believe

by lise

She forgets, sometimes, that she's just pretending to be old.

It doesn't normally come up; normally, they're too busy living to remember that there hasn't been much living done, years wise. Because years wise doesn't count as much as what's real, and they've had more what's real than most people ever see in a lifetime. But once and a while, she has to remember that she hasn't seen a century of battle, she hasn't been to war with guns, and she hasn't, suffered, enough, to be this callous.

Monet's lying in bed, and she's all bandaged up. Left arm's in a cast, three broken ribs, possible concussion. Lots of blood when they brought her in.

Jubilee think, dully, 'Jesus. What a mess.'

Her eyes are closed. Jubilee is remembering all those times she was a bitch, mostly. All those times she didn't say the right thing, or thought something that hurt; and then, all the times that they didn't hurt, and then her stomach starts to hurt. Monet's cast is white; chest all taped up white too. It's visible under her cute little hospital gown.

She feels so young, so fucking young, today. The monitors are beeping their contentment. Jubilee can't even look at anyone's face without wanting to cry, she can't look up from her bed without wanting to cry. There are a lot of things Jubilee fears, staring down at a pale face and ugly, scratchy blanket, and today, they're all on her mind.

Monet and her, meant too much in too little a time. She was too much, too fast. Things went on track, and railroaded along, steamed along merrily, until Jubilee forgot that there were things she hide, and reasons to hide them.

Last week, Monet was beaten, almost to death, by a group of kids the same age, just for her wallet.

She managed to call the credit card companies, while Sean hovered over the phone and looked worried for me. He knows what was going on between them , and he knows that she's not what she tries to be. She's not a Logan. She's not centuries old.

Something beeps in a different tone, and Jubilee back up a little, while the nurse checks up on the status of the patient. She think, 'I've been to space, goddamnit,' but can't figure out what the relevancy of space is when Monet is lying down, broken.

Sean comes in, and she tries to cowboy up a bit. No tears, Jubilee, no sighs, find a smile. Find a way to look him in the eye. Normally, being a smart-ass keeps her busy enough so she doesn't have to look at him directly; most of the time, being a pain in the ass gets past the block. 'I've been to space, damnit. I've lived more than long enough to do this.'

He sits in the chair beside her, and says all quiet and understanding-like, "How is the lass?"

"Fine."

"And how are you?"

"A hundred years old. I'm an astronaut."

He looks at her, tries to figure out what makes a Jubilee tick behind the yellow trench coat. What's the relevancy of space-travel when Monet can't talk.

.....she's trying to figure that one out, herself.

Normally, she doesn't have time to think about things like this, she doesn't have to wonder what the relevency of space-travel is. None of them do. You just, you do it. But they don't have powers, now, and that didn't really change much, except that it changed everything. And Monet and Jubilee, they started sleeping together.

There was no space travel to live, the hero thing was taken away. But that's okay, you know? It didn't count, not in the places that matter. --Not in Monet's hospital room.

"You don't have to be smart with me, girl. I know what you are."

"Oh? And what's that?"

He smiles, soft and sad, and looks away from her, because somehow, he knows she needs him to. "Not old enough."

~*~

Because Jubilee isn't really focused on the tasks at hand, she's thinking back to a time when her and Monet were setting up the Christmas tree. Must have been a few months ago; December was a few months ago. They were doing stupid normal things, in a stupid, normal day.

Maybe they were washing the school's jet. Yeah. Because Jubilee was bitching about being all wet, and Monet smiled and said in her head something about being wet, and Jubilee shut the hell up really quick. So they were sitting there, trying not to be too obvious about flirting with the hose.

And Jubilee, looking at Monet suddenly, or maybe it was the fuselage -- but her looking at Monet is more poetic -- said, "I love you."

Monet flipped her sponge into the bucket, looking disgusted with the whole process of cleaning for once. She says calmly, "I know you do. I love you too."

But Jubilee kept looking at Monet with that funny little look, squinting as if she could figure out what was going on just by looking at the way the fuselage still had dirt on it. She said, almost confused, "But you don't understand. I have to say it."

And Monet answered, still as calm, "Of course."

So, Jubilee's thinking about how calm Monet was, right then, and trying not to think about the cast or the stitches in her forehead. They'd tried to cut off all her hair to get those in, but Jubilee, and Emma too, fought against it, so finally they just gave in and charged more for possible damages. Because, a capitalist system has to cover it's ass.

Her mind starts thinking about capitalism for a bit, wondering whether all the damage mutant superhero groups caused to buildings warranted special insurances for it, or whether Xavier's cash should go to pay for all the poor saps and their broken windows--

But then Monet starts shuffling around a little bit, and pins Jubilee with a weak glare. That's all she can manage, is a weak glare.

She gets a smile in return, and, "Was waiting for you to wake up."

The plan for the afternoon wasn't for them to be having this conversation. Jubilee was going to age a few more decades, sitting in a hard-back chair and watching stuff happen all around her. Feel very calm, that was the plan.

Monet fucks things up by saying, "I hope Ms Frost thoroughly examined this hospital before bringing me here."

Jubilee laughs, in shaky relief. Feels the plan flying out the window, since how can she stay calm when Monet's cracking jokes. The years are shed, dropped like useless pounds, and suddenly, she's too small, too small by far, to fit into the chair she's at-- those pounds leave her too light to make a dent, and not dense enough at all.

Jubilee stands up, starts pacing a little bit unconsciously. Because that's the cure for feeling too small for where you're sitting-- start moving. Stand up. Look at Monet, and say, "I was worried, M."

Monet, of course, looks like hell warmed over, but Jubilee has just enough tact not to say that. Instead, she's moved to say, "I was really worried. And. I'm not an astronaut, so, worrying kept me up."

More shuffling, and a little groan. There's pain there, obviously, and immediately Jubilee jumps to the side of the bed, hovers without the knowledge of what to do. Monet says, "Do you think I could go home now, and lay in my own bed?"

"Lemme ask Sean. He's around, I think, being hassled by the doctors. Or, hassling doctors." So Jubilee has a mission now, something to give her purpose outside of not being an astronaut, and she finds Sean drinking coffee in the cafeteria. Horrible coffee, horribly strained faces. She doesn't like it, here.

Her body doesn't weigh enough, and her face is numb.

Sean looks at her kindly. "Sit down, if you want. How is she doing?"

"She's up. Wants to go home."

Sean frowns, and absently pushes his cup away-- tolerance for awful coffee maxed out. He replies, "She's been badly injured. They think that... it was a baseball bat."

And, Jubilee has to sit down, just to rest her shaking knees. She swallows, throat closing on tears again for no fucking reason, she doesn't need this reminder that everyone is older than her, everyone knows more than she does and FUCK, there can't be anything worse than letting Sean see her cry--

Gets it under control. Swallows. "She wants to go home."

While Jubilee pictures some asshole of a kid beating in her girlfriend's face with a baseball bat, Sean says quietly, "What do you think, lass?"

Which is surprising, for Jubilee. She shouldn't have an opinion that matters. Or, she does, but she shouldn't. Not right now, not when she feels too small for her life. Sean should know her opinion doesn't weigh as much as the balloons in the hospital gift shop.

But, of course, she just says, "I think, like, home."

And Sean agrees.

~*~

Taking care of a bed-ridden person is easy enough, except for where it's hard, and Jubilee doesn't have to think much in the next week or so while Monet needs her. Being needed; she has to live again, exist in a world where other people put their marks, and so, she's spared from knowing too little.

Being needed, she can pretend that she's grown up enough to deserve the responsibility, when she's still feeling like a size three foot in a size nine shoe.

But it's almost ready to crash, in a house-of-cards sort of way or the way that a sports car with no top finds itself in a ten-car pileup on the LA freeway. Yeah-- LA. More childish memories, more remembering she's not even twenty years old.

More, remembering goddamned battles and grown-up affairs and when the hell does time catch up and say, okay, that's enough now, just be sensible and it'll work out? But it never does, because being sensible is too grown up, and being a pain in the ass is not a good enough defence anymore. More of everything that makes her feel smaller and smaller, until she's barely the size of a toilet plunger, and smaller still.

It's harder and harder, while Monet slowly gets better, to pretend she's old.

And, even saying, "I love you" takes on the quality of a five-year-old, full of wonder and everything is new. But, that's bullshit, and Jubilee *knows* it, so why is just hearing Monet say, 'good morning' enough to make her beam?

"You're quiet today, Jubilee. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I, nothing. Didn't sleep well."

"Yes you did."

Monet's the one who'd know, if anything, and Jubilee sighs, thinking, 'okay, she knows that's a lie.' Says, out loud, "Yeah. I dunno."

"Are you--"

But, then Jubilee can't handle lying to her lover, but she can't seem to tell the truth. She stares across the bed, across the everything, and frowns. Throat tightens, hands start to shake like always, and remembers, 'base ball bat. I was in space, damnit--'

Monet is quiet, waiting. Jubilee squints, and gets enough pushed down to say finally, "I feel like an idiot."

Across the gap, Monet lays her hands down on top of one of Jubilee's tiny ones, soothing. Jubilee is struck by the size of her hands; by the size of everything. But Monet says, "You aren't an idiot. You're young."

"That's what I meant to say. I feel really young."

She doesn't know that Monet's been afraid she'll never have the same kind of dexterity in her arm as she had before; afraid that she'll be afraid, walking around with a cloud of fear around her from the mugging. She clutches Jubilee's shirt, buries her face in it. Says, "We both are."

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