@scxttsummers
The red of Scott’s glasses prevented her from making out his expression. Once, it wouldn’t have mattered. Once, Jean had always been able to tell what he was thinking, even before they’d had a psychic link. They’d never actually needed it. One look had been enough, a perfect team, on and off the field. Not anymore, clearly, if her performance in today’s mission was anything to go by. She’d just been off, a little bit behind every move the team had made, a little too slow to follow every instruction, throwing everyone off balance. “So,” Jean broke the silence eventually, looking up at him and then away again. “That didn’t go well. Maybe I’m not ready for-” She stopped. There was nothing Jean felt particularly ready for: not being alive again, not pretending everything was fine and normal, as though she hadn’t gone power mad and killed a lot of people, begged Scott to kill her, and then killed herself. Maybe that was what it came down to, in the end, like it always had for Jean: Scott Summers. Not ready for him. She was definitely not ready for him. “For being on the team again.”
