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The Sun Also Rises; 05/24-early morning - Moira, Sean
Topic Started: Aug 17 2014, 07:50 PM (746 Views)
Moira MacTaggert
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[Cont'd from A Night To Remember, by way of many, many off panel things and probably poisoning at least a few people with Muir Island coffee]

The house was near unnaturally silent as Moira slipped from her room, quietly through the hallway, and down the long staircase, already dressed for the morning. Early yet, she noted. Perhaps it was too early, but dreams had roused her from uneasy sleep and she'd not been able to to drift back off again.

Though it was somewhat easier now, time of passing days beginning to smooth some of the more ragged edges away, in the quiet moments, in the nights, it still weighed on her. The memories, taken and then given back. The wrongs that had been done by someone they'd all trusted. In the name of 'for their own good'.

Lives lost for one man's folly, however well he'd meant it to start. Lives disrupted and tangled from here to yon for one young girls hubris, and they'd yet to see all that would come of that. The geneticist was as sure of that as she was of her own name.

All things that couldn't be changed, and Moira MacTaggert was making her peace with them as she could. As she'd made peace with many things in her life. As they all made their peace. Life gave them all little choice but to take it as it came and make as well as they could. From experience, she knew this - the worst of it - wasn't a lasting wound. There were compensations as well, odd though it might be to see them that way.

Aye, but they would leave scars, wouldn't they? That they would, the auburn haired woman mused as she nodded to Bishop (did the man never sleep himself?), silently stalking the halls himself, then made her way into the kitchen. In time to greet the sunrise, for she was ahead of it by a few moments, from the look of the horizon; rosy pink glow tinting the sky as the sun began to announce its arrival.

The kitchen was empty, a rare occurrence even in the wee hours this last week, but things were settling a little, weren't they? Life putting itself to this new order, adjusting. That, she took as a fair sign and began to brew the coffee (the weak, brackish water those here seemed to prefer instead of something more stout, such as she was used to), put on a pot of tea on a whim, then took out some eggs and sausage from the refrigerator and began to make them up on the stove.

Leaving them to cook a moment, Moira poured herself a cup of this poor excuse for coffee into a clean mug, vowed to deal with the stack of dishes someone had left in the sink and along the counter in a moment, turned on the radio sitting by the counter and found something suitably quiet to listen to, then sat herself down to watch the sunrise.

There'd been better mornings, of course, but there'd been worse ones as well and lately.
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Banshee
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Ach, Jaysis, this was too bloody early by half, wasn’t it?

Not that Sean could greet this unintentional first hand view of the rising dawn with anything more than resignation. Certainly no surprise there; he wasn’t sleeping that well anymore, in point of fact.

Call it age, creeping up on a body, for that was all it probably was, and he’d given up trying to fight it. Better to just surrender to that nervous jolt that took you back to wakefulness, and see if you couldn’t make something more of the day that way, aye?

Like, for example, trying to wrangle and hie himself into doing what he’d meant to, every day, since he’d heard the news from Saturday night, and talk to Moira. Just to check in, like. See how she was doing, and if she was holding up, and if she needed to talk, or aught. Because that was hell and more of a pile that had come down on her, between that god-forsake secret, and the four unsuspecting messengers that had brought it down on them all, and he would have liked…

Well, and what would you have liked Cassidy, if it came to that? Sean asked himself, and not for the first time in the last five days.

To know that she was alright, for starters. To help her, if she needed it, and if there was still a way that he might be able to do that without making a bourach of worse for it. To be there, though even he wasn’t eejit enough not to know that he’d written himself out of that role well enough, without ever having meant to do anything such thing.

So, aye. And he’d resolve again, now where it was the beginning of the day and it seemed easy, like the theory of anything always did, to go and do it. Only he knew that most like he’d be that same bottler that then went and filled the day with a dozen more things that needed doing.

Settling Paige, and Jubes, doing whatever he could with Emma to keep them from doing anything as godawfully stupid as they’d been trying back on Saturday, and more than once since. Dealing with whatever it was that Jono had ended up cooking up for himself, getting dragged into whatever was going on between Illyana Rasputin and the rest of Kurt’s team. Trying to do what he could to mend those bridges with Ter that she was still insisting he’d been the one to burn down. And… jaysis, all the rest of it, because there must have been more than that, if he’d found five days full of this, and never once got the time to make himself go and talk to Mo like he’d wanted.

But, aye, the cold light that came with the dawn had Sean Cassidy admitting to himself as he rounded the last turn of the hall that would take him to the Mansion’s kitchen, following the sound of the radio that meant there was someone else who was up at this hour, maybe it didn’t matter, Another day, and whatever it was that might come, he’d be sure to fill it with a dozen reasons to pretend that he hadn’t done it for any reason other than being a gormless piece.

So, on that thought, what was to happen but that he should turn through the open doorway, then pull up sharply just inside it, seeing none other than the Lady Kinross herself, sitting over by the windows, with a mug in her hand and a look on her face that tugged away at things that it shouldn’t.

“Moira,” Sean said, standing there just inside the doorway, and feeling about three sizes too big for his skin, and an inch away from breaking a dozen things through sheer clumsiness. Probably accurate too, and all. Two steps and one word in, and already it was feeling like a bourach, no doubt of it. Jaysis, what the hell was he doing?

Except that he was here, and now that he was, he couldn’t turn and walk away. No more than he could have stopped breathing, or taken his eyes off her. “How are ye, Lass?” he asked, wishing he’d known what kind of tone of voice would have been right to take there, and settling for… well, god knew. Some awkward eejit’s stiff and stumbling attempt at care, maybe.

Jaysis.
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Moira MacTaggert
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Certainly, there were worse things than a quiet piece of morning, the smell of breakfast cooking and a mug of fresh coffee. Even if this was weak enough to hardly bear the name.

No constitution at all, the lot of them.

Another moment, she'd need to be on her feet again to stir the eggs and turn the sausage, lest it end charred and not fit for man nor beast. Though in this crowd, there were like to be those that would consume it whole and in record time all the same if it were rock hard and burned within an inch of it's life.

Aye, there'd for certain been worse mornings than this one, with soft music in the background to barely disturb the quiet and the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon. So Moira MacTaggert sat and she sipped and spared another moment to almost long for company all the same. Though it was company of the sort she'd had little enough of this last week and well enough before that to set the thought aside almost as soon as it materialized.

Sean had his Academy and his children (and his bleached blonde hussy, prying her way into things she'd no business in, but that was another thought not for her head this morning). She had her research and Excalibur there, keeping her well supplied with chaos and running about, and their lives seemed to have parted paths almost from one day to the next.

So it was and so was sometimes the way of things. If she'd had her rathers, Moira would've rather it been otherwise, but that, too, was the way of life. There was still enough pride in her that she'd not chase a thing that didn't want catching.

“Moira,” a voice said and, as the fates sometimes did, the thing she'd been thinking of was set in front of her. Or nearby, the music even soft as it was covering any footsteps that might've given her even a wee bit of warning so that she didn't nearly toss her coffee mug through the kitchen window in startlement.

"Ah lord, Sean," Moira returned, glad to hear her own voice calm enough as she stood, reaching for the dishtowel and thankful the mug hadn't been full. All she'd gotten for her moment of being lost in thought was a half handful of warm coffee that sloshed over the rim. "I'd no idea you were anywhere about."

Wondered if he would've been, had he any idea she'd be who he'd walk in to find, but it wasn't a charitable thought at all and the geneticist knew it for that, at least.

“How are ye, Lass?” Sean asked, like he'd forgotten how to stand or to talk in her presence without tripping over himself. A fine thing they'd come to, him there hovering at the door and her dripping coffee onto the kitchen tile.

At least Emma didn't seem to be hovering there with him, for once. Probably still slumbering in her coffin somewhere.

"A bit more damp than a moment ago, but none the worse for wear," she told him, motioning with the dishrag toward the stove before commencing to wiping her hand and her mug, and sidestepping that question well enough. "Dinna just stand there, stir the eggs before they scorch."

It was as close as he'd get just now to an invitation to finish his coming into the room. He could take it or not.
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Oh. Oh jaysis, that was her.

Moira, and Christ, there he went. Saying her name aloud, as though either of them had the slightest need to be reminded of it. Near making her jump right out of her skin as he did too, throwing her coffee on and over herself, and if Sean hadn’t already been feeling like the clumsiest oaf this side of Galway, just for being in her presence, that would have done just the same thing well and nicely too.

Jaysis, and how had it come to this? Just being in the same room, and she was letting fly with her coffee, and he… was stuck there. Couldn’t do aught to move forward or backward, it seemed. She’d always had a way of making him feel tongue-tied, but this, aye, this was something else again here, sure enough.

“Ah lord, Sean," Moira returned, glad to hear her own voice calm enough as she stood, reaching for the dishtowel. Recovering her wits before he’d even managed to find so much as a voice, or any kind of will that’d let him do more than stand there like he’d been poleaxed, but that was Mo, and always had been, running rings around him from no more than a standing start. “I’d no idea you were anywhere about.”

Sean took that piece of information with a movement of his head that might have been some approximation to a nod if he was lucky, and had got as far as half-opening his mouth to form a reply before his brain kicked in and he shut that down again. Unsure of what it was she was meaning, or indeed if she was meaning anything more than exactly what she’d said. For she’d never been one to say aught but what she meant, only… aye… well… he’d never been accused of being a stealthy man.

An awkward great oaf that did a job, time and again, of making a mess of things without knowing quite how he’d got there, though? Aye, he thought he had that one well down by this point.

But not having the first clue what he could say to really make an answer to her observation, whether it was question or statement, Sean let that go after a moment struggling with his harns, returning to a question that he truly did want to know an answer for, whatever it might be, and would need to get out soon, before he lost all his nerve all over again. How was she?

All and everything that had come between them (that maybe, aye, he’d put between them, though he’d never meant to do any of that), wouldn’t stop him wanting to know that. Wanting to know if she was still alright. If she was holding up, after all that had happened this week. If she was-

“A bit more damp than a moment ago, but none the worse for wear," she told him, shooing him away with that teatowel she was holding. And as they were neither of them, even him, stupid enough to believe that she hadn’t known exactly what he’d really meant by that question, and none of it to do with the coffee, Sean supposed her meaning was clear enough. The real answer wasn’t one she meant to be sharing with him now. Aye, and could you blame her for that?

“Dinna just stand there, stir the eggs before they scorch.”

No, of course you can’t, Cassidy, ye great eejit, Sean told himself, but he did as he was told, feeling oddly grateful for the direction and moving at a shamble toward the stove where there were eggs, and a link or two of American sausage frying. “Oh,” was what he said. Looking for an egg slice, or something of the sort - aye, there, there was one, so pick it up man, and show that at least you can still follow a simple instruction. “Aye.”

With a utensil in hand though, and a task to set himself, moving the eggs about the skillet, then taking a moment out to flip those sausages, the Irishman began to feel, for the first time in all of this, since he’d come round the corner and seen her sitting there (pretty as she’d ever been in the earliest morning sunlight, whether he had a right to think that of her or not), like perhaps he might be starting to get his legs under him again. Aye, and she’d fended that off, and skipped around him neatly, and no surprise to be had there, for she’d always been smart enough to out-think three of him.

But he was still a Cassidy, and that did still mean he was too stupid to know when he was beaten, so he wasn’t going to give up.

“I-“ Sean began, eyes on the eggs he was stirring. Though after that promising beginning, his mind betrayed him once again, not finding aught else to add on. “That was, I didna mean…” he tried again, only to dismiss that too, as something that’d be far to easy to dodge around again, “That is to say-“ Jaysis, and it was probably seeming a wonder he’d ever managed to find his arse to put in his trousers, flailing about like this, wasn’t it?

He gave up, with a shake of his head, and turned back to look at her again. Proper like. “How are ye? Really.”

Might as well just ask it again. Because while smart, might be a quality that Mo did have the monopoly on, he could still match her for stubbornness, when he wanted. And so… aye, and he’d be asking this question, over and over, till she gave him a real answer, or till she threw that coffee over him too.

Or, nay, in fact, maybe not even then. He did want to know, after all. That still hadn’t changed, no matter what else might have.
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Moira MacTaggert
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Well.

Here she was, dripping coffee onto the kitchen tile. There he was, standing by the door as though he might decide to bolt back the way he'd come at the first sharp movement from her direction. T'was a fine thing they'd come to in such a small amount of time.

Or so it seemed as Moira reached for the dishcloth and waved it at Sean before seeing to her coffee covered hand and mug. If it sent him fleeing the room, as it seemed it might, so be it. If not, he could see to the eggs before they scorched while she wiped up the mess. Perhaps wished, a wee bit anyway, that other predicaments were so easily seen to.

“Oh,” Sean answered, making his way to the stove to rescue the breakfast after all, seeing as she'd neatly sidestepped that question he'd asked. Aye, from a bit of stubbornness, she might suppose. Or mayhap for simply not knowing where or how to begin to this man she knew so well who now seemed hardly able to put two syllables together in her presence. Nor she in his. “Aye.”

Leaving him to the eggs and sausage, and herself to find better thoughts to dwell upon than those, Moira swiped the cloth around the sides of her mug and then along the bottom before setting it on the counter. Now to see to the stray drops on the floor, and the auburn haired woman was grateful for that moment to bend down and run that cloth over the smooth tile. For that moment to try to collect her wits about her before straightening up again.

Glancing sidelong to Sean as she put the soiled cloth to the side and went for a fresh one from the drawer, she couldn't but bring to mind memories of other mornings. Easier ones, when neither of them had had quite so much trouble finding their tongues.

“I-“ Sean began, eyes on the eggs he was stirring as Moria reached for her coffee again. “That was, I didna mean…” he tried again, and lord save them both from dancing around whatever it was he was trying to get out and that seemed to fight him every inch of the way, “That is to say-“

Shaking her head and silently naming them both for old fools, Moira reached into an upper cabinet and pulled out another mug. "We're neither of us getting younger, Sean," she told him, though there was no heat behind it and she couldn't have said if she meant for there to be or not, "Whate're it is, get it out."

Moira came out from behind the cabinet door in time to see him give that ginger head of his a shake, turning back toward her. “How are ye? Really.”

So that was it, was it? He'd never been one to let a thing go, once he'd sunk his teeth into it. As she reached for the coffee pot, Moira took a moment to consider that, and the answers that popped to the front of her head. Several of which she discarded out of hand.

"I've seen better days than some this week," she finally admitted with a long, low exhalation of breath before looking back down at the mug she was pouring into. They'd wasted enough on the floor, even if it might not be fit for the name of real coffee. "But the same's to be for the lot of us," the geneticist added, looking back his way and pushing the newly filled mug that way.

She'd hoped, well, that he might've been about to know the details for himself, rather than asking in halting, stuttering bits days after the fact. Moira supposed that he had been, in fact. He just hadn't been about her.
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Well, the eggs seemed to be cooking up nicely in the pan. Shame that he couldn’t say the same for his tongue, or aye, perhaps that should have been that he couldn’t say aught at all with that stubborn thing. Try as he might, it seemed to be as good as stuck to the roof of his mouth, and no more than a word or two coming out with every attempt till he could practically hear (or, in actual point of fact, actually hear) Mo shaking her head on the other side of the kitchen.

Losing patience with him, most like, but then at least that was familiar. “We’re neither of us getting younger, Sean," she told him, though without temper to color her words, which was something Sean couldn’t quite manage to find as a relief. Not to say that he’d ever liked to be in the crosshairs of her temper, aye, but… to be shut out of it?

“Whate’re it is, get it out.”

Ach, nay. He was an eejit, and that was true enough, and always had been. And one cursed with a good dose of irony if for all his powers, all the words he could find were only the foam from a tapped out keg, but… well, aye, he was an eejit, but a stubborn one. So he’d ask his question again, before she could get too far in or out of that cabinet and onto something else. And then if she still weren’t to give him a real answer? Aye, and he’d keep on asking, and asking again, till he’d got it.

How was she? Really?

At least this time, she seemed to be choosing to think on it, even if that did come under the cover of a reach toward the coffee pot. Thinking was something. “I’ve seen better days than some this week," she finally admitted with a sigh of sorts that she directed down into that second coffee mug. Little enough to go on, though it was certainly something more than the last answer she hadn’t given him. “But the same's to be for the lot of us," the geneticist added, looking back his way and pushing the newly filled mug that way.

Aye, little enough, and then less of it, and there was a message there, was there not? If he chose to read it. But though he moved back to the bench and accepted the mug she’d pushed his way, Sean didn’t keep back the concerned frown that was trying to form on his face again. “That’s hardly more of a real answer, Lass,” he pointed out, though jaysis, she wouldn’t need him to tell her that, would she? Or anything else he might have told her, the wee voice whispering in the back of his ear added on, and the big irishman found himself ducking his head and nodding briefly with a certain wry acknowledgement. “But aye, then I suppose I’ve not done much to earn one recently.”

Not that he’d ever intended for that, or to do anything to hurt her. Or to be… well, and… but…

…aye, and none of that could do her any good to hear, if it didn’t even sound more than pathetic in his own head, could it? There was the coffee in his hand, and those eggs - those ones he should soon be stirring again, for in that, at least, perhaps he could still be useful. And he’d hate for her to think that even that much was beyond him.

So he turned back, shifting them around the pan again with a little more force than might strictly have been necessary, hoping that perhaps there there might be some inspiration for what he could still find to say to Mo that wouldn’t be, well, far out of place.

“Do you have someone you can talk to, at least?” he tried after a second or so, putting down the utensil again as he looked back over his shoulder. Trying to meet her eyes, and to… well, aye, and he didn’t know, precisely, what it was he wanted to be saying, except that he knew it was sincere, and he knew her. After all of that, all that had been these last days, she’d need someone to talk to. “Really talk to, not just be giving them the first answer you think will steer them off,” Sean added, with a little emphasis that felt awkward the moment it had escaped and left his mouth, “I’d… well, aye.”

So much for inspiration, then. Though perhaps there was none of that because there wasn’t anything he could say now that wouldn’t remind them both that, well… aye.
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Moira MacTaggert
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He'd gotten it out well enough, hadn't he? Clinging to that question of how she was. Not accepting the answer, or lack thereof, she'd given him, stubborn, bullheaded man that he could be. Never would let a thing go when he'd latched onto it. Amused her and irritated her by turns no end, or did both at once, depending on the day and the time and the situation.

Now, he'd turned it to this and, aye, the first answer that made itself known inside her head wouldn't likely do either of them good and would only go to spoil breakfast in the bargain. What was there to be served or earned by telling him he'd well know how she was, if he'd been of a mind to so much as put himself in her line of sight for more than the time it took to take himself out again these last days?

Naught was the answer and Moria'd no mind to spoil the first peaceful morn she'd had in nearly a week. Nor the first one that hadn't made dragging her tired old bones from bed seem like more of a chore than it might be worth. So, she gave him his answer, not that he'd like it better the geneticist imagined as she pulled another mug from the cabinet and let go of a sigh she couldn't be bothered to hold onto.

There'd certainly been better days in her life than some she'd seen this week. The same could be said for the lot of them, so at least she'd been in fair company.

He took the mug of coffee she pushed at him, frowning at her all the while. Concern was easy enough to read there, even if she hadn't known him as well as she did, and it gave her a slight pang the Scots woman had no use for just now. Aye, it wasn't what he'd been looking for, yet again, was it?

Perhaps that wasn't very good of her, or very fair. There'd been a time, not so very long in the past, it would've all come much freer, words coming more easily, when it was Sean. Then, with a suddenness she'd not been prepared for, that had changed.

“That’s hardly more of a real answer, Lass,” he pointed out then ducked his head as she slid her eyes his way with a bare lifting of one brow. It wasn't, but she'd found it might be all the answer she could give him. “But aye, then I suppose I’ve not done much to earn one recently.”

No, he hadn't, and that was the truth of it. It wasn't something she'd allow herself to say aloud, however much she might want to. She'd not pine over him like a schoolgirl. Especially when she couldn't even lay it all at his feet when they were countries and oceans apart more time than not. That had done them as little favor as Emma Frost (the hussy).

"We've all our burdens and responsibilities, Sean," Moira answered instead, leaning against the edge of the counter and shifting her eyes back to the horizon. He'd not meant any of it to be this way, she was sure. Just as she hadn't. Neither had he taken any great pains to put a stop to it and she'd not chase him about. There was a bit of pride left in her yet.

If he wanted to make a great eejit of himself o'er a head of bleached hair and premade assets, he'd not find her standing in his way.

For a moment, there was only the sizzle of the eggs and sausage in the pan and the sound of heavy silence. Then the sound of the spatula scraping around the pan again. A bit more forceful than was perhaps wanted, she noted, and aye, well, if it was a fit of temper he'd like to start next, she could likely match him for that at least.

“Do you have someone you can talk to, at least?” he tried after a second or so, putting down the utensil again as he looked back over his shoulder and she turned her head back toward him. “Really talk to, not just be giving them the first answer you think will steer them off,” Sean added, with a little emphasis that had her narrowing her eyes, brows drawing down, “I’d… well, aye.”

Nay, he'd just hang onto that with his teeth and both fists, wouldn't he? Worry it and her until she said the things she wouldn't want to say and he'd not want to hear. That it was out of concern, and that she knew that, was little comfort. He was a good man, was Sean Cassidy, in a great many ways. But he had no sense of when to let a thing lie.

Not even when it'd be the better for the both of them if he would.

"Sean," she began, about to tell him straight out to leave it lie. She'd not the patience nor the energy to sooth his worries, on top of all the rest. Then she stopped, blew out a breath. Shook her head. The devil take it. He wanted an answer so very much, then t'was an answer he'd get.

"Charles betrayed us all. Went in and mucked about in our heads to save his own skin. E'en if he were here, I'd hardly be confiding aught in him." There was bitterness there, and no help for it. Bitterness and a wound that only that sort of betrayal could bring. One she knew might never quite knit itself completely again. Betrayal of everything she'd ever felt for the man, every thing she'd believed true of him. "You've your children and your school to look after," Moira added (and his White Queen, but no, she'd not give in to saying that), keeping her voice level as she could. As the years had given her a great deal of experience, she could manage when necessary. Though there was a tightness in her chest she'd have rather done without. "I'm more than capable of keeping my own counsel, Sean. I've a great deal of practice."

So there he had his answer and let it be on his head if it still wasn't the one he'd wanted. Love the man she well might, but true was true. She didn't want his company from guilt or obligation, but she'd not give him false reassurances, either.

And the good lord save him if he let the sausages burn.
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It was more of the same. Little, and less, where it came to an answer. But then, what could he say that he’d done to earn one of those in the last little while? Longer than just a little while now too, and for all those promises he’d made to himself (not to her, because he’d thought he’d known her better than to give her words she didn’t know how to trust), and all the intentions to do nothing that’d ever hurt her, that hadn’t ended up adding up to anything like he’d meant them to.

Aye, and see her now, the way she looked at him when he acknowledged it. No quarter there, and no excuse, and aye, why should there be? But more than anything, it was the way her eyes cut away, like she had nothing that she wanted to see from him now, that drove it home. What he’d done. What he’d not done, more to the point, and what it seemed now more and more like he’d lost because of it.

“We’ve all our burdens and responsibilities, Sean," Moira answered instead, casting her eyes away to that window, making it as hard as it ever had to been to guess at what she might be thinking. Did she know? That was what Sean couldn’t help but wonder now - how fecking useless he’d felt some days, bumbling around Muir, with near enough to naught to do with himself but get in her way while she got on with important work? Nothing like any kind of responsibility to occupy his own days, and little enough that came by from Excalibur or others to include an aging copper who’d always been better with his instincts than his brain.

Aye, and he hadn’t really needed Emma’s digs about what he might have been doing there to feel some part of it somewhere down in his bones, had he?

Sean scraped at those eggs in the pan thinking on that. A little more vigorously than needed, aye but what harm’d they come to for being scrambled? Probably it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that could have happened to them. And… nay, but he couldn’t leave it there. Not now and here, when she was still in the room, and he hadn’t left, and neither had she.

So he had to ask, or at least, ask was what he did, putting down that spatula and looking back over his shoulder to her. Did she have someone that she could talk to, at least? Not blow off and away, with the words she was smart enough to be able to calculate to guide or force someone away from her when she wanted. He’d…

“Sean,” she began, cutting off that pathetic excuse for words that he’d been floundering for. Sounding as though he was only making her life more difficult right now, not less, and aye, that was probably only the raw truth. Intruding where he’d bare to no business, forgoing what he had and what he should have all this time, only to press her now, and for what? You could see her thinking as much, or near to it, as she stopped, blowing out her breath in as near to a sigh as he’d ever seen. Shaking her head though, and wasn’t that what she did when she meant to school someone she’d found dimwitted?

“Charles betrayed us all. Went in and mucked about in our heads to save his own skin. E'en if he were here, I'd hardly be confiding aught in him.”

And jaysis, the raw edge to her voice. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, Sean knew. Christ knew he’d been feeling parts of that himself these last days, and on his own behalf - all of them, who’d all been lied to by that man they’d come to call friend - as well as Mo’s. And how much worse had it been, for her, with all of her history.

Still, if that was her first answer to the last question he’d asked, then what could be said? “Aye, but-“ Sean tried to begin, for all the good it did him. He’d picked the wrong moment; she was still talking, and he knew well enough to give up on trying to finish the thought he’d been only halfway to starting.

“You’ve your children and your school to look after," Moira added, with a note in her voice, like someone drawing to the end of a list. Calm, but aye, final. Like that was all of it, and all anyone could have expected there to be.

“And…” Sean tried to say, but only weakly, so it was no surprise that it too faltered and died around the time she began to speak again.

“I’m more than capable of keeping my own counsel, Sean. I've a great deal of practice.”

And that, though. That was a deal too much for the Irishman to keep his silence on, or let her overpower his attempt to break it. “Aye, and a great deal of heartache to go with that, I’d think,” he replied quietly, looking over at her only very briefly before he let his gaze pass on, and turned back to turn the sausages. That was the Moira he knew, and the one he’d loved long before he’d been smart enough to know that was how he felt, and it still broke his heart as much as it stirred it. Everything she’d learned in that sham of a marriage she’d lived through, those walls she’d built for herself, keeping the world out, long after she’d needed it. Closing herself from aught but her own counsel, in case trusting anyone else set her up for more hurt.

Aye, it broke his heart, and at the same time, after all and everything this week made him feel all of half a wee inch tall, for the way he’d gone and turned all of those ideas back to true for her, just by dropping the ball when she’d needed him. There was that. All of that. And yet… and yet… well, it broke his heart, and it clawed at his guts, but if he was to be truthful, wasn’t there a part which couldn’t help but stick in his craw, too? Keeping her own counsel, aye, right. As smart as she was, and he was supposed to believe that was a line she really, truly believed was true?

“Jaysis, Mo,” he exhorted while stopped on that idea, well before he’d stopped to think about whether he ought, “Would it have killed you to just come and admit you could use an ear to bend?” Because that was all it was taking, for all he’d had his head in his arse where it came to acting for himself this week. He’d never have refused her that, and was there really a way she couldn’t know that by now, after all the years they’d… well, and aye. That was a question he might have been right to ask another woman. But with Moira MacTaggert, he knew better. He knew her better. “Nay, alright,” Sean agreed, shaking his head and turning - a wee bit sadly, but hopefully he hid that well enough that she might not have to spot it - back to the breakfast he was still capable of helping with, at least, “I know that answer.”

The sausage, and the eggs too, received more of their shares of stirring then, as Sean watched them without feeling like he saw too much of any of it. “It’s a poor thing, though,” he spoke again after a moment or two, reflecting on the thoughts aloud, because Jaysis, they weren’t making much help staying in his head. “Naught but two people on a list you’d talk to, and both of them men who’ve let you down. I’m sorry, Lass.”

There should have been more than him and Charles, that was for sure. But that wasn’t something he could have changed for her. All he’d had the power to change was what he’d done himself, but there was no comfort in that, was there?
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Neither of them had meant it to be this way, had they?

No, no they hadn't, but it was as it was all the same. Her words in answer were true enough, even. They'd all their own burdens and their own responsibilities and she'd not begrudge those. Not his and not her own.

T'wasn't the answer he'd wanted and, though a side of her wanted to give him that, even still, another side locked it down. Refused those words release. Aye, the stubborn, proud part of her, the geneticist suspected. It wasn't as though she'd no knowledge of herself. Her peculiarities gained over a lifetime.

Some of them so ingrained she'd no way past them. For they'd sometimes been the only things holding her together, keeping her upright, that pride and abiding stubbonness. Not easy things to set aside and so she turned from Sean again. Set her eyes toward the horizon once more. Listened to his assault upon the eggs and likely the pan as well with that spatula.

Temper, that she could match, too, if he'd a mind for it. In some ways it ease the thing, perhaps. But no, still he was holding to his track with his last tooth.

Had she anyone to confide in, that was the question now and Moria simply turned to the man she'd before lately believed might've been just such a person. Up to the moment he'd been nowhere about her on one of the darkest days of her life.

So, aye, there'd once been Charles, who she'd believed herself to love in years past. Now, she wondered if that was but another trick and twist of her mind. Another betrayal. If it was, it was a thing she'd rather leave unknown. Those she had already were more than enough. And there'd been Sean, as he well knew, as she pushed on through the raw edges of the last week, the cutting bits that were still sharp and able to draw blood. There'd been Sean, but he'd his children, and his school. And that great hussy of a White Queen.

That had all somehow managed to wedge itself into and between until there was a divide she'd no idea how to cross. Or that she'd not let herself cross, perhaps.

“And…” Sean began, the stumbled and whatever it might've been died away. Overtaken by the last of her own words. It'd not be what she might've rathered, but the keeping of her own counsel was something she was at least well versed in.

“Aye, and a great deal of heartache to go with that, I’d think,” he said to her, quiet of voice and with only a momentary look before his eyes traveled elsewhere. Back to the sausages, but at least he was tending those.

And, aye, he was right, wasn't he? A great deal of heartache to go with it. Some of her own making, the auburn haired woman knew, some not and she dropped her own eyes. Set them to the study of that liquid that passed for coffee among those with no real stamina.

Nay, it wasn't fair to him, placing it all on his shoulders. She'd like to have said she hadn't meant it that way, exactly, but, aye, that wouldn't quite be a true thing. Hurt still lurked, not as far under the surface as she'd have liked or liked to have to admit.

“Jaysis, Mo,” he exhorted and her head snapped up again, “Would it have killed you to just come and admit you could use an ear to bend?” Green eyes narrowed and the words that came to her tongue Moira knew better than to let loose. He'd not even close to like them and she'd regret them a moment later. Still, it tempted her all the same. That she should, at such a time as this last week, chase him down and beg for an ear. As though he might not expect she might care to have one. As though she'd have expected such a thing of him were their places reversed. “Nay, alright,” Sean agreed, shaking his head and turning back to the breakfast as though...well, as though she'd been keeping herself hidden away from him this last week. “I know that answer.”

Oh, he thought he did, did he?

"Do ye now?" the geneticist said instead, deceptively mildly and swallowing anything else along with the pond water in her cup. Her first peaceful morning and she'd not let him spoil it. He could stir the eggs and she'd drink her coffee and-

“It’s a poor thing, though,” he spoke again after a moment or two flaying that idea alive. “Naught but two people on a list you’d talk to, and both of them men who’ve let you down. I’m sorry, Lass.”

Her cup went down with a soft bang on the counter and Moira's head came up again, green eyes flashing. "Sean Cassidy, don't ye dare feel sorry for me." Say what he'd like, let former villainesses in a great lack of clothing drag him about by the ear if he'd like, but she'd not have that. Not that, of all things. "It's not as though I think ye meant-" to let it all go completely cross-wise was what she'd meant to say, but it didn't quite all make it out.

Cutting herself off, the Scots woman shook her head, folding her arms over her chest and pinning him with a look. "What would ye have me do, Sean?" she asked him instead, "Chase about all over the house and grounds like a lovesick schoolgirl, hoping for a piece of your time?" And wouldn't that be a fine thing? "Ye've got Emma Frost for that, and e'en if I'd come to you, can you tell me she'd not have come up with something that desperately needed your attention before five minutes had passed?"

If he could, and say it with a straight face, she might even give him that, true or not. Though the good lord above knew it seemed a constant happening nearly any other time she'd as much as tried to speak with him for more than a minute at a stretch.

"I could've, aye, and probably should've all the same." For having not, she was giving Emma what she wanted, but even knowing that hadn't gotten her past it. "I know ye meant well enough," the geneticist added, voice quieter. Aye, she did know him and she could imagine how he'd dithered and meant to do a thing and then seemed to never get to it because it'd been left too long, "and it's not guilt nor pity I want, Sean. It never has been."

As for the rest, she was an old war horse and there were things of herself she wasn't certain she could change, or would even know how to try to make a beginning of it. Even if it meant she'd keep to her own counsel for the duration.
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Christ, and would it have killed her to go and just admit that she could have used an ear to bend? Of course, the moment it was out of his mouth, and he saw Moira’s eyes narrowing back at him in that way she had, far more ominous that ought to have been able to pack in so slight a frame as hers, Sean had to admit he already knew that answer.

So it was just a pity then, that he hadn’t thought to keep that admitting to the quiet of inside his own mind. Ahh… well, he’d bollocksed that one too, hadn’t he?

“Do ye now?" the geneticist said instead, though he hoped he knew better than to believe that milk-mild tone she was using was anything but a warn to tread mighty careful as he went from here.

Try as he might though, when it came to trying to choose a path to pick, he’d never seemed to learn enough to keep from a natural tendency to be a blundering bull eejit, and this time was no exception. A few seconds stirring at those eggs and sausages and he found himself speaking again, putting the thoughts that were in his head right out there into the teeth of whatever gale might be brewing behind those eyes she was keeping still.

Because aye… well… maybe it would be better, for her or for… someone, if he could. And it was a poor thing, if all she had a list of people she’d consider speaking to were two men, himself and Charles, who’d let her down. He was sorry for that. For his part in that, and-

Ah, christ, the mug had hit the counter - not hard, but loud enough to draw the attention, mostly to the pair of green eyes that were flashing with that anger he’d always liked nearly as much as it had half-terrified him. “Sean Cassidy, don't ye dare feel sorry for me.”

He’d- not meant it that way at all. Sean had his mouth halfway open before thinking better of trying to explain. Of course that was how Mo’d see it. Of course it was, and even till he talked through to when that sun rose up on that horizon again tomorrow, there’d be no way to convince her of that, would there? “Oh aye, with you doing such a fine job for yourself, why would I need to?” he muttered instead, under his breath.

Well… he hoped it had been under his breath, anyway. Perhaps she’d be too far winding into her own words that she’d not have noticed? Jaysis, aye, he was eejit.

“It’s not as though I think ye meant-“

…to fail you in all the ways I promised myself I’d never put you through? Sean supplied when Moira stopped herself from finishing, but this one stayed inside his head, where it sat like a lump of the scones they’d tried to make two Christmases ago, heavy and apparently resistant to any kind of natural breakdown process. Christ, and she had her arms folded, and that never had yet spelled anything good, even without the look she was sending him.

Jaysis, had he said half an inch tall? Nay, that’d been far too generous. At this point, he’d have been happy to scrape toward a generous 1/16th.

“What would ye have me do, Sean?" she asked him instead, "Chase about all over the house and grounds like a lovesick schoolgirl, hoping for a piece of your time?” What? Did she really think- Sean stopped, pursing his lip to keep from answering that with the first stupid thought that popped into his head. If that was how she saw it, then- aye, and of course it was. “Ye’ve got Emma Frost for that, and e'en if I'd come to you, can you tell me she'd not have come up with something that desperately needed your attention before five minutes had passed?”

Sean stopped right where he was, mouth half-open, feeling his tongue working around at the edges of a reply it didn’t quite seem to be able to form. Christ, and she didn’t think that rang out like a schoolgirl? Because he’d had enough of the same variations from Jubilee about Monet to recognize it when he heard it. “I-“ Sean started, before presence of mind kicked in for once quickly enough to make him thing better of saying what he’d been about to. Close your mouth again lad, before you start to catch flies. “Asking for help where you need it is the last damn thing from acting like a schoolgirl, Lass,” he said instead, not quite keeping the edge he’d meant to have nothing to do with from creeping into his voice. “I do know a few of them now.”

“I could've, aye, and probably should've all the same.” Well, that was more promising. Wasn’t it? So why did it only make him all the sadder, to see her there, hurting like that? If he- but he’d no more than started to move toward her, but she cut him off with a quiet voice that cut down to the soul in all the ways that counted, stopping him before he even got to tracks. “I know ye meant well enough," the geneticist added, and if he’d thought he’d felt small before, Sean found out he’d been as wrong as he possibly could have been, “and it's not guilt nor pity I want, Sean. It never has been.”

Christ. Right down to the core, flaying like that, and then the very next second, and she was coming out with something like that.

“Ahh, jaysis,” Sean replied, heaving a sigh and shaking his head. “They’re not what I’m offering, Mo.” Guilt, aye well, he had plenty of that, or regrets at least, but that was his, and he wouldn’t be told to let it go, but pity? Did she think that was what he was offering her with an apology? Another shake of his head, because that he wouldn’t agree to letting her think, now or ever. “And they never have been.You ought to know that, at least.” And he had to think that she had, at least once upon a time, or else she’d never have had aught to do with him.

“I missed you,” he continued, setting his eyes to hers if they’d choose to meet his gaze, and putting all his sincerity into his voice too, in case she didn’t. An explanation might be next to the last thing she wanted right now, but an explanation was what she’d be getting. “And I… well, aye, and I’m sorry. That I let it fall into this and couldn’t see a way clear to fix it again till it got this bad.” He’d never meant to do that - but aye, she’d seen that, and seen right through him, to just how poorly good intentions served you if you failed to back them up. Frowning harder, maybe at himself, maybe at the prospect that she might take that sorry the way she’d taken the last, Sean shook his head again. “That’s an apology, for the record, Lass. Not pity. You deserved better than that, and I failed to give it to you. And I’m sorry for that.”

Not that it’d fix any of it, but he wanted her to know that, all the same.
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Pity. She'd not have that. Not from him, most of all. She'd ne'er accepted it for anything else, she'd not accept it for this, either. By now, he should know her well enough that he'd know that.

Oh, aye and he could open his mouth, close it again without saying a word. He could mutter whatever words they might've been under his breath, where she couldn't quite catch the sound of them, if that's how he wanted it. Sean could do that, if he'd not the gumption to speak his peace and be done with it.

T'wasn't as though she thought he'd meant to let it all go so cross-wise as it had. Though now it was Moira herself, unable to finish the thought outloud. Nor has she and she didn't relish the guilt she knew was there. That she could see hovering over his expression and his eyes as though painted on.

No help for it, though, as yet.

She was a woman grown. If he expected that she'd chase all about after him like a lovesick girl, begging for a piece of his time, he'd best think again. Love him she might, and she did, but he'd that half dressed hussy, Emma Frost, for that. It'd been made plain to her, more than once, the even if she had, she'd not have five minutes peace from the woman before some emergency or other would materialize. Some circumstance where Sean's attention would be desperately needed.

There again he was looking at her gape mouthed, as though she'd told him some astonishing thing he'd not conceived of. Mayhap he didn't. He was a good man, was Sean Cassidy. Apt to believe the best of those he sometimes shouldn't.

“I-“ Sean started, and, arms crossed about her chest still, she waited to see if any words might follow this time. “Asking for help where you need it is the last damn thing from acting like a schoolgirl, Lass,” he said instead, and green eyes narrowed further. So that was the way of it, then. “I do know a few of them now.” That he did, and she didn't begrudge him that. He was a fine hand at it. Never would, aside from that coming complete with the likes of someone like the White Queen, who she'd not trust any farther than she could pitch her toward the cliffs of Muir.

At times, she'd wondered at Charles thinking. Now, she wondered even more. The last few days had given her cause enough.

The thing, however, being this. "I'd not have believed I'd have to, Sean," Moira admitted, though, aye she could've. Probably should've, pride be damned. He started toward her but there was more she had to say, though the irritation slipped away from her as he stopped in his tracks. Because he'd meant well enough. Of that, there was no real doubt. Because pity nor guilt, those weren't the things she'd wanted. Or the things she'd needed. Not from him, most of all. It never had been.

Perhaps that was what had hurt the most. Kept her stubbornly refusing to seek him out. It felt too much as though it might make it into an obligation he had to fulfill and that was another thing she'd never wanted to be. Not to him. The man she'd admitted needing years ago. The man who'd once told her to shut up and kiss him, then given her no choice but to do just that. The man who'd helped her pick up the pieces of herself when there'd been no choice for her only son but destruction for the sake of countless lives.

“Ahh, jaysis,” Sean replied, heaving a sigh and shaking his head. “They’re not what I’m offering, Mo.” Another shake of his head as her arms loosened, dropped to her sides. “And they never have been.You ought to know that, at least.” Aye,and she'd have agreed she ought to have, but there'd come to be a great many things these last days that she felt she should've known. Yet she'd not even had the barest hint of.

To say it had shaken her to the core wouldn't have gone too far.

“I missed you,” he continued, setting his eyes to hers and there was no temper now when she met them. Only an ache in the middle of her chest. “And I… well, aye, and I’m sorry. That I let it fall into this and couldn’t see a way clear to fix it again till it got this bad.” Old fools, both of them, and the geneticist drew in a breath, trying to dispel that persistent ache that she knew was less a physical thing than an emotional one. A frown marred his features, followed by another shake of his head. “That’s an apology, for the record, Lass. Not pity. You deserved better than that, and I failed to give it to you. And I’m sorry for that.”

Something close to a smile, or that at least shared some minor kinship with it, flickered over the auburn haired woman's face for a moment. "I'm not so far gone as to not know that for what it was," she assured him, letting the coffee sit and moving toward him to close the space between. "I'm not an easy woman, Sean," Moira added candidly, looking up to his face again, "Ye know that and so do I." Good lord above knew he'd have to. "But the fault doesn't all lie with you. I've done my part in letting it fall to this, too, and for that I'm sorry as well."

There were excuses she could make, still, but that's what they'd be. Excuses for what was simply wounded feelings and stubbornness at work. What good were they to either of them?

None at all, and so she reached out to him as she had once before, hand laying lightly against. "I've missed you, too, Sean." Then, with a pause, a slight frown, she glanced toward the stove. "And I think we've let the sausages burn."
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Nay. Nay, of course she’d not believed she’d have to ask for a moment of his time to bend his ear. Nor should she have had to, when every time before he’d been on hand, and done all and everything he could to be there when she needed, because he’d known her too well to think she could bear the thought of asking.

Hadn’t he hunted her what felt like halfway across the world once (not even so long ago in the scheme of things) when she’d disappeared with no more than half a word, deciding that she didn’t deserve love or friendship after her choice to do what she’d done to Magneto. Hunted her down to that island, just to tell her exactly what he thought of that kind of bollocks. He’d done it because she needed to hear it, and because he’d wanted nothing more than to be there for her.

He still did, too. No way that he could see her there, angry and too proud to admit to more than that, pinning him with that green gaze that never had scared him the way she thought it ought to.

Aye, and here they were, with awkward words coming too late, and a hurt she’d never admit to, on top of one she couldn’t deny this week had brought her.Because he was a fecking eejit, who’d lacked the bollocks to track her down and ask, and she was one of another, prouder kind. One who’d lost that combative look by the time she spoke again, and one whom he’d made half a move to step back toward before that new note in her voice cut through any delusion he might have made that he could do any good for her that way.

She knew he’d meant well enough. Aye, and there it was, the smallest he’d ever remembered feeling in his life, and all of it deserved. Not even the pretense of changing feelings to excuse what he’d done this last year, and this last week most of all. No excuse at all. Not a single point where he could remember choosing to make it this way. Just a day, and another day after that, and weeks that had turned to months, and he’d not found a way - he’d not even tried - to stop it, till it had all felt too long to even know where to start.

And so here they were, standing across the kitchen in Xavier’s one more time, like they’d done in happier memories that felt like a lifetime ago. And Moira MacTaggert was choosing to inform him she wanted neither guilt nor pity, like she expected this to be some kind of news to him.

Jaysis.

It was the first word he could think of. The only word he could think of for a second or maybe more, because what else could he do to that but sigh and shake his head? He’d not been offering that. Either of those. Not here, and not ever. That much, she ought to still have known about him, at least, no matter how much he’d bollocksed up everything else that had happened in the last year or the last week.

Regrets, aye, he had them. Care for her too, because he didn’t know how he’d ever stop having that. But they were neither of them the same as what she was accusing him of, and they never had been, right back to those first days here nearly ten years ago, when he’d first fallen for her, and made such an awkward bumbling, gawping eejit of himself trying to court her. Where she’d fallen for him too, and they’d had mornings that were at once like and unlike this one, here in this very room. Building from a lie they hadn’t known had been hidden, after Krakoa. But they had been real, for all of that. Sean knew that as surely as he knew anything. And he could only hope she still did too, however much the weekend’s news had thrown her.

They - she and he - had been some real. And he’d missed her, all this time, even when he’d been trying not to think of it. That would fix nothing, and maybe now it had gone too long and hurt her too much to be fixed. But he missed her, and for whatever it was worth to her now, he was sorry that he’d let it fall to this, without ever having done anything close to meaning to ever let anything like it happen.

Aye, and watch her now, suck in a breath. Readying herself to tell him exactly how stupid he was to say it now, and how little it was to hear, after she’d told him not to pity or feel guilty for her, though the diatribe Sean half-expected hadn’t seem to come by the time he’d pulled his own words again to try to explain himself better.

This wasn’t guilt, whatever she might be thinking of him now. Or aye, it was, but it was his, and he’d earned it squarely, and where it came to her, it was the furthest thing from pity. What it was simply an apology. One he owed, and one he’d give her, because she’d deserved better from him, and he’d failed to deliver that. Aye, he was sorry.

Christ… was she smiling now? After all of that?

Well, jaysis. He could live three more of his lifetimes, and never once get close to understanding women. This one most of all- but then that had always been what he’d loved most about her, since that first day out on that front step.

“I’m not so far gone as to not know that for what it was," she assured him, letting the coffee sit and moving toward him to close the space between. "I'm not an easy woman, Sean," Moira added candidly, looking up to his face again, "Ye know that and so do I.” Not sure he wasn’t taking his life out of his own hands by doing it, Sean risked letting himself join her in that half smile. Aye, and that he did. The most difficult woman he sometimes thought he’d ever meet. And the toughest, and the bravest too, bar none, as well as the smartest.

“But the fault doesn't all lie with you. I've done my part in letting it fall to this, too, and for that I'm sorry as well.”

Well, he’d half a mind to argue with that, except he could guess at how well that would end up going for him, so Sean stepped in toward her. Not sure whether he’d only scare her back if he raised his hand to touch her, but not able to keep from moving closer all the same. She’d done that too. That had to be a good sign.

“Some kind of pair we make, aye?” he asked, voice wry, though there was little enough of that in the look he turned to her. A pair of old fools, who’d lived and loved and gone through enough that they ought to be able to get past feeling like awkward teenagers, but perhaps he’d never quite figured out how to dispel that entirely where it came to Moira MacTaggert, for all the times he’d been able to tell her to shut up and kiss him. And now, precarious as this felt, and after all this time, and too much he’d been gone for… he couldn’t run the risk of scaring her.

So it was Moira who moved, laying one slim hand against his arm, the way she’d done so many times before. In better times, and in worse ones too, for they’d had all of them. “I’ve missed you, too, Sean.” Aye, he supposed he knew that too. What they could do about it though, that- well, that seemed to have brought a pausing frown to her face, and she glanced away from his eyes before he could hold them and find his answers. “And I think we've let the sausages burn.”

Or… jaysis feck, now she’d said it, there was that smell, like burning.

“Ahh, bollocks,” Sean swore, turning and stepping back toward the stove, pulling the spatula toward him and bearing down on the pan with the offending char and sizzle before it could get any worse. He flipped them over, inspecting the damage - aye, the side was blackened, a little worse for wear, and maybe he ought to be hung for an optimist, but he thought there was something still salvageable to be had there.

Glancing over the eggs (which seemed to have survived his inattention a little better) quickly, Sean turned them a little too, then reached across to find a plate and a paper towel on which to rest the unfortunate sausages. “Could you pull me out a few more of those links, Lass?” he asked over his shoulder, thoughts lost in the business of doing what needed to be done. “Maybe another egg or two, if you wouldn’t mind- might as well make a real go of another round while I’m fixing this.”

None so much damage, at least to her breakfast, that couldn’t still be put to rights.
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Nay, she still knew an honest apology for what it was. It all didn't have her so far gone she'd not at least recognize that. From Sean most of all. And so she let the coffee be and moved toward him instead. Closing that space they'd both put between them a little.

An easy woman she'd never been, and Moira knew that well enough. Sean, he knew it, too. If there'd been any doubt left at all on that count, that half of a smile on his face would've put it well to rest. She'd never claimed anything to the contrary and, aye, some of the fault of all this lay with her as well. In the part she'd had herself in letting it come to this. Staring at one another across Xavier's kitchen in the barely dawn, one not knowing half of what to say to the other.

For that, she was sorry. As sorry as she could say and she owed him the say at the least, even if there was a look about him that said he might be of some mind to argue that. It'd do him no good, and he should know that, too, should Sean Cassidy, and save his breath.

And so he did, and stepped in to meet her. “Some kind of pair we make, aye?” he asked, voice wry though there wasn't so much of a sense of that in his expression or his eyes as they turned her way. That they were. A fine pair, at that. Not as young as they'd once been, a little worn by the world. A pair who ought to have known better by now how to navigate it all.

"That we do." Though mayhap that was a thing that never came easy when your heart was in the hands of another, whatever the age.

Her own was certainly in his, and had been so for years now. For good or ill, and they'd had them both, hadn't they? Once, she'd told him that she needed him, whether or not it always seemed so. Nothing of that had changed and so she reached out to him now, again. Here in this kitchen where they'd seen happier times that the present ones. For she'd missed him, too, and no good would come for lack of saying it. Or admitting it. And a good deal of trouble might've been spared if she'd done so sooner.

Both her own and Sean's as well. So, aye, fault on both sides. Her own wounded bullheadedness and his avoiding a situation instead of taking it by the teeth. A poor combination, and one they needed to put to rights some way. Though perhaps not before they'd added another casualty to it's ranks, since the sausages were well on their way to blackened for their troubles.

“Ahh, bollocks,” Sean swore, turning back for the stove and Moira following the few steps with him. Oh, aye, well and truly blackened, they were. But a little scorching didn't make a total loss.

"They'll still do well enough," the auburn haired woman pronounced with something more of a smile over his shoulder as he eyed the eggs, which seemed to have gotten on no worse for wear for all they'd not been watching them, either.

“Could you pull me out a few more of those links, Lass?” he asked over his shoulder, seeing to a plate for the sausages. “Maybe another egg or two, if you wouldn’t mind- might as well make a real go of another round while I’m fixing this.” And it was good, wasn't it, half-blackened sausages and all, to have some of the awkward tension dispel in the business of breakfast and a bit of clearing the air?

"Aye, we should have what peace and breakfast we can before the great hordes awake and descend," she agreed, turning toward the refrigerator and reaching for the carton of eggs, the butter and milk, and the open pack of sausage. Setting the first three on the counter, she took the last back the few steps to the stove. "I'll see to the eggs," the auburn haired woman told him, handing the sausages over and then turning for a bowl and a whisk.

Setting to cracking the eggs - three, she decided, since they'd not go uneaten if he didn't want them all - Moira added a bit of milk, some salt and pepper, and began to whisk it all together. As she did, she raised her eyes again, thoughtful looking settling itself onto Sean, only an arm's length away.

"I'm of a mind to sort this out, Sean," she began again, watching him there at the stove and seeing no reason to beat about a bush they'd beaten well to death by now, "if ye're of the same mind. I dinna want to go on missing ye and doing aught about it."

She couldn't leave her research and she knew he'd not leave his school and his children. It wasn't a thing she'd ask of him. Though if he'd not mind her dunking Emma Frost into the North Sea and test her swimming ability, lack of decent clothing and all, she'd not say no to that. The matter of the White Queen aside, though, there had to be something between that and this. Some middle ground they could find where it wasn't one extreme or the other that left them both wanting.
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Banshee
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Ahh, bollocks. Moira was right, of course, like she nearly always was when it didn’t come to matters of her heart. The sausages were burned, right under their noses, and he’d best get on that now before it got any worse, had he not?

“They’ll still do well enough,” Moira observed from over his shoulder as he flipped the fast blackening things, which wasn’t so far off an opinion Sean had been wondering about voicing himself. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising to hear her say that of the charred sausages, knowing the kinds of torture she’d put on defenceless pot of coffee before she’d be willing to drink it, but in this case…

…aye, well perhaps he wouldn’t say the words himself just yet. Not till he’d figured out whether he was thinking them and meaning rather to reference to something more than a few charred scraps of pork. Or whether she might be thinking the same. Nay, for the moment he’d busy himself in doing what he could to prevent a similar fate befalling the eggs, and finding a plate and a paper towel for these. First that, and the kind of easy habits that came with it, falling into a rhythm of sorts, and a request for Mo, to pull over a few more of the links - maybe a few more eggs too, if she wouldn’t mind - so they could start on a real second go around in fixing this.

“Aye, we should have what peace and breakfast we can before the great hordes awake and descend," she agreed, and he heard her going for the refrigerator as he leaned over to retrieve a plate from out of one of the cupboards, then took a sheet or two off the towel roll to catch the grease.

Flip the sausages out and onto the plate, and a wee bit of scraping of the bottom of the pan to loosen off the bits of char that were stuck there. Before Sean knew it, she was back right beside him, handing over the package with sausages with no particular ado. “I’ll see to the eggs," the auburn haired woman told him, and just like that, he was richer one package of sausages, and she was away again, over to the counter, where she looked to be setting up a scramble.

“Aye Lass,” Sean agreed, taking a moment to finish off his scraping, and to turn down the first eggs to the lowest simmer, all with an air that was a wee bit preoccupied, in all good truth. The rest of the sausages hit the pan with a satisfying crackle. He tossed them around a little to coat the skins, then transferred his gaze back over to their burned predecessors, in view of sorting out their salvage.

“I’m of a mind to sort this out, Sean," [Moira] began again, while he was amidst that inspection.

The Irishman frowned over one blackened casing, giving it a desultory poke. Sure, and he’d made enough messes of enough things lately, but to the point she thought a few burned sausages were beyond his powers to sort? “Well I know I let it go, but there’s no great science to it,” he began to say in answer, shifting the spatula to his left hand and picking up a knife to help him in the task. Still with half an ear to what she was saying, but in this at least, he could show her-

“if ye're of the same mind. I dinna want to go on missing ye and doing aught about it.”

“-It’s naught that a wee bit of scraping won’t…” Sean continued, right up until the point his brain caught back up to his ears and presented his mouth with an immediate cease-and-desist order, grinding the thought to an awkward halt, and bringing his head snapping around toward her “…oh.”

This? This was what she had a mind to sort out? With him? He wasn’t even sure if he’d dared to hope that, and… here she was. Opening the door to it, at least.

“Aye, I’d say that I am,” he told her sincerely, as all the confusion fell away - like the char off the side of a sausage, in fact, but never mind that now, because he didn’t want to be unclear here, “Of a mind with you.” Sorting it out. Doing something to help that. Aye… well and true, he’d like nothing better as a place to start from.

“I’m a better man with you in my life, Moira MacTaggert,” he told her, even if he was standing there like a bit more than your average eejit, spatula and knife in hand and no particular clue about what he should be doing with either of them. Watching her, to try to catch a glimpse of what she might be thinking, and just because he liked to do it, as he added, “And I’d like to think maybe the same is true for you too.”

And he’d hate to think they’d let that slip through their fingers entirely for no more reason than having failed to do anything to stop it.
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Moira MacTaggert
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Even this time of morn, they'd not be entirely safe. Not with this house full of bits and pieces of what felt like every super-hero team in existence. From those still wearing the X, to Avengers, to the Fantastic Four, to a one they'd be little more than ravenous hordes when they awoke.

That would do well enough to kill what peace, and what breakfast, the two of them might manage for themselves, so best to get on with it. To that end, sausages were fetched and handed over. Hopefully to end not as well charred as those before them. Sean was a fair hand in the kitchen and, aye, well, from what she'd heard of Emma Frost and her cooking, t'was a good thing. If they wanted those children to go generally unpoisoned, at any length.

The eggs, she'd see to herself. He had his hands full with what was there already and as well as the additions of the sausages. As well, it'd give her a moment to collect her puir, wee, scattered wits about her again as best she could manage. Not an easy task this week, and she'd certainly not prepared to deal with this over breakfast.

“Aye Lass,” Sean agreed while he scraped at the pan and she worked on the next scramble, watching him fiddle with the burner settings and set the rest of the sausages to cooking.

Aye, though, it was nice all the same, now, wasn't it? Moira would allow that, now that the awkward moments had done most of their passing. For the moment. It carried the memories of other mornings with it as she scrambled up the eggs and cast another, sidelong look at the man only a few paces away. Easy, pleasant company and that steady presence.

They'd shared many such mornings and, call her an old fool, but she still held hope that there might be room for more of the same in the future. She was of a mind to sort this out, and so she told him so. Though his mind seemed to have locked onto the sausages he was frowning over and poking at.

“Well I know I let it go, but there’s no great science to it,” he began to say in answer before she'd finished, bringing her own frown out to match it. Ah, good lord, did he think she meant the sausages? With an inward sigh, she pressed on all the same. If he were of the same mind, she was willing. If she had her rathers, she'd rather not go on missing him.

Or the sausages, either way he'd like to take it. May the good lord save her from a preoccupied man.

“-It’s naught that a wee bit of scraping won’t…” Sean continued right on, since he seemed to have built up a good head of steam on the subject. Moira just finished beating the eggs, one brow lifted and waiting for him to catch up with himself. Aye, she had missed the great galoot. “…oh.”

"'Oh', say he," Moira half-grumbled with more of an outward sigh this time, and a shake of her head. Both more fond than from any actual ire as his head made it's way round to her.

“Aye, I’d say that I am,” he told her sincerely, letting her loose a breath she hadn't even realized had been held. Och, but she really was an old fool, one who did feel more than a wee bit like a silly school girl at times when it came to Sean Cassidy, “Of a mind with you.”

There was a smile there for him, one that made it's way easily enough to her face, though it was mayhap a bit frayed at the edges; worn from the past week's events. How, exactly, they'd manage it she didn't know yet, but there was little doubt that they would manage it. They'd weathered more than a few storms in their time together.

“I’m a better man with you in my life, Moira MacTaggert,” he told her, spatula in hand and watching her as she stood herself, hip against the edge of the counter and bowl of eggs in hand. Fork halfway through a last stir or two. “And I’d like to think maybe the same is true for you too.”

Aye, well then...

That took her a bit by surprise, didn't it? Had her lips twitching upward at the corners a bit more. Mayhap softened a touch, as she looked across that little space at him. "Och, Sean, you know it is. Or should do," she told him not as brusquely as she'd meant to, half waving her fork at him, then thinking better of it. Flinging raw egg about the kitchen wouldn't be of any help this morning.

Instead, she moved over to the stove to see about putting them into the pan where they belonged. "I dinna say it enough," Moira admitted, more quietly as she set the bowl on the counter to look up at him. "But ye always have, Sean Cassidy. I'd be more of an old fool than I'd like to think I am, to throw that away for love of my own stubbornness."

There'd been too much of him not being in her life to be all she wanted or needed to know of that.
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