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Jean hadn't needed an explanation of how she was brought back to life this time; every time she closed her eyes the stains of her resurrection were visible inside her mind and heart, intricate tendrils of love that were holding her fast to this world. Emma had done it, she and the Cuckoos, uniting all of those little links into one powerful force to bring her back from the other side. There was one link stronger than the others, though. Scott's.

For a week he had given her space. She and he barely saw each other, much less spoke. At first it had been a relief to have an opportunity to ground herself in this third...fourth? chance at life. She'd been able to wrap herself in the very love that had brought her back and heal but after a day, perhaps two, it was an emptiness she felt in the space Scott was supposed to inhabit in her life. Tonight, with the dinner truly moments away Jean couldn't take it anymore. She was looking forward to seeing him, to being in the same space at him. To breathing in and out and sharing the same air.

What does one wear to dinner with the man she grew up with and grew into loving? There was nothing now that he hadn't seen her in. There were no more surprises and no more dazzling impressions to be made with frippery. Who they were, without finery and pretense, was sexy enough. After all, Jean could even look into his eyes so she chose simply: jeans, button down shirt. But she wore her hair down because she knew he loved that. And she wore a particular perfume that he had given her for their wedding. She wanted him to know, without her reaching out and without a single word exactly where her heart stood:

with him.

He would find her waiting exactly where he asked her to meet him, a nervous flush to her cheeks and in her smile. She felt like she was a teenager about to have her first kiss all over again.