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We Don't Say Goodbye; 5/24 Early Early (Jean, Calvin and Hope)
Topic Started: Mar 26 2014, 12:08 AM (314 Views)
Mimic
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Damned right. Today, they were going out and they were going to make at least a real start of fixing this fucked up mess that'd been going on way too long. Start making it a place people wanted to live in again. A place he wanted to live in and that he could raise Hope in. So that she'd have a good life. As good a life as he could manage to give her.

A world that deserved to have her in it than this one did right now. One that was a hell'uva lot closer to what she deserved. He couldn't do that for her mother, but maybe he could do that for Hope. He'd damned sure give everything he had to trying.

Didn't have to say all that out loud. Just the first couple've words. The rest, Jeannie could see for herself, or hear, or however the hell that worked. She was right there, in his head. Or he was in hers. Didn't matter, all that mattered was that they were tangled together right now. It felt as natural as taking a breath. As natural as holding her in his arms.

To have her there, in his head where he wouldn't want probably another person in the world.

Felt like he should say something. Hell, felt like he should say a million things, ask a million things, but couldn't find the words for any of it. Tried and stumbled over it like an idiot and Jean pulled a little outta that tangle. Probably to try to make some damned sense outta him. Took him another try, but he finally got it out. Or part of it, as he glanced back toward Hope for just a second. Asked if there was anything Jean wanted her to know, needed him to tell her? Hell, anything at all. For later.

Because they both knew she wouldn't be here later, even if he sure as hell didn't wanna think about that right now.

What he wanted, though, that wasn't what mattered here. Not even close. It was about what Hope needed and what Jean needed and that sure as fuck was how it should be.

Didn't need to see that rough way Jennie tried to swallow to know how she felt about that question, he felt it. Felt it as she looked toward Hope and wanted to pull her in as tight as he could. Wished to fuck he didn't have to ask something like that, but knew he did have to.

Still didn't mean it didn't tear him up inside to know it hurt her, to have to think about that. About what came after they left his room and Calvin's arms tightened around her after all, hand stroking up and down her back lightly, hopefully at least a little soothingly.

“Tell her how much her mother loved her,” she said finally, eyes coming back to his and he was already nodding. Didn't have to ask that, not even once. He'd make damned sure that was something their daughter would know. All of it. She'd heard the very start of it today, from her mother. He'd make sure she knew the rest. How much her mother had loved her, every single second, no matter the circumstances. That love had made her and love had brought her here. And that love would always be where she was, whether her mother could be or not. “And when she’s old enough to understand,” Jean added, drawing back very slightly, tilting her head a little further to met Calvin’s eyes, “tell her that I’m sorry.”

He nodded again, brown eyes on hers. "She'll know it. All of it," he promised, even though she didn't have to ask any of it. He'd have done it all the same. He'd promise, though, and he'd mean every word of it. "I'll make damned sure of that. She'll always know you. She'll know."

Another reason to be grateful for this damned telepathy. It gave him a way to make sure've that. That Hope could see her mother, hear her, see what he saw, know what he knew, really know, better than he knew he'd ever manage with just words by themselves. When the time came for more than just words.

She stepped back a little and he had to let her go. Knew that he did, whether he liked it or not. Whether he wanted to or not. Let his arms drop as her hand did the same, then wrapped his hand around it when it found his. Those slender fingers squeezing his and he held them tight, just another few seconds. Watched her smile and managed to find one of his own again. Somehow.

Fuck knew how, but for her, he'd always managed to find a smile. Even when he hadn't wanted to or thought he could. Now wasn't any different.

“And don’t even think about letting her wear pink,” Jean added, and he let a snort that was half surprise, half some sorta half-assed attempt at a laugh. “Ever.”

Despite it all, that smile on his face managed to stretch a little. Couldn't help it, even if he didn't feel much like any kinda humor. What the hell were they supposed to do, though? Keep going until they fell the fuck apart completely?

"Shit," he swore, smile tipping a little more one way than the other. Maybe there was a little wryness in there, too. "Nobody said I was gonna have to do colors and fashion. This is getting tougher by the minute."

Squeezed her hand again and knew damned well he should probably say the one thing he didn't want to say. Wasn't sure he could, though, but fuck. Sure as hell wasn't gonna make Jeannie do it, so that left it right back with him.

Fuck it all.

"Probably should get her downstairs soon," he added, voice lower and sure as hell reluctant, eyes seeking out hers again. "Meetings'll be starting before too long." They oughta make sure she was settled and okay down in that improvised daycare with Rasputin, the older. He'd feel better about that before leaving her, though he wasn't gonna feel too damned good about that regardless and didn't figure Jean was, either.
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Jean Grey
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Tell her… tell Hope…

…anything but goodbye, Jean wanted to say, and knew that she couldn’t. That was coming, and it was coming all too soon, but there was nothing really that she could see to do to change that. Not even with the touch of Calvin’s strong fingers, brushing up and down her back, keeping that surge of emotion back from the edge of panic. Goodbye was coming. She would be gone, and then what? What to tell her daughter, once she was old enough to know that her mother had made the choice to leave her, no matter what the reasons had been.

Tell her that her mother loved her. He nodded, like she hadn’t even needed to tell him that much, and perhaps she hadn’t, but it was what she’d said, and what she needed to be able to tell herself that Hope would always know. That, and one more thing. Later, when her daughter was old enough that she might be able to understand, tell her that she was sorry.

“She’ll know it. All of it," he promised, making it sound like it really was just that simple and that guaranteed. Leaving no space to have any reason to doubt it, which Jean was grateful for, as she kept her eyes on him, expression still. Trying to seal that promise, and that certainty into some part of her mind where she’d be able to find it later, when the doubts would try to creep back in again. “I’ll make damned sure of that. She'll always know you. She'll know.”

She’d know. It would have to be enough. It would be something, at least. Jean swallowed, trying to ease the heavy silence that had settled in her mouth, then nodded slowly.

Hope would know.

And because there wasn’t anything more that she thought she could trust herself to say, the redhead stepped away then, putting a little distance (not enough and far too much all at once, she knew that) between them. Unable to completely disconnect, though; while she dropped her hand, and felt Calvin’s lift from her back, to not be touching him at all was more than Jean could bring herself to do - not yet - and she sought his hand, wrapping her fingers around his, holding and being held.

There was a smile then, the kind that came because anything else seemed too painful, and then she managed to find a joke from somewhere. One that was weak to begin with, and weaker for the tight, tiny voice she made it with, but Calvin snorted - or nearly snorted - all the same. Maybe because there wasn’t anything else to do, if they weren’t going to give in to falling apart in this room, in front of their daughter, or all the others things they couldn’t.

“Shit,” he swore, with a lopsided smile, gamely going along with the awkward wry note she’d introduced here. “Nobody said I was gonna have to do colors and fashion. This is getting tougher by the minute.”

Another squeeze of her hand with those strong, sure fingers rekindled Jean’s smile before it faded away. “It’s easier than you think,” she promised him, though whether that was about fashion or the rest, she wasn’t ready to ask herself. What did she know about the rest? Except to know that she, herself, either of her selves, couldn’t imagine any way to manage it the way she knew Calvin would find a way to do.

“Probably should get her downstairs soon," he added, voice lower, the resistance to admitting it showing in the tone and in the look his dark eyes turned on her. ”Meetings’ll be starting before too long.” Downstairs. There’d be a place for Hope today, wouldn’t there? The leaders in the Resistance would have organized something for her while they had to be gone, that was just as safe as they could make it. It would be enough. They had to tell themselves it would be enough, or never be able to do a single part of what they needed.

God, how had Sue and Reed ever managed to do this, all the times they’d had to? No way to ask them here, but back… in the universe she’d been married in.. how had they ever managed to do that, knowing what even that world was?

They had though, and because there was no other way to do it, she and Calvin could find a way to do it too. “Yes,” she said, but found it too hard to say more than that.

But as she began to turn back to look for their daughter, Jean stopped, turning back to Calvin, and lifted her hand to his cheek again. Holding her thoughts back, at least, not allowing herself to get anywhere close to indulging the urge to touch his mind one last time, but there was one thing she still wanted to tell him, about the woman he’d loved, and the woman who’d loved him. “You were the last happy thing in her life,” Jean said softly, running her thumb over the line of his cheekbone. “You were a good thing, in her life.”

Her life. She had to keep telling herself that it had been someone else’s life, no matter how it felt, or how would she be able to do any of this?
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Mimic
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Hope would know. She'd grow up knowing her mother in every way he could make that happen. It wasn't the same, wouldn't be the same, as having her there. Nothing on earth could replace that, but he'd damned well give her all he could. She'd know that her mother loved her, would always love her, even if she couldn't be here with her.

When she was old enough to understand, she'd know the rest. How fucking hard this had been, and how necessary it'd been, and how the thing they both wanted the most was just to make sure that little girl they'd made together was okay. Loved. Taken care of.

That she'd know, whatever else happened that, if there was a way it could've been different - if they could've made it different and okay - they damned sure would've.

It wasn't much, maybe, but it was a promise Calvin knew he could keep, and would keep. It'd have to be enough, even if it wasn't even fucking close to enough.

And then she stepped away and he had to let her, felling her hand slip into his instead. His own fingers curling around her slim ones. Then Jeannie started telling him about dressing Hope and colors and Jesus. Why the hell hadn't anybody mentioned he was gonna have to know that, too?

Maybe neither of them felt like joking, but what the hell else could they do? Stand here in front of Hope and let it tear them apart? No, no neither of them were gonna do that. So Calvin let out a snort, since that was all he could think to do, and added that to the mental list that was getting longer by the second. No damned pink. Got it.

“It’s easier than you think,” she promised him and he managed something closer to a smile. Sure as hell hoped so, but it didn't matter. Either way, he'd find a way to manage it. Find a away to make it work and be what Hope needed him to be.

When that was said it didn't seem to leave them with much else, except things he couldn't say, or do, and that one thing he didn't want to say. The one they both knew was coming. The time was coming to head downstairs. All those damned meetings would be going way too damned soon and he wanted to make sure Hope was settled before he left her.

Had to leave her, and he knew that. Didn't fucking like it much, but he was fighting this fight more for her than for himself. So he had to tell himself she'd be safe. Even if he wasn't sure there was any place that actually was right now. Even this flying damned fortress. Maybe in some ways, especially that.

“Yes,” she said turning to look for Hope and sounding about as thrilled about it as he felt. Jesus Christ, how the fuck was he gonna let her go?

Jean stopped, though, and turned back his way, hand going to his cheek and making something in his chest go tight as steel bands. “You were the last happy thing in her life,” Jean said softly, running her thumb over the line of his cheekbone and he couldn't have stopped himself from tilting his head just a little toward her fingers if he'd even wanted to. He sure as hell didn't. “You were a good thing, in her life.”

That was probably a damned first. When the hell had he ever been a good thing in even his own damned life, much less somebody else s? But, fuck, if he'd been even a little bit of good for her, he wasn't gonna argue. For once, he didn't have it in him.

"And she was the best damned thing in mine," he replied, rough edge to his voice. There was Hope, and she was a miracle, but Jeannie...yeah. There'd never be anything else like her. Anything good in him, in a lotta ways, was because of her. "Always will be."

It was all the words he had or that he could manage. Her, the Jean he'd known, didn't matter. One and the same right now, but he didn't figure he needed to say that, even if he could've. What he could do, he did. Reached up with his free hand and covered hers, there against his cheek. Pulled it around and kissed her palm.

Then gently let go, because that's what he had to do. What he knew he should do, even if he fucking hated it.
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Jean Grey
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She’d been wrong, however many days and lifetimes ago it had been, that first morning in the Strip Club hallway. Jean knew that now. Right, technically, in her guesses about herself, and how she must have been in that place. But wrong. Wrong about Calvin. Wrong about who he’d been, and what he could have felt for her.

Even more wrong about what she could have felt for him.

Same people, different lives. She’d had that right after all - she’d just been wrong about what it meant.

Whatever else it had been. Whatever else her life had turned into in this world, cut off once, then twisted, then brought back, only to be broken and rebroken all over again, Calvin Rankin had been a happy thing. The last happy thing in Jean Grey’s second chance at life. A good thing, and in the end there had been so few of those that one like that stood out all the more.

He’d made her happy, and he’d almost made her whole, at a time and in a place where nothing should have been able to do that. A good thing.

“And she was the best damned thing in mine," he replied, rough edge to his voice as he leaned into the hand she’d placed at his cheek. The one she knew, and would never forget now, and the one that made her wish one more time that there could have been a way for her to have been the Jean Grey he loved, for more than just a little while. To give that Jean Grey a chance to live the kind of life she’d deserved, and not the stunted, crippled thing she’d been given. ”Always will be.”

Jean was still and silent as the large hand - Calvin’s hand - reached up to hers where it rested on his cheek. Her fingers seemed to curl of their own accord, twining into his as he lifted it gently, and kissed her palm, lips soft and warm against her skin. She could feel ever little point of pressure, the rough texture of his beard. Nothing between them for a moment.

And then the next moment, nothing. He let go. Slowly, but he let go, and Jean made herself pull her hand back, curling her fingers over her palm as she tucked the hand back against her stomach.

Looked at him, lips drawing in a little for a moment, drawing the lower one in between her teeth, and allowed herself to hesitate one last time, before relinquishing that indulgence to the decision she knew was inevitable.

Once made, or once made for a time that would be final, moving became easier again, and Jean was able to turn with decision, and move across the room without reluctance or hurry, just straight toward the little red-haired girl still murmuring to that stuffed animal.

Hope. Hope, and Bear.

She looked up as Jean approached, smiling and lifting her arms, as though asking to be picked up. Only too happy to oblige, the telepath did just that, scooping her up and settling her at her hip, helping to tuck Bear in safely, then smiling warmly at the pair of big blue eyes that were darting from her to Hope’s father, clearly wondering what was going on. “Hey there, Baby,” Jean said to Hope. “Are you ready to set out on your next big adventure?”

[Fin. Continued - via off-panel creche etc. for Jean in Butterflies & Hurricanes, and for Calvin in Feet of Clay, Boots of Lead. *sob*]
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