Title: Hold On
Codes: Monet/Jubilee, f/f
Author: Alex SisterWolf
Email: Alexsisterwolf@netscape.net
URL: http://www.angelfire.com/mn2/AlexSisterWolf/xmenindex.html
Rating: PG-13
Short Summary: Longing and memory.
Disclaimer: All characters belonging to Marvel Comics are used without permission, but with no intent of copyright infringement, and no profit is being gained from this work.
Archive: With permission
Notes: I've changed a few canon details where they didn't fit the flow of the story or didn't, honestly, make much sense at all.
Dedication no. 1: To the writers of revolution-f, who started me thinking
about Monet and Jubilee...
Dedication no. 2: To Mellie.

Hold on
Hold on to yourself
Cause this is gonna hurt like hell...
   --- Sarah McLachlan

No. You will not cry.

You are the daughter of an ambassador. You are Monet St. Croix. You will not cry.

Not over this. Not over the sight of Jubilation's ridiculous green hat receding in the distance as the limousine pulls away.

Not over a hyperactive, immature mall-rat with the attention span of a toddler on a double-espresso... No, I can't be cruel to her. Not even in my private thoughts. Not immature, not after the life she's led. She hides that maturity behind a wall of sarcasm and gum-cracking. Only at rest, in the quiet nest of my bed, I have seen such shadows in her eyes...

Oh, god, I miss her. Not even to the airport yet and the missing her is a pain under my sternum, near my heart. I never knew that heartache meant a literal sensation. And yet it's there, this emptiness where I never even knew she'd crawled under my skin.

Memories: one a.m. on the back porch. The smell of her cigarettes in a light breeze. I hated her cigarettes with a passion. I told her I'd buy her anything, anything at all, if she'd just quit smoking. She told me that she'd tried before, and failed, and so she figured she'd just keep smoking until she stopped needing to. She'd stopped needing marijuana, after all, and there was a point at which she smoked that at least once a day.

I stared at her, somewhat shocked, trying to figure out how she'd gotten _that_ past Ms. Frost and Mr. Cassidy. She laughed at me then, quietly, and said, "That was before the X-Men, silly. Like I could have gotten something like that past Wolvie."

"But you were... you must have been thirteen when you joined the X-Men. Surely..."

She grinned at me, blowing smoke downwind so that I wouldn't have to smell it any more than necessary. "Yeah, I was. Jeez, have I managed to shock the oh-so-sophisticated Monet St. Croix? Write this one down in the history books, boys!"

I scrambled for composure. "I was simply taken aback."

"It's okay, babe. Just teasin' ya." She seemed to be looking into the distance, concentrating on a point that I could not see. "Yeah, I was just thirteen. Orphaned, ran away from the juvie hall, lived in the mall. You'd be surprised... there weren't a lot of us, maybe a dozen at most, and we got along by shoplifting and stealing purses. Runaways, mostly. You know the drill. Drugs were always easy to get if you had the cash or you were willing to barter. I was good at stealing, so getting weed was never a problem for me. And it just... made the pain go away for a while. Made everything soft, so I didn't have to think about what a fucked-up mess my life was for a while."

She shook her head, grinding out her cigarette. I moved closer, tentatively, not wanting to spook her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She rubbed her cheek over my hand, catlike, and I scooted over, putting an arm around her shoulders. She sighed and leaned into me, speaking quietly. "Then one day I saw Betsy, Rogue, and ‘Ro. Didn't know who they were, but they were dressed well and carrying those little purses that are easy to snag in a crowd, so I followed them, nothing more on my mind than getting some cash and maybe a credit card or two that I could sell. Then they walked into a cul-de-sac, no crowd, no way to snag a purse without getting caught, and I was almost about to give up and move on, and then the strangest thing happened. A portal opened up, a glowing disk opening into someplace... someplace _else_-- and they stepped right through it. And I followed them through. And I'm thinking to myself, damn, Jubes, what the hell are you getting yourself into now?"

She laughed, that rough little sound I loved. I didn't say anything, afraid that I'd break the mood. Jubilation almost never talks about her past, except of course for her incessant "when I was with the X-Men" stories, and I'd never heard the real story of her joining the X-Men from her before. "So I manage to get through without them noticing me. And I'm in some weird abandoned military base. So I skulk around, doing what I do best, and I figure out that I've managed to follow the freaking X-Men home, and not only that, but I'm in the middle of the goddamned Outback! So I find a nice little nook in the sub-basements and hang out, stealing food from the kitchens and occasionally stealing clothing from the women. And let me tell you, they were wearing some seriously freaky shit back then. Ororo had a mohawk and she wore black leather. I shit you not."

Sobering, she continued, "And then one day they all just left. No warning, just took off. Guess they were sick of the Outback or somethin'. So I'm kinda freaking out, cause I'm in the middle of nowhere, and the food they left ain't gonna last forever, and I have no idea how I'll get back to civilization, or even if Australians have malls for me to be a mall-rat in. And I was poking around up top, trying to find out if they'd left a car or something, and then I... I found him. Wolvie. The Reavers had strung him up on a big X-shaped cross and left him for dead. And I thought he was dead. He looked awful, you know, completely covered in blood, and nails sticking through his wrists and his ankles, and I thought he was dead. And then he spoke."

She was silent for a few moments. I rubbed her arm gently, in little circles, trying to comfort her.

"I had to pull the nails out of his wrists and ankles. He was too weak to do it himself. Wolvie... he was so weak, he could barely move. I had to half-drag him out of the rain. Anyone else would have died with what they did to him. And I saved him. Me. Worthless little mall-rat Jubie managed to save someone's life. He told me... he told me I did good. And I started to believe that maybe I wasn't such a worthless little fuck-up." She shrugged, pain and self-doubt clouding her voice.

I hadn't meant to speak, but I couldn't stop myself. "You are not now nor have you ever been worthless or a fuck-up. I won't allow you to say such things about yourself, Jubilation."

She shifted so that her forehead leaned against mine, only inches between our eyes, our lips. "Shhhhh, chill out, babe. ‘Sokay. I know. I know."

I kissed her on the lips, gently, her lips so soft, so different from a man's. She slipped into my lap, leaning her head against my shoulder, her hand tracing small circles across my breastbone. I cradled her in my arms, so small, such a surprisingly small body to contain such a fierce spirit. "I love you."

"Love you too, M. C'mon, let's go get naked."

And now I am leaving her. The road is humming under the limousine's wheels and I am leaving her behind.

Her blue eyes, her cheeky grin, her smooth golden skin, the way her hair stands up in little spikes. Her husky laugh, her gum-cracking insouciance, her fierce loyalty to the people she loves.

And I love her. And I am leaving her.

I cannot, I cannot do this. Loyalty to my family, loyalty to my father, and yet... and yet...

How can I leave her?

Memory: I am walking up the stairs in front of her. She gropes my rear and just laughs when I scold her.

Memory: I am shopping with her in the city. She joins me in the little changing room. We share long, deep kisses, leaning up against the full-length mirror.

Memory: Everett's funeral. She looks so tiny, incredibly fragile, her reddened eyes the only color in her face. I embrace her and we rock together, sobbing.

Memory: The first time we kissed. Tentative, among the scattered papers of our late-night study session. Drawing together, drawing apart, not yet knowing if this is right.

Memory: The first time we made love. Not quite sure of what I was doing, wanting so much to make it good for her. The bone-deep pleasure of watching her orgasm, so beautiful it made my breath stop.

Memory: The last time we kissed. Tears standing in her eyes as she tells me how much she loves me, how much she'll miss me.

I cannot do this. I cannot leave her. I know where my duty lies, with my family, with my father, but I know where my heart lies.

"Turn around. We're going back," I tell the chauffeur.

I know where my heart lies.

***end****