Talisman
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Set sometime towards the end of the six-month gap, and written for Morrioghan's 'Prelude to Revolution' challenge on Alternate Timelines.
Jean wouldn't approve of me rifling through her drawers, I know that. I couldn't see any other way. For all the time you two spent in the future, Scott, she's a twentieth-century girl at heart. There are things she won't, can't understand, and I don't have the patience to explain. Not anymore; not for her. I know it would hurt you to know I felt that way. I hope you'll never know; I hope there's nothing left of you in the body that Apocalypse took for his own. The alternative is too terrible to contemplate. But if you're out there somewhere - I can't say I believe in an afterlife, but with our family, anything's possible - please trust me when I say that I'm not doing this to hurt her. Or you.
I knew she'd keep it; she's kept everything of yours. A part of me is glad that we had so little, in the Clan. After Aliya was gone, I wasn't surrounded by countless bits and pieces to remind me of our life together. But there were a few things. My talismans. It's the closest you can come in English to what I mean, and it's as good an analogue as any. You never saw my talismans--the necklace I gave her when we exchanged our wedding vows, the green scarf she wore to keep her hair confined in battle. I carried those back with me to the past, and kept them with me until six months ago. They're someplace safe, now, but I can't carry them any longer, now that the future we shared lives only in my memory. I believe that she's free now; a very different woman, but free of the burdens my Aliya carried. Free of me.
At least, that's what I tell myself in my rare optimistic moments. The rest of the time, the truth is that I have a new talisman to carry. I'm sitting on Jean's bed staring down at my new talisman now, turning it so that the light makes the ruby quartz sparkle. It's not the visor you were wearing that day. That one was shattered and broken. I found it on the sand, after everything was over that day; I picked it up, and it was so hot it burned my hand. I don't remember it being painful; I don't think I was feeling much of anything by then. I remember Logan squeezing my wrist, making me drop it, and Hank bandaging my hand on the plane--
I knew she'd have kept your backup visor, though. The ruby quartz goggles you used to wear when you slept are still on the bedside table. I knew the visor had to be around here somewhere, so I waited until she left with Ororo and then started looking. She'll have to know eventually, but I won't explain. I can't explain. She'll have to make the connection on her own, when she sees. I suppose it's the equivalent of wearing a sign saying 'I have issues', but I don't care. I need it. I need something to remind me why I'm putting on an X-Men uniform, after all this time.
I didn't mention that, did I? Right. Me, the X-Man. Me, of all people. Wherever you are, Scott, I hope you're suitably shocked. It's not a cause for celebration; I don't WANT to do this. That's why I need the visor. I need to be able to look at it and remember how I failed you, how I let you take the death that should have been mine. I need something that will scorch my soul, a tangible piece of a life that's gone because of me.
I can almost see you working up to kick my ass already. I'm anticipating lots of comments along those lines, from the others. I don't know why they think it's going to matter. You're gone, and I'm here, trying to take your place. You'd hate that too, I know.
Hate. It's all about hate. I need to wear your visor so that I'll always remember how much I hate myself.
How much I hate myself. Not how much I love you, or miss you--Bright Lady knows I feel both, Scott, but those aren't my motives. This is all I can do; I can't live the life you wanted me to have, not anymore. I can't even cry for you, although surely you deserve that much. So I'll fight, but I won't believe. Don't ask me to believe--
I'll wear the uniform, I'll honor the dream you cherished, but I'll wear the visor, too. Forgive me for this, for wearing your memory like a noose around my neck.
My penance. Your dream. It's all I can manage. Don't ask me to believe, Scott--stay out of my dreams. Please.
Let me be alone with my hate.
fin
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