Betsy and Jean. Two Logs, both Backdated :)

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Not one, but two Jean/Betsy logs. Fun!

Friday night, the 8th of July.



Jean had finished her aerobics workout a while ago, and had been quite happy with herself. She was still a ways off from the form she'd been in two years ago, but she was getting much closer to something like proper shape. Now she was set up in front of the bag, going through some of her old hand to hand drills. She was much more out of shape when it came to this, though, and while she'd had offers to spar to help her get back in shape (Ororo was definitely the most persistant), Jean hesitated. Her powers were still not under control,
so it wasn't like she would be rejoining the team any time soon, and besides, some part of her really disliked the idea of being in combat.

Jean suspected that that was the part of her she tried not to listen to so much anymore, but it was getting harder to tell when that little
voice in her head was being her conscience and when it wasn't.

So she worked her way through the drills, not pushing herself as hard as she perhaps could, but trying not to be excessively sloppy, anyway.

"Looking pretty sloppy there, Jeanie." Betsy commented, cutting through the private diatribe Jean Grey was obviously putting herself through. Moving from the doorway toward the center of the gym and the other telepath, Betsy tightened the black, fingerless gloves on her hands. "Though, considering that you were out of it for two years, I'm not surprised."

Betsy stood in front of Jean, her features set. She took her stance, hands up in the ready. "Come and get it, old girl."

Jean blinked, surprised. she'd been to caught up in her own thoughts to notice betsy's shielded mental presence. now she watched the other woman take up a position opposite her warrily. their... disagreements had toned down considerably since the wedding, but there were still many tense undercurents to their interactions.

Sparring, jean felt, would be a bad idea for so many reasons. "I think not," she said, stepping back. "But if you wanted the gym, it's all yours. I was just about done, anyway."

"Not particulary," Betsy said, straightening up from her defensive pose. "I just happened along and thought you could use something solid to work against since you didn't have access to the Big Room downstairs." There was an eerie casualness to her voice, as if it didn't matter if Jean choose either way but the focus in her eyes was enough to hint otherwise. "Unless, you're not up to it. Don't want to rush your rehabilitation, and all."

Jean's lips thinned, partly at the reminder that Betsy had access to the danger room and she didn't, but mostly because she wasn't in any shape to really spar and it was her own fault. "You do know it was two years ago, I'm not still recuperating," she said, perversly annoyed at the idea. physically she was fine.

"Come on, then." Betsy took her defensive stance again. "Let's have a go. We both know you're fit and ready." She clapped her hands together then spread them back apart, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Jean to react. "There's no point in coddling you. We both know that you want back in. And it's going to take some work, but I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't I think you can handle at least some light sparring."

Which, oddly enough, Jean believed. Her hands drifted up to tighten her ponytail and keep her hair out of her eyes as she stepped away from the bag. This is insane, that oh-so-helpful voice told her as she settled into a defensive stance. "All right," was all she said.

Betsy didn't wait for Jean to finish speaking. She quickly threw a fist at Jean's right side, feeling the quick tension in her opponent's body as she blocked the blow. "Thatta girl," Betsy smiled knowingly. "Now, are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to give us a show?"

Jean's instincts remained, and the knowledge of how to think her way through a fight (and when not to), but the muscle memory was faint and it put her timing off. She let betsy take the ofensive - there was no question of Jean winning the bout, out of practice and already having gone through a full workout, but each blow that didn't land was a small victory.

"Lighten up. You're doing good." She unloaded another few sharp rounds, still wearing that infuriating smile. Betsy gave the other woman an assessing glare before collapsing on the floor, laughing. "Just try not to look so uptight."

"I don't know," Jean said, sounding winded. "For my first spar in more than two years, I'm allowed to look tense, I should think." But she smiled as she said it, and nodded to Betsy. "Thank you for the bout. It was... useful. But now I need to stretch and shower. Good luck with your workout."

"Aw, you're leaving?" Betsy mock-pouted. "But we haven't gotten to the fun bit. You know, the posturing and witty comebacks." She huffed slightly, all the while, trying hard not to laugh. "I haven't even broken out in a sweat yet!"

"I'm afraid that you'll have to entertain yourself with you're own wit. Shouldn't be too hard," Jean said, then turned and headed out.

"Would it have killed you to play pretend," Betsy said to herself, watching the retreating form as she exited the gym.



Wednesday night, the 13th of July. Betsy runs into Jean at Harry's, who's been having a rough time with her TK.



If she stayed away from every breathing thing, perhaps she'd be able to have a notable evening. And the only place to find the dependability of no-conversation attached drinks, Harry's. She walked inside the bar and headed for the back. Just a few hours away from
the school and she should be back to normal.

Jean's daily tk practice had gotten... a touch out of hand. Ok, so maybe it was her own fault for getting frustrated and pushing too
hard. The end result, however, of having her shields collapse again, leaving her with a splitting headache and a desire to decapitate the worst of the school's mental noise polluters had, at least, the positive outcome of insuring that she would not do
that again.

Instead of actually starting on a path of justifiable homicide, Jean had headed out of the school, seeking peace, mental quiet, and a couple of beers to resettle her system and wipe out the headache. Harry's was perfect for all three, and offered the additional bonus of
a pool table to kill time at, so the evening found her there, a perspiring bottle set on the corner as she lined up shots and watched
pool balls drop into the pockets with a calming regularity.

The color of red made Betsy's head snap to her left, at a table by the pool table. Betsy sighed and decidedly headed in the opposite direction. She could still salvage the evening. Yes, if only she could get passed without someone in particular noticing.

Of course, with her sheilds down Jean was even more sensitive to the random thoughts passing through the minds around her, and there weren't enough people in the building to disguise Betsy's mental presence, especially not once she'd noticed and started thinking about
Jean. She looked up and followed Betsy's path with her eyes, not saying anything. If the other woman wanted to avoid her, that was fine
with Jean. Although, really, her current mental state was rather pushing at Jean's mostly-gone headache in an unpleasant way. "Want to
tell me what's up?" she finally asked, not-entirely-on-purpose catching Elisabeth just as she'd decided that maybe she had not been noticed.

Betsy stopped mid-step, her shoulders slumping. She looked over at Jean and decidedly walked over to her table. "I was simply hoping that I'd get a few drinks in me before I actually had to come over. But," Betsy shrugged, the motion didn't have as much fight in it as it had a few days earlier. "You beat me to it."

"You look worse than I feel," Jean said, although not unkindly. "But then, I've already had the few drinks. Looks like Harry's anticipated
us both, though," she added as the bartender headed their way with Betsy's usual g&t and another beer for Jean. "Want to talk about it,
or should I pretend you're shielding better than you are?" She wasn't exactly drunk, but getting rid of the headache had loosened her tongue a bit.

"I'm good. Honest." The corners of her lips upturned, forcing Betsy to place her hand over her mouth and clear her throat. It was hard to keep a straight face, so she took the gin and tonic and took a healthy sip from it. "Though it seems like you're not having such a good day either."

"Yeah, sure you are." A smile snuck it's way onto Jean's face and she reached over to finish the beer that Harry had come to replace, setting the new bottle in the same spot. "Pushed too hard this afternoon trying to control my TK and ended up blowing my shields into
itty bitty bits. Loads of fun."

"I can tell," Betsy said grimly. "Is it helping?" She motioned to the beer bottles lined up on the table top, raising a dubious eyebrow at them. "I always thought you were more of a wine drinker."

"The beer is for the headache, more than anything. Backlash from when my shields cut out. And I'm fond of beer, especially if there is pool involved.

"It seems like the stars are plotting against us," Betsy said with a snort. Tipping her glass toward Jean, smiling understandingly. "I'll work on keeping my thoughts to myself and buy you a drink on top of that."

"At least today, it does," Jean agreed. She eyed the series of bottle and shrugged lazily. Another one wouldn't hurt. "I'll take you up on that, if you tell me why we're being homicidal towards Manuel this time. And let me help when you decide to kill him."

Betsy quickly finished her drink and signalled for two more from Harry before speaking. "You know the usual. The confrontation, the argument, and the threat. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I'm concern," Betsy said with a grim smile.

"Or as far as he is concerned," Jean said, lining up another shot. "We really ought to petition Charles to let us muzzle the little brat." Clearly the alcohol had affected Jean more than she thought.

"I think Nate's tried a few times to no avail," Betsy said, laughing outright at the comment and then at Jean's focused expression on the beer bottle. "I don't think it'll do any good though, I'll still want to hit something after spending two minutes in the same room with that twat."

"Well, yes, the three of us would be at a disadvantage. Especially since you know he'd just start thinking Very Loudly about how unfair it all is and how nobody cares, boo hoo." The shot went in, remarkably, and she moved around the table to look for another angle.

"Exactly," Betsy said, slamming her hand enthusiastically on the table. "It's right unfair, that's what that is. The three of us have gone through our fair share of hardship, yet we haven't mustered so much as a peep in the grand scheme of things. Nate has broken his brain more times than I can count, I lost control of my faculties due to a rather unpleasant possession," Betsy said with a rather soothing sip from her glass. "And you died for fuck's sake. I think our combined karmic levels deserve a respite."

The hand slamming down on the edge of the table distracted Jean and she scratched the shot. "Think we could petition him for, say, every third day off from the Poor Little Rich Boy act?"

"Huzzah!" Betsy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to keep from spitting out the rest of her drink. "I wish. But we both know if it wasn't Manny, it'd be some other sad sort, proclaiming their horrible lot in life."

"Hmm, true." The cue ball was retrieved and Jean set up her next shot. Pool was simple and calming. "I guess we're just doomed, then."

"Perhaps," Betsy said. "But if it comes down to it, then I don't plan on spending any of it sober. Come on, fancy a game? I'll try not to embarass you while I'm at it."