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| Walking on Thin Ice; 5/22 - Scott and Jean | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 3 2013, 08:36 PM (378 Views) | |
| Cyclops | Mar 3 2013, 08:36 PM Post #1 |
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The real Slim Shady
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Moving them from the strip club on to the Helicarrier was easier than it sounded, given that neither he or Jean had any possessions to speak of. It mostly consisted of taking over a small box of borrowed clothes and the remains of their wedding attire, since even Scott had given into the charity wear. He carried it into one of the rooms that had been pointed out as being empty, and deposited the box onto a bed. It wasn't a five-star hotel, but he'd never actually stayed in one, so maybe he was wrong. In any case, it was a step up from the room they'd been in. Not that he was so frustrated as to be completely ungrateful, but staying in a room that had that acute 'someone else's' feel too it always creeped him out. Besides, this bed looked nicer. Scott sat down for a second to pull off his glasses and scrub a little at the raw skin of his face. The tape each night was less and less comfortable every time he used it, and though it was preferable to the alternative, it still sucked. Rubbing it probably didn't help, but somehow it made it feel less shitty while he was doing it, so why not? It had been years since he'd been quite so low in the pecking order, and everyone he'd worked with so far had at least met or exceeded his expectations, but it was still weird as fuck. Cyclops gave orders, but didn't take them. At least, not back home. Not since he'd been 16 or 17 years old. Well, not counting Xavier's orders, but that was kind of different. Still, he was doing all he could. He knew Jean was, as well. And, luckily, she was still here to keep him sane. Which he wouldn't wish on anyone, but selfishly he was glad. Even the worst honeymoon ever could be fixed by his wife. There were worse ways to start a marriage, he guessed. |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 10 2013, 08:13 PM Post #2 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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Here they were then. Home Sweet... Helicarrier. Jean supposed it beat Home Sweet Strip Club, though that hadn’t turned out to be quite as bad as it had seemed on that first evening either, all things considered. Still, the rumors said that the rooms in the floating fortress that Ali and Terry had managed to hijack out from the government’s nose yesterday had en suites, and that in itself would be a big step up. Yeah, so that might have been the first thing she was looking around the room for, as she followed Scott into one of the empty rooms on the deck they’d been directed too. There - through that open door on the other side of the room, there was a telltale shiny whiteness that bespoke bathroom. Mini-bathroom, anyway. Excellent. Her husband crossed the small (but rather nicely appointed, especially for evil government work) room and deposited first his box, then himself, on to the bed. Jean let the box she’d been carrying - the one containing the remnants of her wedding dress and the portion of the haircare haul she’d kept from her own adventures with Alison Blaire, Pink/Punk edition - float off under telekinetic power and drop down lightly beside the door to the bathroom, then followed after him. She took a perch beside him on the bed, curling her legs up under her on the mattress (much less of a creepy motel feel about this one than the one they’d been sleeping on for the last three nights), and carefully reached one hand out to Scott’s wrist, a gentle contact so as not to startle him by sudden touching near his eyes before she began tugging ever-so-lightly to try to urge him away from rubbing the reddened skin around his eyes any more. “You know it won’t help,” she suggested, rubbing along his wrist bone with the pad of her thumb. “Last I heard, they’re hoping back home they’ll have the transporter tech up and running this evening. Hank and Rachel have both assured me that they’ll have a pair of sleep goggles in the first shipment they send over here too,” she added. It was a pity that their own Illyana and the Kitty from this world hadn’t thought to mention their care package plan to anyone who might have thought to add that into the deliveries they’d brought in that unauthorised person-swapping mission they’d made a few nights ago, but that was how it had gone, and no changing it now. Scott was so private, so determined not to complain about the things his mutation forced on him, so you couldn’t really grudge people who weren’t all that close to him not realizing things like that. “It is a nice bed,” Jean pointed out a little wistfully instead, thumb rubbing over her husband’s wrist again. A pity she couldn’t just give in to the sudden urge to pull him down onto it and start having her way with him, to really give the mattress a real turn through its paces. But that was honeymoon thinking for people who... well, who weren’t them, and who didn’t have things to get on with. Worlds to help with saving, and... yeah. Awkward conversations to have with new husbands who probably weren’t going to like just about anything about the plans she’d got involved in for today. A few seconds more, just her and Scott, before having to go there wouldn’t hurt, right? |
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| Cyclops | Mar 11 2013, 08:19 AM Post #3 |
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The real Slim Shady
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The bed shifted next to him, but the warm presence next to him was definitely Jean, so he wasn't really startled or unnerved by it. Another great thing about the link. And about over a decade of familiarity with her. Scott scrubbed at his face a little, in a completely useless attempt to get rid of the raw feeling around his eyes (and probably making it worse), only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his wrist. He knew it was Jean, knew she knew better than to put her hand in front of his eyes, but he still couldn't help the immediate tension. He was dangerous without his glasses. And even though Jean seemed to trust him anyway, Scott didn't really trust himself. Not when the stakes were that high. Scott let his hand fall from his face slowly, his wife's soft grip going with it until she wasn't in the danger zone. “You know it won’t help,” she pointed out, her thumb tracing along his wrist absently. He nodded a little dumbly. He knew. But for a few brief moments, it did make it feel less shitty, even though afterwards it would probably only exacerbate the problem. Jean was right, though, he should stop. It was pointless, and childish. What was the saying 'insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results'? “Last I heard, they’re hoping back home they’ll have the transporter tech up and running this evening. Hank and Rachel have both assured me that they’ll have a pair of sleep goggles in the first shipment they send over here too,” she added. "Only if there's space," Scott said. He was grateful they'd thought to include them - or that Jean had reminded them to include them, whichever the case might have been - and was glad to hear the transporter tech might be up soon. But there were some pretty immediate needs that needed to be tended to: medicine, equipment, food. In comparison, his own needs were petty at best. “It is a nice bed,” Jean pointed out a little wistfully, thumb rubbing over her husband’s wrist again. "Yeah." He gently twisted his arm to remove his wrist from his wife's soft grip, instead taking her hand in his. Warm, soft skin and a light smell that he'd learned years and years ago was only associated with Jean. The combination made his ever-present nerves abate, if only slightly, for the moment. Seeing her would make the effect better, though, and he put his glasses on. "So...am I supposed to carry you over the threshold or something?" |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 14 2013, 08:13 PM Post #4 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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"Only if there's space," was Scott’s entirely predictable response to the information that Rachel and Hank had both promised to send through a pair of sleep goggles when the dimensional transporter was up and running. She could have practically mouthed along with the words even with her powers shut off, but instead Jean just smiled fondly at her husband. “Yes, they’re so terribly bulky. Not to mention very heavy,” she agreed lightly, straight-faced as she could manage. Not very, really - even she could feel the smile creeping around the edges of her face. But who could blame her, really? Scott was so very, wonderfully, irrepressibly... Scott. The urge to pull him closer and just start kissing him, pull him down onto this definite upgrade of a bed and have a little time where they could act as though this was a real honeymoon was strong, suddenly. She almost gave into it, even, before pushing it back down and restricting herself to rubbing idly at his wrist some more and pointing out, a little wistfully that it really was a nice bed. ”Yeah,” Scott agreed, wiggling his wrist around out of her grasp and taking her hand in his. Funny, really, how that simple contact, palm to palm, had never stopped being anything less than electric, in all these years. Jean would have thought it was supposed to - that it was somehow supposed to get less intense, or at least less novel. It never had, though. Still made her heart jump a little, just to be touching him. Glasses replaced on his face, he looked at her properly, in that way that also still made her heart speed up for a second. "So...am I supposed to carry you over the threshold or something?" Jean smiled, and wrinkled her nose. “Might be a little late for that,” she pointed out, with a significant glance back toward the threshold in question, the one they’d just come through. “Though I guess we could go back out there and try again, if you wanted to insist on it. But how about let’s not, and say we did.” And... that was probably about as much casual delay tactics and distracting herself from the conversation she should probably be having with Scott now. It would be nice - it would feel nice, right now - to just have this moment, short as it was, where it was just the two of them, no crazy messed up world out there stretch out a little longer. But it had to end, and Scott wouldn’t appreciate her delaying it any more than he’d likely appreciate the news itself, she knew. Probably much less. With that in mind, she squeezed the hand her husband had left in hers, lips twisting into a reluctant expression, and forced herself to bite the bullet. “So... they want me for that mission today,” Jean told him. A little hesitant, maybe, though that was all in the explaining, rather than in her resolve to go. She had to be there. For so many reasons, practical and personal both. “Later this morning. Early afternoon, maybe. The Hound thing.” The thing that had occupied her for most of yesterday, between trying to get every detail she could from Rachel over the webcam, and put those with the rest of what she knew together for the strange tattooed man who seemed to be coordinating everything they knew about Hounds in this world. Scott might not have been as immersed in the details as she had, but he knew enough, to know what she meant, and the outline of the plan they were cooking up to deal with... well, herself. This world’s version of herself, anyway. |
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| Cyclops | Mar 18 2013, 07:28 PM Post #5 |
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The real Slim Shady
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It wasn’t exactly their real home or anything, but it was closer to theirs than the room in the strip club. Scott wondered if that meant he was supposed to have carried her over the threshold. Or maybe that was supposed to happen at home? Or on a honeymoon that travel agents would actually advertise?
He had no idea. “Might be a little late for that,” she pointed out, with a significant glance back toward the threshold in question, the one they’d just come through. “Though I guess we could go back out there and try again, if you wanted to insist on it. But how about let’s not, and say we did.” “Who would I tell?” Scott wondered allowed, playing with her fingers. He smiled back; involuntary reaction, he’d swear, when she was looking at him like that. Like they were the only two people in the world and she somehow still liked him anyway. “I tend to leave the socializing to you, Red. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He let himself trace the soft skin between her fingers as they relaxed there for a second. Or, rather, he relaxed there. Jean was getting that look on her face like she was about to admit she’d gone in his closet again. She squeezed his hand, and Scott started looking at her warily. That expression and the preemptive comfort weren’t generally a good sign. Not to mention the slight anxious buzzing through their link. “So... they want me for that mission today,” Jean told him. A little hesitant, maybe, though that was all in the explaining, rather than in her resolve to go. She had to be there. For so many reasons, practical and personal both. “Later this morning. Early afternoon, maybe. The Hound thing.” The hound thing. Which of course she’d been fucking selected for, because who could hunt Jean Grey better than herself. Cyclops got it, completely understood the idea behind it, but his gut reaction was still... “Are you fucking kidding me? Jean, no.” This was mental stability suicide, and Scott didn’t want to see her do that to herself. Because seeing herself as a hound? Would be completely fucked up. Not to mention the tickling reminder in his memories of the danger that could result if she was forced to access the full extent of her powers just to take herself on. “Tell them no.” |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 19 2013, 11:14 AM Post #6 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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Another time, another day - any normal day, at least by what passed by their standards as normal, and Jean would have let herself go with the opportunity for gently teasing Scott that he was offering up to her, talking about his socialization skills. Teased him about who he might have told about their threshold crossing adventures, invented or not. About how maybe if he wouldn’t have said it to a person, he’d surely still have been obliged to write up a full report on the matter, time-stamped and signed in triplicate. Fifty different possibilities, even without possibly the most tempting: to just sit there, feeling his hand stroking hers, his mind just within reach of hers, almost as relaxed as she’d seen it in this place. To just enjoy this brief moment with just the two of them, before the Suckoverse encroached again. But it already had, and she knew her husband well enough to know he wouldn’t appreciate her delaying telling him what she had to tell him. About the mission they wanted her for today. The Hound one. The one that would have her playing bait for herself. Of course he wouldn’t like it. Sure enough, the first words out of his mouth were, “Are you fucking kidding me? Jean, no.” Jean met his gaze levelly, tamping down a flash of irritation that his first response was to give her a flat order as she felt his thoughts across their link. He was worried about her. About whether she could manage it, and about what it would do to her hard-won and delicately maintained mental balance. That probably should have brought another flash of irritation to her mind. And perhaps it did, as she narrowed her eyes slightly, bothered by the way his thoughts were echoing her own worries about the prospect. The ones she’d been trying to suppress for a couple of days now. He was right, maybe. Or at least he had a point. “Tell them no.” He loved her, Jean reminded herself, as she shook her head briefly, eyes still partly narrowed. He loved her, and so he worried about her, and it made him irrational sometimes. So she smiled at him, and squeezed his hand before replying gently. “I know you’re worried about it - about whether I can handle it. It’s not like I’m not worried about that myself, Scott...” she paused a split second, squeezing his hand again, before continuing, “...but what would you have me doing instead? Holing up here and just waiting for her to use me to track here to all of us because I’m scared?” It was only a matter of time. They’d guessed as much, knowing that it wasn’t a good bet that the government wouldn’t have put her identity together from the Central Park battle, no matter the hair dye now. And then... “It’s not just that, either, any more,” Jean added, looking seriously into her husband’s glasses, and speaking calmly, but firmly. “There’s more, that came up this morning, and that new stuff makes all the rest of it beside the point.” |
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| Cyclops | Mar 19 2013, 10:23 PM Post #7 |
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The real Slim Shady
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The upside to the link was that they could feel each other, essentially all the time. The downside was that he wasn't a telepath, and was no where near skilled enough (even with practice) to use it to get much beyond a general location and intense emotion unless Jean helped him. So Scott could feel her irritation, but he had no idea what she was irritated about. Could be him, could be what he'd said, how he'd said it, it could be the mission itself, it could be anything. But Scott couldn't even focus on all of those possibilities right now, because he was still stuck on the Fuck No portion of the program. Facing herself as a hound, facing hounds in general, that was dangerous. And yes, Scott was well aware that she did things that were dangerous all the time, and he'd long since admitted that he'd rather have her at his back than waiting for him at home -- she was fierce and he loved her for it. But this was different, because of what it was. She already felt off balance, and add that on top of her already dubious confidence in her own self-control and the constant reminders of Phoenix....yes, he was worried. It wasn't that Cyclops didn't think she could do it. But he didn't think she had the confidence that she could, deep down. Not yet. And that was just as dangerous. She shouldn't do it. She smiled and squeezed his hand. Fuck. That meant this wasn't up for discussion, and she was just humoring him. Godfuckingdammit. “I know you’re worried about it - about whether I can handle it. It’s not like I’m not worried about that myself, Scott...” she paused a split second, squeezing his hand again, before continuing, “...but what would you have me doing instead? Holing up here and just waiting for her to use me to track here to all of us because I’m scared?” "There are more options than just those two," Scott pointed out. Sure, maybe she'd already made up her mind, but he wasn't going to go quietly into the night. "There's plenty you can do that's not....that." “It’s not just that, either, any more,” Jean added, looking seriously into her husband’s glasses, and speaking calmly, but firmly. “There’s more, that came up this morning, and that new stuff makes all the rest of it beside the point.” "How is it beside the point?" He asked, sounding skeptical. "Jean, your well-being is never beside the point." And definitely not when her well-being was so closely tied to her ability to impact significantly other peoples' well-being. Scott left that out, though, for now. Had to keep something in reserves; he suspected he would need them. "You're not the only telepath here, or the only telekinetic. You don't need to risk yourself like this to prove something, or because they asked. Sure, I get why they did. I would've. But Jean..." |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 23 2013, 03:39 PM Post #8 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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He was arguing. Of course he was. Jean had expected that. Maybe she even welcomed it a little - if he’d just let it go, let her go off on this mission without a single protest, what would it have said really? That her husband, the love of her life, really was as cold and passionless and rational as everyone else (even he, sometimes) thought about him. That she really was stupid, or crazy to be worried about the prospect she was preparing to face with this mission. The thoughts running through his head, that he wasn’t blocking her from well enough, or she wasn’t keeping herself out of well enough, weren’t helping, either. Their mental link had always been a source of strength for her, and now... now, she could feel the doubt in his head. That she believed in herself enough to pull this off. What was that, except a dressed up version of not actually thinking she could do it? When she really really needed his calm certainty, his confidence in her, it was sucking away at her own insecurities instead of helping repair them. The one time... ...well, no. She knew that wasn’t fair. Knew that there were, a hundred, a thousand, uncountable times that she’d relied on the mental link, and Scott’s unswerving belief in her to bolster her own doubts. It probably couldn’t be every time, and this time wasn’t the easiest, for either of them. But if he wasn’t going to be her source of certainty this time, that meant somehow she was going to have to forge it for herself, out of the quicksand quagmire of her own worries and fears about it. Find some other certainty - like that there simply wasn’t another option to doing this, except to sit and wait for it to happen to her. Options... maybe Scott was right, there were other options. He’d always been good at seeing ones that other people missed. But here, he wasn’t coming up with any, just telling her there were other things she could do, to be useful. The kind of way you told be that it was okay that they weren’t going to fight, because they could still stay home and bake cookies for the troops, and keep up morale. And maybe that was an unfair thought, but it ran through her head all the same, as he spoke, and Jean just shook her head. In the end, pretty much however way you looked at it, in this case, all those options boiled down to one or other of the ones she’d spoken of herself. Go out and try to find the other her, the Hound her, before she found them, or forget about it do other things, ‘plenty’ of them, and wait to be found herself. Possibly with all the rest of them endangered when she did. Waiting, and sitting around, however you tried to dress it up, and she’d never been any good at that. At patience. They both knew it. In any case, it wasn’t even that evenly balanced, anymore. Not after the new information they’d got that morning, from the mysterious SHIELD source that Hone had somehow been in contact with. How, he wasn’t saying, and there hadn’t seemed a good enough reason to pry into his mind looking for its identity, compared to the actual content of the message. The new information that made all the rest of it beside the point. "How is it beside the point?" [Her husband] asked, sounding skeptical. Bristling, Jean pulled back a little. Not quite pulling her hand out of his grasp, but stiffening it, and narrowing her eyes slightly. That could have been a simple request for information, for her to explain what it was she was alluding to, except that his tone of voice made it more of a challenge. Like there was no possible way that whatever objections he was brewing up could be beside the point. Like there was no information she’d got, that he didn’t yet know about, that could matter, or maybe that her interpretation of it as important had to be suspect. Like she wasn’t capable of thinking through priorities for herself. "Jean, your well-being is never beside the point." Oh. Indignation slightly - only slightly - deflated for a moment, as that sunk in, Jean felt her eyes widen again, lips pressed together in a moment’s uncertainty. He was objecting for husband reasons. Because he was worried about her. Not because he thought she was irrational, or incapable. She made herself smile again, a little wearily, and began to say, “If you’d just...” ...let me explain. But he didn’t. He started up again. "You're not the only telepath here, or the only telekinetic. You don't need to risk yourself like this to prove something, or because they asked. Sure, I get why they did. I would've. But Jean..." “I don’t think you do get it,” she interrupted, softly but sharply, jerking her hand out of his. If he could break in, why not her too? And he was starting to go beyond worried husband here, into the territory of inventing stupid reasons he might even think sounded rational. “My powers aren’t important here,” she continued quickly, hands pressed flat on the bed on either side of her, muscles tensing like they always did in anticipation of an argument. “Telepath, telekinetic, it doesn’t actually matter.” Or not like he seemed to think it did, even though if that had been the issue, the only person they had here who could match her power levels on either of the two abilities was already coming on the mission too. “It’s not my powers, or how strong I am, or anyone else is. I’m the only me they have. That means I’m the best shot they have of ensuring that they can flush out the other me, to stop her.” Jean sighed, glaring at general purposes at Scott, at the bed, at anything that happened to come into her line of sight as she brushed her hair back out of her eyes in one quick movement. “The word they got this morning? The thing you don’t seem to think makes anything beside the point?” she continued, tone spilling a little into an irritated snarl, “The government here don’t like the way the tide of public opinion has turned to the Resistance, the last few days. They’re setting up another situation of mass-destruction by rogue mutant, and they’re going to use me.” She paused, drew in a heavy breath, before correcting herself. “Her. The me here, they turned into their Hound.” Dropping her eyes, pulling her hands in close to her body, wrapped at her waist protectively, Jean swallowed, before continuing in a smaller voice. “They’re going to have her destroy a group of schools in Stamford. Murder hundreds of children, to remind everyone that they were the ones trying to save them from the ‘Baby Killer’.” She paused, looking up at her husband with worry and anger and fear fighting in her expression for supremacy. Didn’t he see, how that made everything else, everything she might otherwise be right to declare herself too scared, too fragile to face, pale into insignificance? |
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| Cyclops | Mar 25 2013, 02:03 PM Post #9 |
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The real Slim Shady
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It was a good thing both of them were too stubborn and arrogant to think they could ever be wrong, because if Scott had been forced to explain exactly what he'd been thinking to his wife, why he didn't like the sound of this mission, he probably wouldn't be able to. But it was everything. The whole idea set him on edge. And it wasn't that he didn't think she had the ability to do it in her. She did. Jean....Jean could do fucking anything, if she'd just believe that she could. But she didn't. Or, at least, Scott wasn't convinced that she did. And if she didn't believe, she would cut herself off at the knees, and could get herself (and everyone else) hurt. Especially if she was up against herself. Especially if she was emotionally compromised. He understood why she would be useful. He really did. Cyclops would've wanted her on his team for such a mission, too. But Scott didn't like it. Especially when he wouldn't be going. “I don’t think you do get it,” she interrupted, softly but sharply, jerking her hand out of his. Well, good. This was a great sign. Well, Scott guessed this meant that their first fight as husband and wife would occur here in hellverse. “My powers aren’t important here,” she continued quickly, hands pressed flat on the bed on either side of her, muscles tensing like they always did in anticipation of an argument. “Telepath, telekinetic, it doesn’t actually matter.” Scott highly doubted that, and one eyebrow rose in skepticism, but he didn't interrupt. The longer she talked, the more she said, the better understanding he'd have of her (and their) logic. And more effectively he could combat it, if he needed to. “It’s not my powers, or how strong I am, or anyone else is. I’m the only me they have. That means I’m the best shot they have of ensuring that they can flush out the other me, to stop her.” To stop her from doing what, precisely? From being a hound? Scott would concede that he was no expert, but how was that really separable from her powers? To stop Jean Grey in any incarnation, Cyclops knew any team would need to pool immense power. Telepaths, telekinetics, healing factors...the heaviest hitters out there. Jean would be a dangerous hound because she was so powerful, which is why she'd be hard to stop; how was that beside the point? She sighed and glared at him, but Scott refused to flinch. She wanted to be mad at him and have it out? Fine. “The word they got this morning? The thing you don’t seem to think makes anything beside the point?” she continued, tone spilling a little into an irritated snarl, “The government here don’t like the way the tide of public opinion has turned to the Resistance, the last few days. They’re setting up another situation of mass-destruction by rogue mutant, and they’re going to use me.” She paused, drew in a heavy breath, before correcting herself. “Her. The me here, they turned into their Hound.” So it wasn't beside the point, but there was an additional element to it that apparently he hadn't considered. Internally, his stomach twisted at the thought that he'd missed something, but when he needed to, Cyclops could admit when he'd been off-base. Or partially off-base, in this case. Okay, so there was a public relations aspect to it that maybe he hadn't thought about, and it might make a more powerful statement if Jean herself stopped the other version of Jean Grey. But that didn't mean it was necessary, just that it was optimal. And if it went wrong, it would make everything worse. Dropping her eyes, pulling her hands in close to her body, wrapped at her waist protectively, Jean swallowed, before continuing in a smaller voice. “They’re going to have her destroy a group of schools in Stamford. Murder hundreds of children, to remind everyone that they were the ones trying to save them from the ‘Baby Killer’.” This was killing her a little, Scott could tell. And he wanted to pull her against him, hug her, and tell her she could do this, no problem. And, honestly, when he inevitably lost (because it wasn't like Jean needed his permission to go on this mission, no matter how much they fought), that's exactly what he would do. Because she could do fucking anything if she believed she could. But up until that point, he wasn't going to blindly support this. Couldn't, in good conscience. Because these people hadn't seen his Jean as Phoenix. And she had the strength of will to keep it from happening, but with how off balance she was here? With what they were asking her to do? Scott knew she could hold it together, but if she didn't know it then it made no damn difference. Besides... "If they know exactly where she's going, they hardly need you to flush her out," he pointed out. "So then your role there becomes what? An extremely powerful mutant? You are one, no doubt about that. A public relations opportunity? Maybe. But forgive me for not wanting to sacrifice your peace of mind for a public relations coup that may or may not work." After all, it could be a triumphant move. It could have no impact at all. If Jean lost control, even for an instant, it could go catastrophically wrong. Scott released a breath explosively, feeling his blood pressure increasing and himself becoming more frustrated. He sat up properly, and shoved a hand through his hair. Fuck. What else could he even do here? Would she let him talk her out of it? Was that what she wanted? Or did she want his support, because she'd already decided to make this potentially life-altering decision without him? Well, came the odd thought, unbidden, at least marriage hasn't fucking changed anything about us. |
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| Jean Grey | Apr 1 2013, 01:14 PM Post #10 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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This wasn’t the argument she’d been expecting to be having. She’d expected an argument, yes, because there was no way to know her husband and not know that he wasn’t going to like this mission. But Jean had thought, when she’d envisioned the hypothetical argument right from the moment Hone Heke had first started talking about his plan, that she’d be fighting to try to explain to Scott all the reasons why he couldn’t be part of it. She’d already had her own versions of just that argument with the New Zealander, after all. She knew his reasons, and when pressed, she’d had to admit that he might have had a point, for all her protests. She hadn’t expected this. Seeing the thoughts flash across her husband’s mind about how it was too dangerous, because of her. Not herself as Hound, but herself as... herself. The possibility of her losing control, causing a disaster all by herself was looming large enough in his mind that she couldn’t keep from seeing it. That she could get everyone else hurt. That she couldn’t keep control. Oh, he was dressing it up in a set of rationalizations, that he believed in her, but he was worried for her, that she didn’t believe in herself. But what did that mean, really? a treacherous part of her mind whispered to her, mocking her. That meant that if it did go wrong like that, if she lost control, it was all her fault. That she could have been better, but she didn’t want to be. That it would be all on her. God. She couldn’t watch this. She couldn’t have that in her mind, for a second longer. He meant well, Jean knew. Did she? Did she really? But there was no way she could sit out this mission, which meant that she couldn’t see this any longer. So, breathing harder after the words about what the government was planning to do with this world’s version of herself in Stamford had spilled out of her mouth, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, Jean did the only thing she could think of as an option, and slammed every single mental shield she could muster into place in a hurried rush. Blocked out the thoughts. Cut herself off from them. All of them. Clamped the link, shut it down, so nothing more than the merest trickle of awareness that Scott was alive could filter across it. She’d been counting on that, as some sort of security, she realized, once it was gone, and she was alone in her head for the first time in too long to want to think about. But this was something that had to be done - something that she had to do, and that was all there really was. So if it had to be done alone, if it had to be all on her... well, she’d find a way to do it all by herself. Somehow. And even though there was a large part of her that wanted to scream now, scream against the self-imposed isolation, to claw back at the telepathic clamp holding back the link in a frightened panic, it was easier too. Now she could look at him without seeing those thoughts passing across his mind. Maybe they were still there, but she could ignore that possibility. It made it easier to focus on his words. "If they know exactly where she's going, they hardly need you to flush her out," he pointed out. Exactly where... god. No. Jean frowned, shaking her head, and unwrapped one hand from around her waist to gesture at him. If only they knew exactly where the hit was planned for. “Stamford, Scott. Not some tiny hick town.” It was only 45 minutes away from Salem, for god sake, he knew it. Knowing Scott, probably better than she did. “You know how big it is - think about how many possible schools-” But he wasn’t stopping for objections, or explanations apparently, steam-rolling on with his own arguments. "So then your role there becomes what? An extremely powerful mutant? You are one, no doubt about that. A public relations opportunity? Maybe. But forgive me for not wanting to sacrifice your peace of mind for a public relations coup that may or may not work." And he let out his breath in a loud, forceful exhalation, as Jean stared back at him, eyes narrowed dangerously. Oh, he was frustrated was he? He was frustrated? Fuck him. In a quick, almost vicious movement, she stood up from the bed, arms gripping back around her own waist. She stepped backwards, moving away from the bed till her shoulders had hit up against something - a reassuringly solid wall. Good. That, she could lean on. “Peace of mind?” she practically spat at Scott then, sinking back a little against the hard panelling. Concentrating hard, so that everything in the room stayed perfectly still, not so much as a flutter of loose telekinesis escaping from the grip she’d taken on her mind. He thought she didn’t try hard enough to control herself? Let him think whatever the hell he wanted, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having any evidence now to throw back in her face about how dangerous she was to people around her. Knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists at her waist, Jean shook her head at her husband. “You think I’ve had a moment’s peace of mind since we got here? The Phoenix, at the back of everyone’s mind. My worst nightmares happened in this world, Scott. The Phoenix, destroying whole words. Someone cloned me here. Someone made me into a Hound. And every time I sleep, there’s the Dream. Only it’s not just you in it anymore. Every time it happens, I see myself killing your son.” God, and she’d said that out loud. She hadn’t meant to. How the hell could it help either of them, for him to know that? For him to know his crazy wife had dreams where she was the other him’s crazy wife? But it was out now, and so... at least he knew. People always said they wanted to know, didn’t they? That there shouldn’t be secrets. Well, the rest of what she had to say was hardly a secret. “So no,” Jean said, after swallowing hard, forcing the cloying fear that even thinking of that Dream dragged up from the depths of her guts. “My peace of mind? It’s fucking gone already, Scott. Hiding from this today won’t get it back.” There was just no way - but god, if she thought too long about that, she was going to run the risk of breaking into a sobbing heap, no use to anyone. And she needed not to do that, so she refocused, narrowing her eyes all over again at Scott, and his stubborn, stupid insistence on acting like he was the only person on earth who could possibly fucking know what they were talking about. “And also? This isn’t a fucking public relations coup, whether it works or not. How could you even think...” Jean trailed off, not bothering to finish that rhetorical question. He couldn’t possibly. This was all just him trying to win this stupid wrong argument he’d insisted on turning this into. “This is trying to stop hundreds of kids being killed,” Jean explained slowly, and carefully, voice taut with mostly suppressed anger. Or maybe that was stress. She didn’t care, particularly. It could be anger if she said it was. “I’d sacrifice a lot more than my peace of mind for that, even if it wasn’t also preventing a public relations disaster. Not an opportunity. This point is to keep all of this off the books.” Couldn’t he see how there was no way, here in this earth, that she could ever win if she got into the public eye, no matter what she did? The only thing they could do was to keep her - either version of her - out of it entirely. |
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| Cyclops | Apr 7 2013, 04:15 PM Post #11 |
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The real Slim Shady
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Well, Scott figured his likelihood of dying here had just gone up. But it had nothing to do with the MRA, the Sentinels, or anything that one might've assumed could be the death of him. No, Jean was going to kill him. He idly wondered if it was perverse to be glad if that was how he went. Probably. Still, though, this was going really bad, really fast. Scott had gone into this argument knowing he was going to lose, but this was way beyond that now. This was plane-crash territory. “Peace of mind?” she practically spat at him, from where she'd leaned against the wall. She was angry as fuck, and....suddenly, Scott realized he couldn't feel it. He. Couldn't. Feel. It. He reached for the link, mentally, and could feel it still there, but closed. She'd shut him out, off, whatever. It was like being kicked in the fucking stomach. He tensed, almost as though preparing for a physical blow, as she clenched the hands down at her hips, until her knuckles were white. It made her wedding ring stand out in stark relief, and somehow that made this worse. “You think I’ve had a moment’s peace of mind since we got here? The Phoenix, at the back of everyone’s mind. My worst nightmares happened in this world, Scott. The Phoenix, destroying whole words. Someone cloned me here. Someone made me into a Hound. And every time I sleep, there’s the Dream. Only it’s not just you in it anymore. Every time it happens, I see myself killing your son. So no[.]” She swallowed hard, and he wanted to hug her. Wanted to apologize for being a fucking jerk and making her upset, and hold her tight against him and not let go. But they couldn't go back, and neither could apologize. Not yet. Besides, she didn't even want him in her mental space. Scott was in no hurry to find out what she'd do to him if he invaded her physical one. “My peace of mind? It’s fucking gone already, Scott. Hiding from this today won’t get it back.” Scott Summers - leader of the X-men, tactician, strategist, and all-around decisive asshole - had no idea where to even fucking start. Jean's anger could've fucking blasted paint off the walls. He felt sick, he was scrambling, and he had no idea where the fuck to go now. What had just happened? Where had this argument even gone? How had he gotten it there? Yeah, sure, he could remember the words, but he couldn't figure out how they'd taken them here. “And also? This isn’t a fucking public relations coup, whether it works or not. How could you even think...” she trailed off, and he wondered if this was where she just telekinetically shook him or if she was going to storm off. “This is trying to stop hundreds of kids being killed,” rage barely-checked in her voice, talking to him slowly like she suspected he'd suffered severe brain damage. “I’d sacrifice a lot more than my peace of mind for that, even if it wasn’t also preventing a public relations disaster. Not an opportunity. This point is to keep all of this off the books.” He couldn't figure out what to even fucking do with himself; Scott felt so unbalanced. How they'd gotten from arguing about her participation to the mission's value, he didn't know. And the link...was he cut out...forever? Yeah, there was that sick feeling again. This couldn't keep going this way. Couldn't. Because the worst part was that he also knew she was strong enough to overcome whatever the hell they faced out there. But Jean never had, and if her confidence wavered for even a fucking second... And here he was, fucking tearing that confidence down. Like an asshole. Scott waited several beats, giving them both time to breathe. Because he needed the time to make sure he didn't say anything they'd both end up regretting - and he could feel the words right on the tip of his tongue - and because he needed the second to try and get the words right. If she had to go on this mission, she had to. And he'd known he wasn't really going to be able to stop her. The least he could do would be to try and make it safer for her. "You're right." He held his hands up slightly, a gesture of surrender. "And you can do this, I just..." How to even explain this to her without sounding like an idiot. "I can't go; it makes me nervous. But you can do this. And you will." |
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| Jean Grey | Apr 11 2013, 07:59 PM Post #12 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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Silenced followed, a silence in which Jean thought she could hear every single one of her breaths as pass in and out of her chest. She focused on that, on the idea that she could hear the air whistling in and out in slightly ragged gulps, because it was better than letting herself think about what else she could hear and feel in her mind, which was nothing. If she thought about that, about her head being empty, closed out from Scott’s normally comforting mental presence, all alone, she was going to choke, she knew it. She’d had to do it. Jean was as sure of that as she’d been of anything, but that certainty did almost nothing to stop a whole set of deeply buried parts of her psyche were screaming at her to panic at the loss of it. And Scott... damn him, sitting there, and saying nothing. Damn him to all hell for just sitting there, looking lost and confused and pissed. Damn him, because she knew exactly how lost and hurt and nauseous he must be feeling, having the link shut off on him, but she couldn’t risk feeling even the slightest bit sorry for him right now, because she needed to be angry. Needed the anger, needed to feed it off whatever was nearby. And fuck if he wasn’t doing an exemplary damn job of being enough of a self-absorbed insensitive non-listening, non-reacting ass to keep that stoked, Jean told herself as she steadily forced in everything she could think of into the furnace of her own anger. Because right now the only other option seemed to be terror, and if she gave into that, she’d never be able to do what she was going to have to today. Finally though, Scott seemed to have come to some decision, and was starting to speak, hands spreading upward, as though asking her not to shoot. "You're right." Jean stared back at him mutely, still hearing her breaths suck in and out, at slow not quite perfectly even intervals. She was right. Well, jesus. Of course she was right. She’d known she was right, he’d known she was right, the whole fucking world had known she was right, he’d just wanted to argue all the same. "And you can do this, I just..." Her breaths stopped short, and Jean almost did choke then, watching her husband with widened panicky green eyes. He wasn’t going to say it loud, was he? She glanced toward the door, calculating whether she could get there and get out of it before the words could come out of his mouth. He couldn’t... bad enough that she’d seen it in his head, she couldn’t stand it if he were going to say those words out loud... Maybe he’d noticed her catching in her breath, and maybe he hadn’t - either way, his next words weren’t the ones Jean was fearing or expecting. "I can't go; it makes me nervous. But you can do this. And you will." Some of the tension drained out of Jean, just hearing him not utter those other thoughts. A little of it, anyway. “Thanks,” she said, voice dull and flat and sounding all wrong as it came out. The word sounded wrong, like the stupidest thing she could possibly have said in this situation. But the few other words that had sprung to mind hadn’t seemed any better either. With a short sigh, she ran her hand through her hair, brushing it back away from her temple and behind one ear and trying to drain off a little more of the tension in her shoulders as she did. Looked over at him, shorn of all but a few tattered remnants of her anger. “I know you’re worried, and you’re trying, and that it’s...” For some reason, her brain shied away from supplying the word to describe what it was like, so she left a blank pause instead, “...without the link there, but...” She’d trailed off, but rather than complete that sentence immediately, Jean bit her lip, closed her eyes briefly, and shook her head to banish the fear that was threatening to well up again just trying to talk about why she’d had to close the link. “I can’t see those thoughts going through your head. I just can’t,” she said flatly, looking right at her husband again. Oh god... and what if he thought that was some sort of accusation, about what she thought he should have been thinking? Quickly, to try to forestall that idea, if he’d had it, Jean pushed on, “And I’m not telling you what to think, I’m not trying to control your thoughts. Maybe you’re right to think them-” God, what if he was? What if she really was that dangerous to anyone who got close to her, the minute she got a little stressed? She knew it was a possibility, because it had been haunting her dreams for seven years, but she shoved it savagely aside in her mind, stuffing it down and away where she wouldn’t have to think about it right now either, “-and you’re allowed to think whatever you want, but this is something I have to do, Scott, and I can’t do it if I’m seeing those thoughts in your head. I won’t be able to.” She shrugged then, helplessly, one hand still gripping her arm across her chest, the other turning uselessly from side to side in front of her. “So... I can’t.” She couldn’t have the link in her head right now. He’d understand that, right? Maybe? |
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| Cyclops | Apr 12 2013, 08:45 PM Post #13 |
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The real Slim Shady
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If Scott had ever heard a more defeated sounding 'thanks' in his life, he couldn't remember when it had been. Still, the slight release of tension - evident to him even from where he sat - was something. Not anything great, Jean still looked like she was either going to be sick or was contemplating doing him some serious damage, but still better than a moment before. “I know you’re worried, and you’re trying, and that it’s...” she trailed off, and Scott knew he would spend the next while wondering what she was afraid to put there when she continued “...without the link there, but...” It felt wrong. That was the word he would've picked. It made him more nervous than he already had been. Not afraid she was mad at him - she was calm now, but he'd vaulted over that line earlier - and not afraid because he thought he could somehow use it to insert himself into this mission. But there was a comfort to always feeling Jean in his head. Not feeling her there, it was like a return trip back to immediately after, and it wasn't a time period Scott felt a great need to revisit. “I can’t see those thoughts going through your head. I just can’t,” she said flatly, looking right at her husband again. Because they added concerns she didn't need, or because they mirrored her own fears? Scott didn't ask, though. It wouldn't help. And now that he'd conceded defeat, he should help her. And he knew, thanks to himself, that was going to be an uphill climb. “And I’m not telling you what to think, I’m not trying to control your thoughts. Maybe you’re right to think them-” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she'd regained some kind of energy and steam, and he wasn't going to interrupt. She needed energy and passion just as much as she needed raw power, “-and you’re allowed to think whatever you want, but this is something I have to do, Scott, and I can’t do it if I’m seeing those thoughts in your head. I won’t be able to. So... I can’t.” She looked and sounded so helpless that Scott was off the bed before he could think better of it. He managed to restrain himself before he grabbed her and crushed her to his chest, though. He had been the wrong to force her to disconnect. If she wanted to reconnect, she had to be the one who did it. But, even though he hated it - and he absolutely did - he completely understood. Scott couldn't control what he thought. He was an expert at controlling his actions. But his thoughts? Yes, he could focus them, and he could use his amateur anti-telepathy measures to block some of them to some extent, but those things wouldn't hide them from Jean. "Do what you need to do," he told her. "I said it made me nervous, yes, but you can do it. I know you can." Scott smirked slightly. "Don't let me fuck it up." He grew serious then and added, "Please." Because he loved her, and however much he wanted to fight her on this decision, he wanted her to be happy and safe more. Jean needed to do this. And he wasn't going to win that one, and he'd known that all along. So if she was going to do this, he wanted her to be okay. That was it. "You're my stupid hero, Red." Scott promised softly. "You can be theirs, too." |
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| Jean Grey | Apr 18 2013, 04:06 PM Post #14 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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All of a sudden, Scott was off the bed, standing on his feet facing her. Watching her - Jean could feel his eyes on her, even without being able to see them - but not making any move to come closer. Hugging herself with one arm, while her other hand kept wafting slowly and aimlessly back and forth in front of her, still trying to gesture to explain after she’d finished saying everything she could manage to get out, she found herself wondering why. Why had he stopped himself? Why was he just standing over there with that same old unreadable Scott Summers expression, looking at her? Because he was scared of her, and didn’t want to get too near in case she lost it? Because he was angry at her, for shutting off the link, even though she’d tried to explain? Usually Jean didn’t have a hard time knowing what her husband was thinking, even without telepathy, but right now her own thoughts were scattering and skittering so badly when it came to just herself that she couldn’t seem to understand him at all. And he just stood there, watching her. Didn’t he even want to touch her, for whatever physical contact could do to stand in for that mental link she couldn’t afford to have open right now? "Do what you need to do," he told her. "I said it made me nervous, yes, but you can do it. I know you can." Scott smirked slightly. "Don't let me fuck it up." Taking a deep breath, Jean closed her eyes, trying to focus on the words he was saying, and let every other thing swirling around in her mind evaporate. Focus on his words. That she could do it. He knew she could do it. If she could just focus on that enough, maybe she could erase out the rest that she’d glimpsed in his mind. This was what he really meant, wasn’t it? Now that he’d had time to think about it, all that really mattered was that he wasn’t lying to her right now, at this moment. They both needed to believe it was, anyway. "Please." No stupid attempts at Scott-humor, self-deprecating or otherwise, associated with that single word. Just pure, serious, heartfelt Scott. She opened her eyes again, searching for his behind the red lenses, lip caught between her teeth because right at this second, she didn’t know what to think. And she took a step toward him, too, because even if she didn’t know exactly what was happening right now, being this far away from him, out of reach of him - that couldn’t be right at all. Ever. "You're my stupid hero, Red." Scott promised softly. "You can be theirs, too." It was enough. It was more than enough. Jean closed the last few steps between them quickly, taking no time for whether or not Scott wanted to protest as she pratically flung her arms around him, pressing her body tightly tp his and burying her head against his shoulder. Whatever was going on in her head, even without the mental bond, touching her husband made everything in the world better, and closer to making sense. She held on tightly for a long silent few seconds, breathing in the scent of him, until her brain had finally unfrozen enough to feel like she wasn’t clinging to him in an effort not to get swept out by the pull of whirring thoughts. “I don’t see that happening,” she told his shoulder softly, barely above a whisper. Who she was in this world, what she’d done, and what she herself was planning to do today... that wasn’t the sort of thing that made for heroes. Jean didn’t mind that though - not right now. “But I’d rather be yours, anyway.” That would be enough. More than enough - as far as the rest went, she’d just... do what had to be done. Somehow, she’d find a way to do it. |
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| Cyclops | Apr 24 2013, 07:42 PM Post #15 |
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The real Slim Shady
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Now that he'd conceded defeat - and the fine edge of fury Jean had reached definitely indicated he'd lost - Scott knew he had to fix this. As best he could, at least, despite the damage he himself had done. Because he needed her to be okay. He couldn't say she was all that mattered - and Jean wouldn't want him to - but she was sure as fuck the most important part of his world that Scott could put a name to. The frustrating part was that she could do this. She absolutely could; she had the power, the intelligence, the heart to make it work. The part that made Scott nervous was whether she had the confidence. She had been using him as her security blanket for so long that when he couldn't be there, it made him uncomfortable. But Jean didn't need his nerves, now that she'd decided, she needed certainty. No wonder she couldn't take his thoughts right now. Still, he needed to tell her that she could do this. Because she could, and she shouldn't let the fact that he was a complete jackass ruin it for her. Scott needed her, and he needed her to be okay. So hopefully he could convince her. When they'd been kids, she'd told him he was her hero, and it had given him....Scott couldn't have put it into words if he'd tried. But she had to know that she was his hero, now. And he knew she could save the others, too. And then his arms were full of Jean, and he pulled her tighter against his chest even as she fit herself against him. Scott nuzzled into her hair, it's familiar texture and the comforting scent of her. This...well, it didn't fix anything permanently, but it made everything feel alright. Made things work for as long as she was there with him. “I don’t see that happening,” she told his shoulder softly, barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be yours, anyway.” He kissed the top of her head and tightened his embrace. "Always, Red." Another beat, another breath. "You've always been my hero. And you always will be." |
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3:33 AM Jul 11