Melody Unchained

I look at the cross in my hand. I wear it every day, beneath my clothes and next to my skin, where I can feel Jesus close to me all the time. "I used to think that that was enough."
Jean follows my gaze. She's still wearing the black trouser suit that she wore to the funeral, and manages to look effortlessly beautiful, as usual, despite the fact that her red hair is tied back into a severe ponytail, and her face is virtually bare of make up. "I don't follow," she says gently. I don't have to be a telepath to see that she is trying to coax me to talk, since I haven't been doing much of that since Moira... since it happened. Since the only person I ever really knew as a loving parent was buried.
"I used to think my faith was enough to keep me going," I say softly, looking at the tiny figure crucified on the golden cross. "I used to think that I could rely on that, so that I'd be prepared for Moira's death. She told me that it was going to happen sooner rather than later. She told me I should be ready. I thought I was." My face twists uncomfortably, as I remember Moira slipping from me as the Legacy Virus tore her apart. I can still remember the look on her face as her heart stopped beating. She looked... peaceful, I suppose you could call it. Free from pain. About as far away from the person she had been a few moments beforehand as it was possible to get. "I found out the hard way that I wasn't." I look away from the little crucifix, and I can see Jean's tears beginning to bead at the corners of her eyes.
"Oh, Rahne, we never are. I know how often the Professor has to face up to what the cost of his dream has been up until now, and every life that's lost hits him as hard as the last. You saw him crying while they lowered the casket, didn't you? I promise you, he feels the pain of John Proudstar's death as much today as he does Moira's, and I feel Scott's... loss... as much now as I did the instant it happened." She laces her fingers together around her knee after flicking a troublesome forelock out of her face, and continues "Death is something you shouldn't ever get used to, sweetheart. All you can do is try to put it behind you as best you can, and move on with your own life. You have people here who love you, and who hate to see you hurting like this. We can help you, Rahne, I promise. But you have to let us in." She leans forwards to embrace me, and I clutch her to me, almost as if I am too terrified to let go. It's too much, too fast, and the burning pain is beyond my ability to keep it inside.
"Oh, Jean, I miss her so much!" I sob, my voice cracking. "What did I do to make God so angry? Why did He take her away from me? Why did He take Doug?" Jean strokes my hair, and I feel her slipping into my mind gently, her telepathic presence like a gentle kiss on bare flesh. It's comforting, in a way.
*Shh, Rahne. Shh. You didn't do anything, I promise.*
"Then why did this happen? What did I do wrong?" The hurt and pain in my voice causes Jean to flinch, and I feel her reaction through the mutual psi-link she has established. I look up at her through blurry eyes, feeling my lower lip tremble involuntarily.
*You didn't do anything wrong, Rahne. I know Kurt could probably answer this better than I could, but... from all I've been through, I know that death isn't the end. I've been there, my darling, and I know that death is just like a doorway to be passed through. Don't be sad, Rahne - Moira wouldn't want you to be that way. She wouldn't want you to think about her death; she'd want you to think about her life.* She sighs, and kisses my forehead. *When I think of Scott, I don't think of him as Apocalypse's host, dying to save a son he never even had. I think of a brave, dedicated man who had the most wonderful soul I've ever felt. I think of a man who would do anything for the X-Men. I think of a man who could endure anything for his friends. I think of a man who I could take for long walks in the moonlight without complaining once. And I think of a man who promised to love me for ever, no matter what.* She smiles a small smile, and brushes my tears away from my eyes with her fingertips. "You see, sweetheart? Now you try. What comes to mind when you think of Moira?"
That makes me think. I try to put aside the more recent past, which has been more downs than ups, and my mind fills with pleasant thoughts. "She used to tell me stories of our ancestors when she put me to bed at night, and she used to act it all out for me, too," I begin. "She showed me her clan tartan, and we made our own for me. We put it together a piece at a time every weekend. She showed me a broadsword that her family had owned for hundreds of years. I could barely hold it, it was so big. She picked it up like it was nothing, and she acted like she was St Andrew himself, fighting the English at Bannockburn, or Bonnie Prince Charlie, or something." That brings a little laugh to my throat. It feels unwelcome for a moment, but I let it linger, because I want it to be there. It feels better than crying, that's for certain. "She took me to Loch Ness for a treat one day. And you know it really was a treat - we didn't get to go anywhere but into town for most of the year, and this was hundreds of miles away." Jean smiles.
"Did you see the monster?" she asks. I shake my head.
"No. Nessie decided to stay wherever it is that he stays that day. I forgot my camera, so it was just as well. I'd never have forgiven myself if he'd popped up and I couldn't take a picture." Jean laughs, and strokes my hair lightly.
"I don't blame you, Rahne," she says. "I don't think I'd have been able to forgive myself if I'd done the same. "Can you think of anything else that you remember about Moira?" I scratch my head, and ponder the question for a moment.
"She... she gave me a brooch that her mother had given her, just after she took me away from Reverend Craig. She said that it was an heirloom, passed from oldest daughter to oldest daughter, and that she thought I deserved to have it, after being so brave. She pinned it to my dress and kissed me on the cheek, and she called me her daughter. I felt so proud that day. I thought that I had finally found my place - the place where I belonged." Jean tilts her head.
"And what about now?"
"I feel... alone." I shake my head. "I know I have people here to listen to me, Jean, but it'll never be like it was with Moira and Doug. You understand, don't you? Moira raised me as her own daughter - I can't ever feel that with anybody else. And Doug - he cared so deeply for me, and I for him, that I don't think I'll ever stop hurting over his death."
Jean nods in understanding. "I think you should be worried if you do, Rahne, because that would mean that you don't care about him any more." She points to her chest. "I feel the pain Scott's death caused me, here, every day. But like I said, I don't let that dominate the way I remember him. If you remember the good times, sweetie, their lives will have meant something." She embraces me again, gently, and laughs at herself softly. "I guess you can see why I'm not a public speaker, huh?" That makes me smile, just a little.
"Thank you, Jean. You did make a difference. Thank you."
She hugs me a little tighter. "No problem, sweetie." I can feel her fingers tighten involuntarily as she speaks.
We sit there for a little while longer, sharing our grief, and it makes both of us feel better, just a little.
I love you, Mummy.
I love you, Doug.
I'll see you again soon, I promise.