driftfleet | ( 001 )

Entry tags:

( 001 )

Who: Raven and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: On the Blameless and the Heron
When: 05/10 onwards

text;

For anyone wondering, the captain and first mate of the Blameless are aware again. I think we've won the award for 'longest time gone by while asleep', but I'm not going to ask for anyone to try and compete.

Not today, anyway.

If we've missed anything important it would be nice to know, but otherwise this is just me checking in, I suppose. I'm not sure what the protocol is when you've been gone for ten years without being gone at all.

If anyone needs me, I'm on the Heron.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[he meets her eyes, and his search her face for a long moment. A part of him wants to say it isn't enough, that comfort food only goes so far when they've been asleep for days. A part of him wants to slide right into being a doctor, to make sure she gets what she needs, even if she may not want it. That particular worry has been hovering on the edges for the last day, when his body reminded him that he should eat. Just because he wasn't listening to his own worries didn't mean the rest of them should.

But instead, he just nods and accepts it. He doesn't push, because he's uncertain of how far he can. The only limits he knows anymore are with Charles, and he's eased up on those in the last couple of days]

Okay. [he finally says, a little quietly. He frowns, clears his throat, and finally looks away from her]

[ For her part, she wants him to ask. She wants to see him push the way she's pushed the others, the way the mantle has fallen to her a little as if she's going to pick up the prices. Let him run the risk for a moment, see if he can edge closer - because she doesn't bicker or fight, she's the sister? The family, the friend. It's too much and not enough and she wants to snap and bite and be cruel, but she doesn't. She swallows it all away and pushes it to one side.

It's wrong, she thinks. He shouldn't just accept it. He should fight her. He'd have made her eat even a sandwich before.

Hank had said they didn't need to talk, but Raven wonders. What if this gets worse? What if they're never the same way again? What if he realises that there's someone else out there better for him? She left, after all, and didn't come back for him. She came back for Erik and he was there waiting for her, not the other way around. ]

Okay.

[ Careful, her hand drops from his as she goes to open the door. ]

[he should fight her, despite the uncertainty. But he doesn't have it in him to push. And a part him is guilty about it, because he should be pushing, he should be doing more. You shouldn't be like this, a stubborn voice tells him, they went through so much more than you did. And while he normally ignores it, this time he listens to it. He didn't have a brush with death. He didn't lose family. Everything important to him was still there, albeit in pieces.

He can't navigate by the old boundaries anymore. New lines have been drawn, and he has to learn what they are. Then maybe, maybe he'll start pushing harder. All he can do now is simply be there, when any of them needed him.

(But they did lose someone and it hurt - it hurt more now, with old (recent) memories in his mind. It hurt and he couldn't focus on it, when everyone else's hurts were far more important. It was a tipping point, here, and he couldn't step off it, even if he was barely holding on)

She drops his hand and he shoves both in his pockets, shoulders hunching a little. He ducks his head and follows her into the room, and nudges the door shut behind them.

. . . and once more, finds himself at a loss of what to do now]

[ The strange awkwardness that overcomes them makes Raven feel all the more out of place. She shifts, uncomfortable, uncertain for a moment as she tries to gather herself back together and knit the warring parts into one person - the Raven she had been ten years ago, five days before, and the Raven she is now, all mixed up with this idea of Raven the Hero, Raven the teacher. She doesn't know who she's meant to be here, not anymore, and she carries the weight of it all heavily upon her shoulders.

She shifts, trying to make an excuse for her silence, stretching her arms above her head and letting herself move, as if she can shake off all the hurt and make herself more comfortable. It doesn't work like that, and it's hard for her, but at the same time... There's nothing else she can really do now.

A part of her considers shifting back to her natural form, but it doesn't feel right. She doesn't feel as though she can be herself right now, as if it's wrong, or she's wrong, and she smothers her self-consciousness with a huff and a tilt of her head before she turns back to look at Hank with a small, careful smile. ]

Can I kiss you properly now we're alone?

[ No words necessary then. ]

[he watches her quietly, hunched and - not guarded, no, never with her. He's always been good at hiding what was wrong in his voice, in his face - but never in the way he moved, and now is more reminiscent of the awkward, young scientist rather than the older, experienced teacher. He knows it, yet with everything weighing on his shoulders he doesn't want to put up the act. Not completely.

She turns to him and he expects her to ask something difficult. He braces for it, in the way he holds his breath for just a moment; what's wrong or are you okay or any other manner of questions he just doesn't feel like answering.

She asks something different instead, and it throws him so completely off-guard that he finds himself sputtering a little]

You don't—why would you ask? [wait no that isn't what he wanted to say] I mean—you don't have to ask.

Maybe I like hearing you say yes.

[ Which is part of it, of course, she can't deny it. She likes knowing she's wanted and welcome, and hearing Hank give a positive response? She bubbles with it and some of the sadness fades away. With everything that's happen Raven needs an anchor, something real, and that's what her boyfriend is. He's someone solid, someone that, normally, she could turn to. It's just not easy for her just now and she would be tempted to put money on it being obvious. She's never really been good at hiding from him.

For now, she closes the gap between them. One hand goes around his waist as the other goes to rest on his shoulder, Raven's body angled towards him as she leans in to claim her kiss.

It's a good thing Hank isn't the telepath; all she can think about is how much she loves him, how much she needs him, loves being around him, how scared she is she might lose him...

And it makes her kiss harder. ]

[it will always be a yes he wants to answer, just to be contrary, but instead he pulls his hands from his pockets to cup her face, leaning down to return the kiss.

It's different now, he thinks, kissing her. Not in a particularly bad way, but he knows this isn't the same as the ones they used to share. Drunk on happiness and being together and being able to spend time with one another, rather than now - ten years apart once again, weeks past an event that had shook them all so terribly that even he, as steady as he normally was, had almost been knocked over.

He'd almost lost this. He'd almost lost her, and their chance to finally, finally reconcile everything - (even though they'd already done it here, ten years past) - and he can feel his hands begin to tremble.

He hides it by matching the kiss, his own tinged with just a touch of desperation]

[ Raven shifts, pressing up and leaning into his touch - she kisses him with all her desperation, with all the warmth and the love inside of her, and it bubbles up. Everything seems to rise up inside of her as she grips at Hank, fingers clenching around the fabric of his shirt, and she thinks she's this close to breaking. She's so close that she doesn't know how to handle it - she's so close that she can't breathe properly, and she's glad she can blame it on the kiss.

She's fine, truly, she is, until she feels the gentle shake of his hands. Then she breaks.

Her hand moves up and slides into his hair as she breaks the kiss, shifting to press her face into his neck. She's the one shaking now, she thinks, and the rush of it all is awful; she doesn't want to be this way. She doesn't want to be the one that breaks, that hurts, that needs comfort, not when the others need her more. She grits her teeth and breathes in a sharp noise, swallowing the lump in her throat before she manages to push herself back together, as if she can force the tidal wave of emotions back into herself.

Taking a handful of sharp, deep breaths, leaning into his body and hating the fact that she has to ask him to be strong for her again when it's not fair. ]

I love you.

[ They rarely say it but it comes out anyway, Raven's voice shaken and uncertain as she tries to breathe, tries to speak through her emotions. ]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come back, Hank.

[being strong for her, for everyone - that much he can do. That much he can manage, when everything else seems hopeless and pointless right now. He can gather her close and hold her tightly, let her find her hold again while he doesn't ask, doesn't say a word. He presses his lips to the top of her head and stays like that, shutting his eyes as he takes a quiet, shuddering breath.

Her words make his heart twist and pound, like it can't decide what emotion to settle on.

A part of him thinks it's stupid. He'd told her he'd wait, and he had. He'd felt like that even before coming to the Fleet, telling himself that he would wait forever for her. He'd believed Charles when he'd said they'd all be together one day. Believed it with everything he had left at the time. He'd meant it when he said it. He'd meant it back home.

But a part of him still hurts. And it hurts more here, with the memories of the Fleet slotting into where they belong, because it feels like those promises hadn't meant much. Ten years and they hadn't heard anything from her.

He breathes out, slow, and his hold tightens. Waits until he can trust his voice not to sound as wrecked as he feels]

I love you, too.

[nothing could, or would ever change that]

You're back now. [and that's the part he decides to focus on]

Don't do that.

[ It's hard to lean back, so, at first, she doesn't. Raven swells with her emotions, burning from the inside out, and she can't do anything else but force herself to accept this moment for what it is; a time for brutal honesty. She can't handle it anymore, and she knows that Hank is holding back - for her sake, for Charles', for Erik's, tidying himself into little compartments so he can stand tall and strong. It's not fair, not on him or on the rest of them, and she can't handle the uncertainty anymore.

She takes a deep breath and looks up at him. ]

I am back. I went back there, too, to be with you, and Charles, and the X-Men. But it was ten years, Hank!

[ Her hands drop away and her eyes search his face, uncertain and afraid, before the words come out in a tumble. ]

Aren't you upset? Aren't you angry? You don't have to hide that - you don't have to pretend like everything is perfect, because it isn't. We can't just go back to how things were before, because they're not the same.

[ She breathes out, and she swallows. ]

We deserve better than that.

[he doesn't want to do this. He desperately, desperately doesn't want to talk about this, because he isn't sure he can make it through without something going terribly wrong.

(an old fear, saying the wrong words, being part of the reason she went away in the first place—)

Her hands drop and so do his, fingers curling into tight fists. Use your words, McCoy a slightly hysterical voice says in his head and it's been a long, long time since he's had to struggle to say anything]

I'm not pretending everything is perfect. [it couldn't be further from that. There's a quiet, controlled anger in his voice; he doesn't know if Charles is on the ship or not and so he can't let it explode out like it wants to. He has to keep a lid on it]

What do you want me to say? [and some of it spills over anyway]

It hurt every single time one of the students talked about you, or I'd see your face on the television, or someone would visit the school and it wasn't you. It hurt because all of the children look up to you, and all I see is the woman I fell in love with. I said I'd wait for you and I meant it, I did - but I never said it wouldn't hurt, Raven.

But I can't—I can't be that selfish, because there's so much more happening and - and how I feel about you hasn't changed.

[he has to take a step back to lean against the door and his voice drops to a whisper, cracked and raw]

I look at you and I see his hands around your neck and I can't be selfish. Because the thought of almost losing you hurts more than any of that.

So - so yeah, I'm upset. I'm angry. But you're home and you're here and - [and he has to stop because he feels like he can't breathe. He sucks in a breath and has to look away]

Is that what you want to hear?

[ It is what she wanted to hear but, at the same time, it isn't - she knew it was there but it hurts, it hurts so much, so much that she can't breathe for a moment, struggling to right herself in the wake of too much and too many emotions. It's thick and heavy in her throat, her heart rushing as she tries to calm herself down, and it's a familiar feeling - the feeling of panic, of uncertainty, of not being sure of herself, of her place, and she wants to break.

Hank's anger hurts, but it's what she needed; each strike makes her feel as though a weight has been taken from her, and even as she shatters under his words she knows that it was necessary. They couldn't go on like this, pretending things were okay, pretending as though there wasn't an unspoken wall between them, and both of them knew it.

The anger is cruel, but it's just, and Raven knows it. She deserves it, and he's allowed this too. ]

I wanted you to tell me the truth. What you were feeling. Maybe I don't deserve it, but - we're together. It's not about deserving or not deserving anymore - it's about making sure we know what's going on. That we know what we're feeling, otherwise we're going to be stuck and it's going to break us.

[ It's strange, to find herself being the mature one, but maybe time has done her some good - and it's not as though Hank is somehow immature. She's the one that's pushed and pushed until he's snapped, so maybe she's not quite as certain in herself as she thought she was. Maybe she's the one in the wrong.

Turning her head up, she looks at him, expression shattered. ]

Every month there was a new mutant. In a fight club, in a circus, still in labs or worse. Every month there was another one, and I would go and I would find them and I would help them get free. I would take them to a safe place and I would make sure they could travel and then I would go. I couldn't stop and make friends. I couldn't pause, because if I did all I would do is think of you and want to go back.

[ She swallows, bowing her head. ]

It was cowardly. I couldn't go back because it wasn't my home - it didn't feel like a home. It was where I lived and that was it. I knew what they all thought of me and it wasn't fair, Hank! I'm not a hero! I was never a hero, and they deserved better than some lie the televisions came up with because they didn't have a clue what happened in Washington. I was already so sick of pretending to be something I wasn't - how could I go back and live a lie like that?

[ She grits her teeth and her hand lifts, touching her neck, and she breathes out. ]

I remember how it felt. His hands. I remember him calling for Charles and knowing he wouldn't come. He couldn't walk, how could he, and with you and Moira there - there was no way you would let him go to Apocalypse, give up everything for me. I... I was so afraid, but I was - I was okay. I thought... Maybe if I died for him it would make everything okay again. Everyone would forget all the mistakes I made. It would give you time to find a way to kill Apocalypse and go home.

[ Raven feels small, and sad, and broken, and she droops into herself. ]

I didn't have hope until I opened my eyes and saw you. Then I knew everything would be okay.

[the words are out and he's hit with the urge to apologize the moment he glances up at her face again. She wanted him to talk and so he did, and while he doesn't regret saying it, he isn't sure if it was the time to say it. Not when they're both on the brink, angry and hurt and scared and so caught up in one another that it can be dangerous. They're professionals when it comes to breaking each other's hearts; this isn't the first, or the second time]

Raven - [he wants to tell her to stop; he wants to flee, to the hallway or to Charles' room or back to their ship, hide and pretend for a few minutes so he doesn't have to hear what she has to say. But as much as she deserves to hear it, he deserves it too. She may have opened the door, but he's the one who kicked it open.

And maybe she needs to hurt him, too. Maybe he deserves it, too. He'd never tell her she didn't.

So he listens. He gives her his full attention, hands still balled into fists at his side. The world they'd spoken about was here now, had been here and yet he isn't surprised that mutants were still suffering. And he isn't surprised Raven was right there through it all, helping them like she had before. He knew how she felt about how the world viewed her and he could understand it - he might not agree with it, not completely, but it is what it is and he'd never tell her she had to feel differently. The kids needed a hero. Raven didn't have to see herself that way. The home comment hurts, but it's passing, much like all of his other hurts.

But she keeps going, and he again his breath catches in his throat, a lump of fear.

He remembers, very vividly. He remembers that he was going to go out there anyway. He wasn't thinking about whether or not it'd get him killed; he was single-mindedly focused on rescuing her, on protecting Charles and Moira and the children, of doing every single thing in his power to make sure they all eventually got to go home. It had felt hopeless and bleak and yet he wouldn't let go of it.

I got you.

One hand uncurls and he reaches for hers, snagging it before he loses the nerve. And if he's holding it tighter than he allows himself to, then - it isn't a surprise. He's laid out a little bit of how he felt, and now -

Now he's at a loss of what to say. What he's supposed to say. The words tumble out regardless]

You deserve so much more than all of that.

Everything - everything will be okay. Here, too. We're good at it, you know - getting through these things and somehow managing to put most of the pieces back together. This - everything that's happened in the last ten years - it doesn't change that.

And it - it isn't fair to any of us, that we went back and it's like none of the things we said - all of us - didn't seem to follow us. I think that's why all of this is more . . . difficult. Because we all - made plans and promises and that got left behind.

But I don't think it will break us. [quietly] We don't break that easily.

[ Is it really going to get better? Raven wonders it, quietly, to herself; will it get better? Will all of this settle down, will they stop suffering, hurting each other, breaking each other's hearts? It feels impossible when it keeps happening, time and time and time again, and she hates it. All she wants is to be happy, to be with the man she loves, to be with her brother, to live in peace, and the world keeps ripping it out of her fingers.

Hank says her name and she wants to break.

This is supposed to be easy, she thinks. Falling in love is meant to make everything feel wonderful and free, as if there are no worries in the world. The problem is that she recognises the fact that no relationship is without it's struggles, and she knows that something like this is something they need to work for. They need to fight for each other, and they had promised to do that, promised to be there, to keep pushing and pushing because they love each other. They love each other so much and all they want is to be together.

She startles a little when Hank reaches out and takes her hand in his own, and she would think it was painful if she wasn't stronger than she seems. Her eyes flick up to look at him and for a moment she doesn't know what to do or what to say - if she should run again or if she needs to be here, right now, with him, to really let it all come out and then calm down. It's been twenty years of wanting to be with this one person and now they're finally here and she can't help but wonder; when will it go wrong again?

When will someone take this from them?

What if another Apocalypse comes, another Trask, another Shaw?

But you can't live like that. You can't live waiting for something to happen, for something to go wrong. She'd learned that, too, because you would lose your mind completely. ]

I don't deserve the things you think I do.

[ Maybe that's okay. Maybe that's part of being together. Offering love and tenderness and support even if your other half doesn't think they've earned it - showing them that it's what they should have, not something they need to fight and cling to. ]

We shouldn't have to keep putting ourselves back together, Hank. It's not fair. I'm so tired of fighting, of the hatred, of the prejudice. I never wanted a war. I never wanted to go to war, but we didn't have a choice.

[ She moves, slowly, shifting closer again, wanting to be close but not being able to ask for it. ]

I don't know how to do it, Hank. How to be here, how to make sure Charles isn't bleeding out, make sure Erik is safe, make sure you're not staying awake forever and exhausting yourself, making sure I sleep, going back to the ship... It's too much. I'm so afraid that something will go wrong and it'll be all over.

[he'd already decided long ago that their world was far crueler than it seemed. He'd seen it on the beaches in Cuba; in Washington, staring up at sentinels built specifically to kill him and people like him. He'd seen it in some of his students' faces, the ones who came from homes with parents who weren't as understanding as his were. Their world is cruel and swift, and everything seems to come in ten year gaps, when things have settled from the last tragedy and life has moved on. When they least expect it, and no - no, they can't live expecting something every single time they begin to feel at peace, or happy, or like life has finally given them a well-deserved break.

And it's because of their world that their relationship isn't like other ones; there's far more complications to being in love, the struggles compounded by what they are and how the world looks at them. They've always had to fight for what they had, what they wanted, and he settled with that thought long ago; he would always fight to protect what he had. He'd proven it time and again, every single time he's had to be Beast.

The fear that someone will come along and take all of that is still very real, thick in the air in the wake of Apocalypse. Someone had come along and taken someone important to them, someone had almost taken everything, and they'd fought. They'd gone to war, and it hadn't been just them like the last time, no - Scott, Jean, Kurt - they'd been there, too, and while it hurt to think they had to be exposed to it - their world had raised them to be ready for it. And they'd proven it, fearlessly and certain.

He sighs out, closing his eyes for a moment as he forces himself to relax. They're being open and honest with each other and it's a little too much for him, when half of what they say seizes him up for a moment, but - it's things that have to be said. He knows that, as much as he doesn't like it]

You deserve more than you think.

[he's being contrary, but it's no different from what she used to do to him, when she'd compliment him and he couldn't accept it]

We didn't have a choice, but - we still did it. Because we had to, even if we've been tired of it for the last twenty years. No one else cares that we are, and we hate it, but we still do it. Because we're all too damn stubborn not to fight for each other.

[she moves closer and tentatively, he tugs on her hand, a gentle invitation to move closer if she wants to. He won't ask, because he isn't sure she wants him to. But he wants her close, too]

I know. [it's his fears coming from her mouth and hearing them out loud makes them spike for a single, painful moment before he breathes out] I keep having to convince myself that we're - safe. That we're all here. [it's why he's still in the hallway, only leaving when he has to] I don't . . . know how to do it, either. Back home there was so much going on that it just - worked out, and now we're here, going through it all over again.

We just - we have to take it day by day. Even if it takes reminding ourselves that - things are fine. I won't exhaust myself past what I can handle and I'm - keeping an eye on things, and I know you're trying to sleep and staying with Charles, talking with Erik -

It seems like it's too much right now because it is. But it won't always be like this.

[ Raven doesn't know if she'll ever truly recover from what happened at Cairo. A part of her is a touch too blasé about what happened to her - she struggles with her memories of Apocalypse and his hands, she struggles with the sound of his voice echoing around her, the way that she thought it was the end, all of it a messed up, twisting horror show inside of her. Whenever she closes her eyes it's like her nightmares are playing out in front of her, and she has to try and force herself to calm down.

What she had done, that day in Cairo, was lead children into a fight they might not have survived. She had told them not to control their powers, themselves, and she had asked them to fight - and they had wanted it. She can remember being their age and wanting to take part in Cuba, wanting to be there, and Charles protecting her even then... She had hated it, being smothered, being safe, being the one to hang back and watch over the telepath, but now she can't think of anything else she would rather be doing.

She doesn't want to be anywhere Charles isn't.

Looking up at Hank, she feels as though she's going to unravel, as if the parts of herself she's pushed together are going to fall apart. She can't hold herself together, not really, and she grips Hank's hand a little tighter. It's only now, with him talking to her, finally airing her thoughts and her heart, that she feels that maybe that would be okay. Maybe it would be alright if she kept holding onto him, too. Maybe it would all work out of she let herself break when she was with him, so Charles and Erik didn't have to feel the backlash of it.

Breathing out, she nods her head.

There's no point arguing with him on some of these things, and she accepts that he imagines she deserves more than she does. Instead, she lets her fingers grip his more, and she swallows the lump in her throat before she manages to tilt her head up to respond, her voice quiet. ]

We need each other. It doesn't matter how many years go by, all of us - you, me, Charles and Erik... We need each other. I went up there with Peter and I told him we were family, I told him that he had me... And it's true. All of us are connected, and no one can fight it. We can't fight it. I don't think any of us think otherwise, not now. It hurts, but... Isn't that okay? For us to finally be together, when we can? That's what we fought for.

[ She does move closer, and she rests her forehead against his shoulder for a moment before she manages to find her words. ]

I want to believe things are going to get better. Time heals, doesn't it? I don't know if there will ever be a time that I don't worry about Charles, or a time where - where the nightmares go away, Hank. I can't imagine a future where I don't think about what we could have lost. I'm so afraid that one day I'll wake up and this will be the dream.

[to Hank, this is will end up being a scar like Cuba. Like Washington. Bigger, certainly, wider and deeper than either of those went, but it will heal. Maybe not completely, and some things will always linger. He knows this, when he thinks about it logically. He knows they'll all get past this, return to their routines and their lives and one day, they won't look at each other and see the wounds they carried back. There won't be any fear that the others will disappear.

But that's logically. His heart still says otherwise, as desperately as he wants things to end up being okay.

He's been on the verge of breaking since they woke up, and the only thing that hasn't sent him over the edge was his concern for everyone else, as always. Focus on everyone else, their needs, their wants, and it makes it easier not to let it all crash. It's harder this time, when this was far too personal, too close—especially with Raven pushing at him to admit things, but - he's still in relatively one piece. He'd been broken once before, years ago, and he couldn't imagine letting that happen again. Not when so many people depended on him.

He listens quietly and when she steps close to rest her head against him, he ducks his own to rest against hers, fingers tightening around her hand in return. They're not broken but they're certainly a mess, but it will settle. It has to settle. They're not the kind of people to let this consume them - not anymore]

We're all family. [it's a quiet agreement. That had been a word he'd struggled with years ago, but now it came easily. It was just how it was]

There'll - I can't say there won't be a day like that, because - I worry about the same things. But I know it'll get easier, with time. It always does. What's the point in fighting as hard as we did if - if we're going to let it get to us now, you know?

[ This is far worse than Cuba and Washington had been, and Raven knows it. She had healed from those days, let herself grow and get better, even if it had been hard, but this feels so overwhelmingly different that it's hard for her to rationalise that they're all going to be okay. It's hard for her to look to the future and see that there's a chance they're going to figure it out, just because it doesn't quite make sense. It's an unbearable pain that settles around her, and she can't see through it; it's as if she's trying to navigate through a rainstorm.

She's much like Hank, not that she knows it. Logic might say to her that they had struggled and survived before, but in the here and now she is blinded by her heart and her emotions in a way that she can't quite put into words.

Instead, she leans into Hank, tilts her head up to press against him, closes her eyes and basks in having him there at her side. I got you, he said to her, and he meant it there and she knows he means it here, too. He's with her, standing there, and he won't let her fall. She won't let him fall either, and they're a balancing act, leaning on each other just enough that they don't slide under the weight - and maybe that's a part of being in love too. Maybe it's what makes them so much stronger as a pair.

It takes Raven a little while to lift her head to look at Hank, and she softens before she closes her eyes again, letting herself hold onto everything he's saying. It makes it easier to believe, coming from him. ]

So you're saying in a few months time we'll look back on this and think that we were being ridiculous for thinking it won't get better?

[when she leans into him he lets his other arm go around her, holding her gently, despite the grip they have on each other's hands. Not for the first time does he wish things had been easier, that they could get through this with a wave of their hand and go back to how things were. But he knows that's not possible; it'll never be how it was, because ten years had passed. They were different people. Things that once worked may not work now, and he knows it.

And here complicates it, but he doesn't focus on that too much. It isn't fair, and it isn't what any of them deserve, but it's what they've been dealt. And none of them have ever been dealt a fair hand in their lives - it came with being mutants, with being who they were, people who cared so much and so deeply that it left them like this, in the wake of disaster.

He sighs and faintly shakes his head, trying to find the right words. He's been doing that a lot lately, trying to figure out what to say. Sometimes he wishes he could just say what came to mind, but - no. He hadn't been like that in a long time]

I'm saying in a few months we'll look back on this and be thankful we didn't give in to believing that.

That would be nice.

[ Raven accepts it because she wants to believe in it. After the pain and heartache and terror of Cairo and the twisting confusion of waking up here again she needs something good she can accept, something nice, and wonderful, something she can cling to, and this is enough. It's enough to have something to look for in the distance, something to fight for, and giving her that lets her have a kind of determination she wasn't certain she'd be able to manage if she had been here alone.

She's so desperately thankful for Hank and everything he does for her that it's difficult to put it into words. He has raised her up and made her feel far stronger and braver than she had felt in a long time, and it wasn't just here, either. He had believed in her before Cairo, before the mansion had exploded; he'd had faith in her for years, and years, and she doesn't know how to handle it. All she knows is that she doesn't know how she would survive without him.

Tilting her head up, she moves her other hand, shifting so she can lean to press her mouth against his. It's gentle, and soft, and she doesn't push to make it any more than that - she just kisses him because she can, because he's there and they're together and she feels as though she might be able to do this. ]

Thank you.

[maybe it's being around Charles for so long, but he needs the same thing - some sort of hope he can grab onto to get them through times like this. He knows it's easier to give in and let everything collapse on top of him, and he knows trying to look at things this way is more difficult, but - they've never taken the easy road, either. They've made it through so many terrible, terrible things that soon this would be alongside the others. Months from now, maybe years from now, but - it would happen.

It's a small part of why he can so easily say nothing's changed between them. Yes, he's angry and upset that ten years separated them again, but that didn't need to complicate everything else. His feelings hadn't changed despite how he felt, and hers hadn't either. They needed to talk - like this, and maybe in the future too, but - they'd always be together. They could depend on each other without doubting it.

It's why it's easy, to lean down and kiss her back, just as gentle. His arm around her tightens just a little bit, welcoming her closer without words. Telling her that this is okay, and it always will be]

You're welcome.

[ It doesn't really surprise her, how comforting it is to know that Hank is going to be there no matter how hard things get. She's still not completely comfortable with the fact that her promises had been broken and that she feels as though she had lied, but it's something they can work on. The two of them are going to be able to manage this, and she's sure of it - they've been through trouble in their relationship before. This is harder, true, but... They can do it.

The comfort she feels when she can lean up to kiss him washes through her and chases away the nightmare of her own twisted, tangled emotions. She feels it burn inside of her and she nudges herself forward so she can settle against Hank, tilting into the kiss and giving him more, gentle presses of her mouth against his, little moments to remind him of just how loved he is. She's so glad he's here, so glad they're not alone, and she doesn't want to think about what might have happened if she had awoken without him.

Her hand moves, finally, to brush over his cheek and she softens, closing her eyes. There aren't enough words, she thinks, and trying to say them all would do no more than make her trip and stumble into making an idiot out of herself. ]

I'm sorry for pushing you into a corner, though.

[he quietly welcomes each of her kisses, her gentle touches and it helps him shove back all the things he admitted to earlier. Not all of it - oh, he was still angry and upset, but the parts of that directed at her weren't necessary anymore. He could tuck them back away, so he could instead focus on her, right now, standing in front of him in one piece.

Things would have been very, very different, if he had woken up and she hadn't been there. He knows he would've been a mess, more than he was now. That instant reassurance that she was okay, that he could look at her and touch her and confirm it for himself - that was what really made a lot of this easier. Even if he slipped a little, he could hold onto that.

He shakes his head at her apology and lifts his hand to push some hair behind her ear]

Don't worry about it. I'm sorry, too - for snapping at you. [for all that he actually did that]

You didn't snap, and even if you had I'd have deserved it.

[ It's easy, then, to lean into the touch. They've aired their hurts and their problems and while they haven't gone away it's better, now, because there's no more wondering and worrying. Raven knows that what happened in their world wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, that she was gone and she had promised to go back, that Hank had to live with the knowledge of her absence, but she, in this moment, had no control over that. The only thing she had control over was what she did and said now.

They're together. That's what she needs to focus on. No matter what happens, how bad things get, she and Hank are together - they can lean against each other, trust each other, and be there for one another. It might get hard, and there might be arguments, or fights, or worse, but... They're together, and they love each other, and they care about each other. That means that they're going to fight, just like they promised.

She doesn't want to move, not even an inch. Right now, wrapped up in Hank like this, she knows she can be happy. Everything else can go away and leave her alone for a while - leave the both of them alone so they can take some time to actually recover. ]

How long until the world needs us, do you think?

That's not true.

[after all, he'd always been bad at being angry, whether it was simply holding it back time and again or letting it explode at the wrong time, it was something he hated feeling. He hadn't been this angry, at anyone or anything, in a very, very long time, and it left him feeling wrung out. Like it took all of his energy to be angry at what happened and there was very little left for the rest of the things he felt.

At her question, he tilts his head once more, listening. It's harder in this room, to hear down the hallway but there's nothing to hear. It's quiet, as it usually is. When he'd been sat in the hallway, everything he had heard, he'd had strain to hear]

I think we have a while.

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