Jean and Haller: Reckoning (Backdated)

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Haller catches up to Jean after the battle. Jean has unresolved issues with him over what happened at the Citadel.

Warning: Indirect mention of child's death.


The air seemed relatively quiet. They were all walking toward cars, trucks, transportation that got them to a hotel and a hot shower and meal. Jean stepped over the rubble, careful not to trip but doing not much else other than stagger along. She looked like a zombie, and felt like a zombie. Her entire body ached and her head didn't fare much better. It was over. It hadn't quite set in yet. Maybe once they got home. She felt like she could sleep for a week.

"Jean."

Stumbling but determined footsteps approached her, proceeded slightly by the faint brush of a familiar presence. A moment later Jim himself appeared at Jean's arm, his face still streaked with dust and healing bruises.

"Hey," he said. "Hey -- can I talk to you for a minute?"

Haller's voice made Jean slow her cadence and she rubbed her forehead before picking up the pace.

"You don't want to talk to me right now, Jim," she said, her voice flat but with a hint of warning.

"I know. That's why I need to." Jim's pace accelerated until he was even with her again. With a small shake of the head, Jim held up his hands. In one was a bottle of water. In the other, a bottle of extra-strength aspirin. "If nothing else, I wanted to give you this. The medics brought some supplies, and we're all a mess right now."

Jean stared at the offering for a moment, then begrudgingly took it, if only because her head felt like a gorilla was playing the bongos with it.

"I need to go check on the others."

"I know. I won't keep you long." Jim's mouth quirked. The harsh orange of the prison jumpsuit made his bruised face look exceptionally sickly. "I owe you an apology for disobeying your orders during the assault, and I've owed it to you for a week."

Stopping dead in her tracks, Jean tilted her head. "You think?" she said. The anger had started to bubble up more, bleeding through to her eyes, her clenched fists.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the people you got captured. I realize why you did it. I understand the thinking or lack thereof behind it. But when you have people depending on you, and you throw it all away for one person? Regardless of if its the one you love...If things hadn't gone the way they had people could've died. YOU could've died. We're lucky it was only..." She swallowed. That wasn't even the right word. There was nothing lucky about that. She shouldn't have said that. God, she shouldn't have said that.

Taking in a breath, Jean shook her head, swiping her eyes with her hand.

"I need to go check on the others."

Jim bowed his head in agreement. He allowed a moment to pass collect herself before responding.

"I did apologize to them," Jim said, softly. "And now I need to apologize to you. Scott wasn't with us, but he was captured because of me. Because of your link." The telepath took a deep breath. "It isn't just about disobeying orders. When I realized someone who mattered to me was -- hostage -- I ended up putting you in the same position. And that's . . . that's really the apology I wanted to give."

Jim raised his odd-colored eyes to Jean's green. "As an X-Man what I did was inexcusable, and I'll accept whatever punishment you decide. But what I put you through was worse, and for that I owe you an apology."

For an instant the younger man's shields lowered. Emotion leaked through: not an assault this time, but an invitation, to be acknowledged or ignored as Jean chose.

"I'm sorry, Jean."

"You--" Jean blinked at Haller just to make sure she heard what she thought she heard. "Scott got captured and tortured because of you?"

Her face went dangerously still, cold, but her eyes burned. Her fingers coiled into a fist. It took every ounce in her not to punch him.

"Son of a bitch." Even more to turn and walk away.

"He did. When he asked what happened to you . . . I realized just how far the consequences of what I did reached." The reply was devoid of challenge or defensiveness, and he continued to meet her eyes with the same, unerring gaze. "It doesn't matter that I didn't mean for it to happen. It was my fault."

Part of him wondered if he was trying to punish himself. She was exhausted, and they'd been through so much -- it was potentially suicidal to tell her this now. Maybe he was clumsily trying to make amends for the guilt she must feel at losing half her team on that first assault by offering her himself as a target. Maybe he felt that he no longer deserved Jean's trust because of what he'd done, or was indulging in indirect self-flagellation for not having realized Betsy had been taken and putting them all in that situation in the first place. Maybe it was all of that.

Jim didn't know. All knew for certain was that he had caused her pain, and he was sorry.

Jean spun around. She had been trying to walk away but he just kept talking. It made her stop and turn back around.

"What do you want me to tell you? What do you want me to do? I know what I want to do...goddamn it, just stop talking," she said, stamping her foot in the dirt. The blood was starting to rush to her face, making her cheeks red, not from embarrassment but from anger.

She didn't know what to say. She was tired, confused, bewildered, angry, grieving, remorseful, afraid. All of these things she hadn't been able to grasp and now he was yanking out rage from her. She didn't know what he wanted. Forgiveness? She couldn't forgive him right now. Eventually, maybe, because she knew why he did it, but what it caused....what came after....

"I want you to not blame yourself," Jim blurted, with a vehemence unexpected even to him. "I don't care if you forgive me and I know this doesn't mean shit coming from me right now, but I want you to know that you did everything right. I want you to know that nothing that happened here was your fault." The telepath raised his injured hand to his forehead and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"That's all," he finished.

His words hung in the air, almost tangible. All Jean could do was breathe, listening to the wind and sirens howl in the distance, the faint roar of the traffic from the parts of the city that hadn't been forcibly demolished.

She found herself focused on a little bit of green, peeking out of the rubble, a weed. A sprout of life that had survived all the turmoil. Slowly, she sank down to ground. She didn't know what to say.

Jim knelt down in front of her, keeping his distance but not wanting to loom over her. He found his eyes were unexpectedly burning, and it wasn't for his benefit. Distantly he wondered, Which of us wants to cry?

"I am sorry for what I put you through," Jim whispered. "If you don't want to work with me anymore, I'll respect that. I'll leave you alone. But please don't take responsibility for other people's bad decisions, or events out of anyone's control. Don't . . . don't focus so much on the bad that you can't see the good." Jim managed a weak smile. "Scott . . . it was a long week for him, without you."

Jean continued to stare at the plant for awhile, blinking numbly. Slowly, she looked up at him.

"We survived," she said softly, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Not all of them, but many.

They were worse for wear and probably mentally scarred for a long time but they survived. Maybe it took the cycle of emotions toward Haller to get her to that point, to burn everything else away until it was all that was left.

The younger man's smile widened, just a little. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we did."

Jean closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. "You really screwed up," she said, then let out a breath. "But...I can't...say I wouldn't do the same thing. And that's not a good thing. We have to put the team first. Because next time the outcome could be a lot worse. Do you understand?"

She opened her eyes.

"Can I trust you to not do it again?"

"I . . ." The easy answer would have been yes, but he knew it was a promise he couldn't make. Not even though he wanted to. Jim shook his head.

"I don't know," he confessed. "There are some things I just can't leave someone to, regardless of the consequences. But you can trust that if anything like that happens again, I would do it differently. I should have made sure everyone was out before I went after her, disabled as many mutates and guards as I could. Made sure the everyone was safe before I put myself at risk." He raised his bruise-streaked face again. "I couldn't have left Betsy, but no one else should have paid for the decision."

Slowly looking back down at the plant, Jean nodded a little. "I understand," she said. And she did.

He remembered the cold fire in Jean's eyes when he'd told her about his inadvertent role in Scott's capture.

Yes, Jim thought, I know you do.

The other telepath rose to his feet, muscles quivering from fatigue. So many layers of sweat and dirt covered him that the filthy prison overalls no longer felt distinguishable from his skin. Jim raked his hand through his filthy hair and sighed. "Disciplinary action . . . I'll accept whatever you decide. We can talk later. I've kept you long enough."

"Later," Jean echoed as she pulled herself up as well. The area had been blocked off from the public so other than a few Magistrates, X-Men, and emergency medical workers, the place was empty.

"She...." Jean glanced up. "She got out somehow. Betsy. I saw her, when we were headed to fight Moreau. She seemed back to normal. She said...Essex was behind it. "

essex dr. essex is in genosha what is he why would he the kids when campbell took the kids and did those things to them dr. essex was the one who undid it but there was a reason he was the only one we could call and the mutates that process i never even thought what it who could have

betsy carved a diamond into her arm

He hadn't realized how much stress and fatigue had destabilized him, and when that single blindsiding thought caught him he was nearly swallowed by the abyss that was Jack's rage. His bloodpressure spiked, and the change seemed to sheer away the edges of his vision. Jim pressed a hand to his face, using the physical pressure to force back the barrage of thoughts. A deep breath, then another. Breathe.

Jean put her hands on Haller's shoulders, prepared for whatever reaction that might come from it, both physically and mentally.

"Jim," she said softly, but firmly.

"Sorry." Jim gave his forehead one final press, and when he lowered his hand his right eye was deepening back to its normal blue. "Sorry. I'm back. Wasn't expecting . . . sorry."

Tilting her head, Jean kept her hands on his shoulders, this time as comfort. "It's okay," she said.

Her eyes flickered down. "I'm sorry. I thought you should know."

"I'm sure she'd want to see you."

"Yeah." Another breath. Betsy . . . that was a stabilizing thought, and even as his mind turned to the subject he became aware of -- certainty.

At some point during the beatings and the staged arguments and the fake and real attempts at escape a seed had been planted. Unobtrusive and unnoticed it had been growing in quiet patience, and now that two weeks of never-ending crisis were behind him the knowledge it bore was there, waiting for him.

And once Jim realized it he laughed. He laughed, and the sound was warm and weak with relief.

"Yeah. She does."

The laugh made a smile blossom on Jean's face. She pulled him into a hug. Couldn't help it. Angry to happy in the span of ten minutes. Record?

"We should get back."

"You go." Jim pulled away from the hug and smiled. "I've got somebody to find."