Somewhere the flower of farewell blooms and scatters
ceaselessly its pollen, which we breathe;
even in the winds that reach us first we breathe farewell.
--Rainer Maria Rilke
“Rogue.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t look at him, just stared straight ahead at the sun-streaked grass that lay zebra-striped beneath the summer trees. The hazy green-gold light of the afternoon filled the space around them like a mist, but her face was stone-cold, like granite.
“Kid, c’mon. Come back inside.”
“I like it here,” she drawled slowly, her steady gaze still fixed on some indiscernible object in the distance. The jaded call of a magpie chattered briefly overhead, the leaves of the trees rustling as several birds and a very large squirrel vied over the best ring-side limbs. The soft, ginger colored face of a small chipmunk peeked through the ground-covering vines at the base of a large oak and seemed to be observing the two of them with grave seriousness.
He chuffed out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he watched her. She was seated on the ground, her knees bent upward, her outstretched arms resting on them. Some part of him noted that she had managed to find a perfect symmetry of posture -- that the lines and angles of her limbs and torso echoed and complemented each other with a strong grace. Her gloved hands were fisted, one around the other, and the elbow-length white satin was ridiculously incongruous with the rust-colored tank top she wore.
“Why?” he asked finally, and she shrugged.
“I don’t like it in there. It smells like -- like --” she faltered, frowning, searching for the description she needed. Finally, she gave up and finished in a small voice, “It smells.”
He nodded his understanding. It did smell -- of blood and fear and strange men with tangy-metal-gun scents and bitter-rubber-soled-boot scents, of plastic and ice and tranquilizers and farewell.
They hadn’t had time to properly clean -- cleanse -- the mansion before they had returned richer several refugees, poorer one powerful woman. It was in a continual process of cleaning and upgrading now, but the scents still lingered, as well as the memories they carried.
Rogue hadn’t been the same since they’d gotten back; she refused to stay inside for any length of time unless she was sleeping, and even then she was known to awaken in the middle of the night and wander out onto the grounds. He knew this because he did the same thing, leaving the nightmares that plagued him like an uninvited bedfellow.
With a sigh of resignation, he walked forward the few steps that lay between them and settled on the grass beside her, close enough that their bodies brushed together, and reached out to place his hand on the inside of her wrist, intent on separating her hands so he could hold one of them. Touch was something he craved as much as she did, and she was the only one who could get away with giving it to him... because everyone assumed she couldn’t.
Her fists held fast, however, and he frowned at her, leaning forward to peer into her face past the strands of white hair that fell over her eyes.
“Whatcha thinkin’?” he asked quietly, and she shrugged, but her movements were awkward and he smelled the beginning of tears even before her eyes scrunched up a little and her nose wrinkled with her valiant effort to stifle them before they began.
“You know,” she said softly, and he couldn’t deny that he did.
He pulled on her wrist a little more insistently, sliding his fingers up between the heels of her clenched hands and prying them apart. Reluctantly, she gave in, letting him slide his hand between hers.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he told her, and for the first time, her eyes snapped to his, startled.
“I know it wasn’t my fault,” she said in a low voice, and it was his turn to be surprised. “She was the one flying the plane. I don’t know the first thing about how to work that machine; I would have never gotten it in the air if she hadn’t been in my head.”
“What, then?” he asked, baffled now. He’d assumed misplaced guilt had been behind Rogue’s inability to move past Jean’s death.
“I just miss her, is all,” she said quietly. “I liked her. She was like the big sister I always wanted to have.” She shrugged again, and the movement was no less stiff than it was the first time.
“She was...” she paused, finally opening her hands completely, and he was startled at the papery-soft feel of petals that had been crushed in her palm. He pulled his fingers away to get a look at what she held, his forehead creasing in curiosity at the bruised-purple flower that lay limp and wilted against the white satin.
His eyes met hers questioningly, and she smiled a little, sadly. “She said she was going to use them in her wedding bouquet,” she said quietly. “They stand for faithfulness.”
He flinched inwardly, as if someone had stolen all the air from his body with a hard kick to his gut. His fingertips brushed over the crushed blossom and he hung his head a little, sucking in a deep breath.
It was her turn to stare at him, evaluating his expression before she curled her hand around his, comfortingly. “It wasn’t your fault, either,” she said quietly, and he shook his head.
“Some of it was.”
A frown flitted across her face, settling between her eyebrows for a moment before she finally shook her head. “I think she understood,” she murmured, and he looked up at her, knowing his eyes were more desperate than he could help.
A comforting, sympathetic smile tugged at her mouth and she laced her satin-covered fingers with his, cradling the violet between their palms. He tightened his grip briefly and shifted their hands to rest on both their knees when she leaned her head against his shoulder. In the quiet of the afternoon, they silently searched for a stillness inside their own souls, a peace that would be strong enough to help them say goodbye at last.
The End.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The journey to writing this story was an odd one, beginning with the simple urge to write angst. I’m not sure if I managed or not. I hope it doesn’t fall too flat. Summary quote from Sarah McLachlan, “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.” Thanks to Beth for looking over this and making suggestions.