hit, the bottom.

Scott blinked in surprise at Jean's question, taking a sip of his drink to buy himself time to think. Putting down the glass he turned to face her.

"I love you Red, I would never have married you if I didn't."

Jean stared at the window but didn't really see out of it.

"Then why'd you let me go?"

Scott stopped, literally froze at Jean's question. His eyes dropped to stare at his drink for a long moment before looking back up at his wife.

"I was hurt and angry," he admitted, "when...back in the suite it's all I could think about. All I could see."

"I guess we're both good at that," Jean said. Fire and the match. She closed her eyes. Every next word was perched at a precipice, waiting.

Scott nodded, "I guess we are...." his voice trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

The room fell silent. The air still. Jean opened her eyes, staring up at him for a few moments. There were so many words running through her head that she couldn't decide on what to say and it left her speechless. Her eyes, however, betrayed some emotion as she felt the tears well up. She drew in a breath.

Scott opened his mouth, but then closed it. It was out in the open now, he'd played this scene out so many times in his head but now that it was here he couldn't think of a thing to say. His eye caught Jean's and he held her gaze, his heart beating wildly and a worried expression on his face.

The taken aback look on Scott's face made Jean shake her head. "I am too. I'm sorry..." she said, wiping her tears away.

"I guess I'm just...thinking about how many times I wanted you to say that. And never heard it. And I kept expecting a knock on my door that never came. Until now."

Scott looked down at his hands, "I was scared to come to see you," he admitted, "the way we left things, I wasn't sure how you'd react, If you said you never wanted to see me again..."

Jean closed her eyes, then smiled faintly. "Scott Summers you know my temper. It never stopped you before."

"It does when I thought I'd lose you with another argument," Scott returned Jean's smile wanly. "I...I kept hoping you'd come home," he admitted softly.

Her smile faded. Standing up from the bed, Jean ran her fingers through her hair as she walked over to the window.

"I was hurt too. That you didn't understand why. That you didn't...I never did it to hurt you. You knew me, sometimes better than i knew myself, knew all my flaws and failures and...you were surprised that I kept it from you."

"I know," Scott stood up and went to stand near the window, close enough to be able to talk to Jean without invading her personal space. "At that moment, I was hurt and angry. All I could think off was how badly I was hurting. It was like I saw a moment of light and then it was ripped away.. He took a deep breath, "I guess my own flaws got in the way of my thinking straight."

Jean looked down, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Her next words were faint, barely a whisper, the hint of a crack to her voice.

"I was going to name her Hope." Or at least, that was what she was going to suggest. It seemed...fitting.

She closed her eyes again, a few stray tears slipping from her eyelashes.

"Hope," Scott echoed as tears trickled down his cheek their daughter had a name. Scott realized he thought of the child as their daughter, not his daughter...his AND Jean's.

He turned to look at Jean, noticing she too was trapped in the throes of her own grief. Hesitantly he reached out and pulled her over to him, letting her cry into his chest as the tears coursed down his face. There wasn't anything more to be said as they stood both sharing their grief as the rain swept down outside the window.

***
Jean put her hand on the window, looking down. A knock on the door made her turn her head.

“I’m coming.”