The Patron Saint of Lost Causes: Part Three
"Pizza on Christmas Eve," Rachel said, snaring herself a piece of pepperoni and bacon and managed not to drop it on the floor before she got it to their plate. They were eating in the living room beside the tree, because she'd decided that Nathan looked more comfortable on the couch. He'd been feeling better this morning than he had yesterday, but he'd insisted on coming out with her to do some last-minute grocery shopping this afternoon and had been looking definitely worn when they got back. "This still seems weird to me."
"It's good pizza, though," Nathan said, almost defensively. The pizza had been his idea. Apparently he'd decided she'd cooked for him enough, or some such thing. Rachel never would have pegged Nathan for a pizza fan. Must be X-Force's doing, she told herself with a faint smile.
"I'm just glad to see you've got some of your appetite back," she said, when Nathan gave her a questioning look.
"Three cheers for the mutant metabolism," he said wryly. "Frankly, I still feel like crap."
"You look a little better than crap." He mock-glowered at her, and she grinned. "Just a little."
"You'd better quit with the flattery, or it'll go to my head."
"I have a hard time believing that," Rachel said with her mouth full.
"Hey, I like praise as much as the next guy," Nathan protested. "I just have had sadly little of it in my life," he went on mournfully, and picked out another piece.
"You've got good choice in pizza toppings," Rachel offered brightly.
"Why, thank you," Nathan said graciously. He watched her eat for a minute, his eyes actually twinkling. She ate steadily, determined to wait him him. "Are you going to open your gift?" he finally said. "You've been eyeing it for the last hour."
She stuck her tongue out at him. She had not been 'eyeing' her gift. Just glancing at it every so often and wondering what it was. Setting her plate down on the coffee table, she pulled the wrapped box out from under the tree, lifting it carefully onto her lap.
It was heavy, heavier than she'd thought it would be, and something about it made her think 'fragile'. Maybe it was just the watchful look on Nathan's face, the warning to be careful that he hadn't quite let slip out. She unwrapped it slowly, and didn't recognize the name of the store monogrammed on the front of the box.
Inside, there was something wrapped heavily in tissue paper. She lifted it out, even more gently, and pulled the paper away.
It was a box made out of stained glass. The glass was all subtle, swirling shades of rose - the color she knew her mind glowed on the astral plane - set in a gold frame. She placed the box carefully on the table and opened the lid, only to see the innards of a music box staring back at her. "Oh, Nathan," she murmured as it began to play, some sweet, bright melody that seemed vaguely familiar. She couldn't quite remember what it was called, but she remembered it from her childhood, from before the X-Men had been killed in her time. Had her mother sung it to her? It struck her that there were lyrics to go along with it, but they were lost somewhere in her memory, just beyond reach. "It's beautiful," she said, looking up at him and wiping her eyes hurriedly. "Yours," she said determinedly, flushing a little at the smile he was giving her, "you have to open yours, too--"
She passed him the flat, wrapped package from under the tree, and watched impatiently as he opened it slowly. "You don't have to save the wrapping paper," she said in exasperation.
He gave her a lop-sided grin and tore the rest of it off in one deft movement. The momentary look of surprise as he looked down at the book of poetry was very satisfying. "William Blake," he murmured, his gaze turning suddenly intent as he opened it and leafed through. It took him a moment to find the page he wanted, and Rachel relished the slow smile that grew on his face. "'To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower'," he recited softly. "'Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour'." Nathan looked down at her, shaking his head slowly. "And you, sister dear, have great taste in poetry. The 1904 edition, no less."
"I thought you'd like it," Rachel said gleefully. That was one of the benefits of living in a university town--great bookstores.
"I do. You know, Logan would undoubtedly give me a hard time if he knew how much of a poetry fan I was."
"Probably. Do you really care?"
"Oath, no." He chuckled, setting the book down carefully on the table, well away from the pizza. "Thank you," he said softly, looking back at her.
Rachel pulled her knees up to her chest, trying not to flush again at the warmth of his regard. "No," she said quietly. "Thank you, for coming. I'm so glad you did."
"Wouldn't have missed this for the world," he said with a faint chuckle, then coughed, not quite as violently as he had been coughing yesterday. "Seriously," he rasped, grabbing his glass and taking a long sip. "We should make a habit out of this. I don't see you enough."
"You won't get any disagreement from me." Rachel closed the lid of her music box carefully, and picked up her pizza again. "So," she said, after she'd taken a bite. "Not to sound cliched, but where do we go from here?"
"You're going to enjoy your Christmas holiday," Nathan said, "and I'm going to go find myself another situation that requires my specialized talents."
Rachel looked up at him slyly. "You know, just because I'm in school doesn't mean I couldn't skip the odd week of classes and come help you if you need it," she pointed out archly, ignoring his stern look. "Telepathy's good for things like making the prof think you were actually sitting in your seat when you weren't."
Nathan snorted, then gave her a wide-eyed look that was probably supposed to be innocent-looking. "Why, Rachel, that would be dishonest," he said in mock horror. "Besides, attendance is important. Having your ass in your seat on a regular basis is a key to getting an A."
"Oh, stop it," Rachel scoffed. "You sound like my history teacher." Nathan opened his mouth, probably to make yet another smart-assed comment, but Rachel plowed onwards stubbornly. "I'm serious. While your powers are still in flux, I could be a lot of help, you know."
Nathan sighed. "I know," he said, with a strange smile. "But you can help me most by making the most of your second chance here. That fight with Gaunt--it's one of the only battles I've fought where the end result's been all good." His gaze locked with hers, direct, sincere and very slightly discomfiting.
"Don't put me on some kind of pedestal, buster," she muttered, a bit resentfully. "I'll be there when you need me, one way or the other."
"I never doubted it."
"But," she went on, giving him a stern look of her own, "you ARE staying here until you can take a deep breath, laugh, and talk for more than five seconds without coughing." She waggled a finger at him. "I have a heck of a lot of telekinesis, little brother, and I'm not afraid to use it."
Nathan laughed, then coughed, grabbing his glass again. "Won't argue with that," he said hoarsely, after taking a sip.
"Good. Oh, I forgot," Rachel said suddenly, with a mischievous grin. "I did have another present for you. Just a little one." She looked up at the tree, and the little wrapped package floated out from where she'd stashed it, over to Nathan's waiting hands.
He unwrapped it, a little more casually than he had the book, and blinked down at the little package of gourmet coffee for a moment, his mouth quirking and his face turning red. "You're trying--to make me laugh, aren't you?" he said very carefully, holding the coffee as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Rachel laughed for him, bouncing up off the floor and then plopping down on the couch beside him, giving him a tight hug. "Merry Christmas," she said.
"Right back at you, Little Red."
fin
***
William Blake, 'Auguries of Innocence' (Poems, 1863)
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold
infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
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