Not So Plain Jane - Collide

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Scott, out for his head-clearing drive, winds up in a club. He's not sure why, even when Jane appears. She takes exception to the female interest he's attracting, and Scott takes that inexplicable jealousy and rubs her nose in it, then tears out his own heart (along with his self-respect) and makes a confession. Jane proceeds to have a shocking realization.

And that's when things start to get really bad.


He wasn't entirely sure what he thought he was doing. Going from spending far too much of his time in his suite to clubbing in New York was a bit of a jump, especially for him, and there were probably a number of people who would be quite concerned if they knew where he was. Scott had to admit, however, that he didn't particularly care at the moment.

Leaning against the bar, he took a sip of the oddly colored cocktail the bartender had pushed on him when he'd asked for the house special. The only thing he recognized was pineapple juice, which he'd never particularly liked, and Scott made a face, shaking his head. Lousy drink. Plus he'd been here for all of ten minutes and the relentless, pounding music was already giving him a headache. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea.

"Drinking alone?" The question was barely audible over the music, even though the person asking was right beside him. Scott eyed the blonde woman for a moment, sizing her up. He was no expert in women's clothing but he imagined that the black dress she was wearing was expensive. It had that look about it.

"Pretending to drink alone," he answered after a moment, giving his glass a nudge. "This is terrible stuff."

She laughed. She had a nice smile, Scott thought dimly. "You're drinking a Sundowner? You poor thing. Rodney!" she called to the bartender, who gave her a questioning look. "Two of my usual, please." She grinned at Scott. "The Sundowner is Rodney's own concotion. If you don't like pineapple juice it's basically a waste of time."

"So I noticed," Scott said with a faint smile.

Jane and clubs was a fairly regular thing these days, but while she'd been looking for a chance to judge how Scott had liked his little 'present', she hadn't been expecting to get that chance in a place like this. She also hadn't been expecting the spike of... it wasn't jealousy; anger, maybe, that someone was trying to make him feel good; rage that it almost looked like it was working. How dare the woman. Scott was hers to play with and this blonde - a moment's touch told her the woman was Jessica, a graduate student in literature with a fondness for the victorians - this TRAMP was daring to interfere?

Keeping back, out of sight against the wall of the club but with a good view of the bar, Jane tried to regain control herself before she did something stupid.

"I'm not sure why I'm here, you know," Scott was confiding to Jessica. Her 'usual' was some sort of variation on a mojito, and not bad at all, especially compared to his first drink. "Was out driving, and well..." The club was definitely not his sort of place, but he'd found himself parking and standing in line before he quite knew what he was doing. Impulse, whim, whatever. Maybe just the urge to break from all his old patterns that had been serving him so poorly lately.

"You were just looking for a good time, I bet," Jessica said with another smile. "Maybe a chance to blow off some steam?"

"Do I look that uptight?" he asked - and blinked as she reached up, fingers pressing lightly against his jaw as she turned his face towards her.

"Not uptight. Tired, maybe," she pronounced, a slightly mischievous look in her blue eyes as she noticed his surprise. "Looking for some relaxation, then?"

Scott surprised himself, this time, with a laugh. "If I told you how long it's been since I actually relaxed," he said wryly, "you'd either be appalled or amused. Not sure which."

Jessica bit her lip. She was looking equal parts amused and intrigued, now. "Keep talking," she said, lowering her hand - but only to his arm where it was resting on the bar. "I find the self-deprecating sense of humor several different kinds of sexy."

Killing her would be bad. Jane held onto that thought very, very tightly as she headed towards the bar. The club was crowded, but people moved out of her way as she walked, not at all liking the dark little smile or the smoldering look in her eyes.

Jessica was too distracted with Scott, and hadn't enough sense of self defense to spot the trouble coming towards her, and Jane was very careful to keep on Scott's blind side, so when she spoke she was standing almost directly behind him. "Having fun?" she asked, her voice cold.

He hadn't just...

He had.

Scott turned slowly, his breathing speeding up as Jean came squarely within his field of view. The blocked link had of course given him no warning. But she was there, wearing a black dress that looked as expensive as Jessica's, but in a far more revealing cut.

"Jean," he said numbly.

He sensed, rather than saw Jessica stir restlessly on his other side. "Friend of yours?" she asked.

"Ex," was Jane's short answer, not even bothering to look at the girl. "I see you're following through on that suggestion you try sleeping around," she said to Scott, keeping her voice cold in an effort to make it seem she didn't care. "Good for you. It's progress, is what it is."

That icy knot of pain had taken up residence in his chest again, and Scott swallowed, taking a sip of his drink more to buy himself a moment than anything else. Jessica looked from him to Jean and then back again, measuringly.

"I'm going to be over on the dance floor," she said, draining her drink. "If you want to join me after you're finished, feel free." And she was gone without a backwards glance, out into the crowd.

Scott watched her go, and then, finally, looked at Jean. "Actually," he said, his voice more or less even, despite everything, "I was just making casual conversation. Sleeping around seems to be your stock in trade."

"Ah, I shouldn't have interrupted, then," Jane said, eyes dark. "I still think a good lay would be good for you."

"Short memory, Jean. I've never had your libido. You know," Scott said, tossing back the rest of his drink and trying to pretend that his hands weren't shaking, "I always figured that if you decided to trade me in it would be for Logan or someone like him. But then, I suppose you long since proved that you liked them young."

"You mean someone with some actual passion?" she asked. "Well, it's not as though Logan left a forwarding address for me, now did he. And the whole 'no, I'm not as dead as you think I am' thing gets old, fast."

"You have to wonder if it's some sort of reaction to aging," Scott said, ignoring her question, although it hurt. How many happy memories had she just dismissed with one cold comment? Had any of it been real, ever? "I'd ask how he was, Mrs. Robinson, but I did after all see the tape."

Jane shrugged, then smiled brightly as though pleased by something. "Not Mrs. Summers, then? Did you end up talking to a lawyer?"

"No, Jean, I didn't talk to a lawyer. If it doesn't matter to you, why the hell should I bother? Unless Bobby's proposed to you," Scott said, his tone never altering, "and you've accepted. He seems to be going through this phase lately, so I wouldn't be surprised."

"No, well, I have the sense not to get pregnant, so I'm not expecting any proposals soon. Just figured I'd ask. But perhaps I should leave you to your boozing and whoring - there are lots of clubs, no reason to have to deal with each other."

"Maybe you should," Scott said, suddenly in the grip of an ugly, ugly impulse. "And maybe I should take you up on your suggestion. Jessica's attractive, don't you think? Young, attractive, smart, clearly interested. And not dressed like she ought to be walking the streets several blocks farther downtown turning tricks."

Jane's eyes flashed, and she knew he was playing with her, she knew it, but the very idea of that blonde little bimbo touching Scott...

She mastered her first, 'I'll kill her' impulse and said "Go for it. She'd have to be better than Bobby was, go for it." But there was nothing cold and detached about her tone.

Scott's head turned slowly towards her as he caught the change in her tone. "Thanks for the permission, honey," he said, and his tone, unlike hers, was utterly flat and roughly as cold as the Arctic. But he was letting down his defenses, very deliberately forming some very vivid images in his mind. He knew how to project properly. He'd had lots of practice, after all. "Might be nice to try someone a little less Amazonian. I always did like that about Betsy."

"Might do you some good. She'd be able to gaze into your eye without neck strain." Gaze into your eye without neck strain? What was that shit? He'd rattled her, and she wasn't sure why, nor how to deal with it.

"Mm. Weak, Jean. Then again, so was the tape." He was talking to her coolly, almost professionally all of a sudden. He had no idea where this was coming from. "I mean, for sheer impact, yes, it was impressive. But really, you sort of squandered all your ammo with the one shot there. I mean, unless you're planning to stoop to actual child molestation next..." He gave her a slight, bland smile. "Meanwhile, we both know that I could walk out there and join Jessica on that dance floor, and probably be having really great sex before the clock strikes midnight."

"Sure, like I said, go for it. We've covered that I don't care what the fuck you do." Which was true, she knew it and he could hear it in her voice. So why the hell was this upsetting her so much. What was going on?

He knew Jean. He knew how to read her, and while she was 'off', had been off every time he'd seen her since she'd left, there were some things that were unmistakable. Like the fact that she was very decidedly jealous. Oh, the irony. The utter lack of sense, too, but more than that, the irony. He'd almost made peace with the fact that none of this made any sense, after all.

"It's a pity Charles sealed off the link," Scott said almost conversationally, but took a step towards her, backing her up against the bar. "You seem to be developing tendencies I never knew you had... wanting to be watched and all." That ugly impulse was still there, but what was driving him now, more than anything else, was a cold, quiet, calculating fury.

She wasn't the only one who knew how to push buttons.

"Does it work the other way around? Would you like to watch, Jean? We could have a little side bet if you like. If she takes me back to her place, you can hang around here and wonder just what we're up to. If she decides she can't wait, hell, crack open that link from your end and stay for the show."

Jean was crying in her mind at this attack from Scott, but for once Jane didn't care. She was too furious that he would dare to treat her so, that he understood this stupid feeling better than she did, that she was feeling like this at all to care about hurting Jean. The mention of Charles didn't help, either. Jane needed control of this situation and of herself, but she couldn't seem to manage it because while Scott was cold in his fury, Jane's mind was filled with fire. Already the air around her was heating up as she lost control.

"Too late to regret sealing the link now," she snarled, "too late to regret lost opportunities to torment me, to force your way into my head and make me live every thought and feeling you have. Go fuck the little whore against the wall for all I care, then send me the security tape if you really want to." Reaching out she shoved him back, trying to get enough space to get out of there.

Scott caught the edge of the bar, not going more than a few inches backwards despite the force of the shove, and took a step forward again. The air was hot around her, noticeably hot and getting hotter. He was very possibly going to cause her to cause a scene.

He didn't care. At all. There was a strange roaring in his ears and he didn't even really hear her words, let alone process them.

"What did you think I was going to do when you sent me that tape, Jean? Slash my wrists or some such melodramatic shit? Was that what you wanted? Well, you probably would have been quite happy to see me this week, then. It would have appealed to this new sadistic streak of yours."

Maybe if he pushed her far enough she'd blast him across the room and through the wall. All of a sudden, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, Scott thought he'd rather like that. Anything to put a stop to all of this.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" he went on. "After what you've done, what you've told me, you have the fucking gall to be angry. To be jealous." The music was so loud, he could feel it echoing along his bones. "Well, don't waste the energy. Jessica's going to be disappointed. Women in general are going to be disappointed. I'm not going to sleep around. I'm not going to get into some kind of sick game with you. I wish to hell I could wash my hands of you for the rest of my life, but I'm not that lucky." It hurt to breathe. "I'm still in love with you. That makes me a fucking moron and a glutton for punishment, but I can't switch it on and off like you can, apparently. So please... please do me a favor."

He reached up and grabbed her shoulders, tight enough to bruise. "Swat me like an insect. Blow me across the room. Go right ahead, Jean. I dare you."

And he leaned in, before she could do anything, and kissed her.

It took a second for the knowledge of what he was doing to make it past the blind anger and when it did her first reaction was to blast him away from her. Luckily, on the tail of the gut reaction came the Idea.

Jane kissed him back passionately, melting into him and holding onto him as though her soul and life depended on this kiss. And, when the kiss ended, she met his gaze but her eyes were cold and all she said was, "Pathetic."

"Sticks and stones, you bitch," Scott said and turned his attention to that particular spot on Jean's neck. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? the logical part of his mind screamed at him, even as he put a hand on her hip, their bodies so close together that a breeze couldn't have passed between them.

"Break your bones," she answered, running her nails along the edge of his shirt, "and words will always hurt you. I'm surprised you don't call me a whore."

He gave a laugh like broken glass. "I didn't see any money changing hands on that tape. As if Drake would ever have the guts to pay for sex." There was more or less no back to her dress, and Scott traced the line of her spine with a shaking hand. The soft warmth of her skin brought back too many sensory memories, every one of them like a slap in the face. He wanted to cry, be sick to his stomach... reach out and wrap his hands around her throat and just squeeze. Was this what going crazy felt like? He loved her, he hated her, he loved her... this was twisted and horrible and he wanted it to stop.

He wasn't the only one - it was too much. With his skin on hers she couldn't keep out of his head, couldn't help but feel his pain and while she exulted in it, at the same time she could feel Jean fighting against the locks. Jane felt like she was being pulled in too many different directions with no way to deal with it all, no way to stop it.

So she didn't.

Her hands reached around to cup his ass and she pulled him closer yet, pressing kisses to his neck.

#Jean,# Scott thought desperately, pleadingly, her name repeating over and over again in his mind, interspersed with 'please' and 'I love you' and 'I hate you', agony and anger and delirious hope and want and need and fear washing over him in dizzying waves. She was holding onto him so tightly that he couldn't have detached her without outright violence. Which was fine, because he didn't want to. #Jean, please...#

Jane tensed suddenly, freezing in his arms. Jean. Of course he would be calling for Jean. But this new, terrifying realization slammed into her with the force of a cement truck - she wanted it to be her name on his lips and in his heart.

Aw hell.

Scott felt her freeze and threw himself uselessly at the seal on the link, as if it were a physical thing he could smash his way through headfirst. "Please," he whispered in her ear, his voice choked. "Anything. I told you. Anything. I'm yours." He dropped every mental defense he had and pushed the yearning at her. It was brimming over with pain and laced through with anger, but the need was what was foremost. Overwhelming. "Please. I won't... I won't ask you to come back, I won't. Just don't walk away from me tonight. Please."

She was torn between the desire to hurt him and the desire to have him, and with his shields down he was all but battering her with his need. "You don't want me." It was only just barely audible, even as close as they were. "You don't want me, you need me." And that, Jane decided, was enough. In a second she was kissing him again.

Broken hatred surfaced amid the desperation, but that didn't stop him from kissing her back. Someone from a few feet away cleared their throat in a discreet little cough and Scott broke the kiss, then pulled Jean towards the side door the throat-clearer had indicated. He was shaking and couldn't stop, couldn't believe he was doing this, what kind of a pitiful excuse for a man did any of this make him...

The night air was viciously cold, more like winter than early spring, and Scott gave Jean a shove as they stepped outside, sending her stumbling briefly on the uneven pavement of the alley. "I should walk away," he choked out, but contradicted that by walking towards her, grabbing both arms and pushing her up against the wall. "Is this was it was all about? Bobby, the tape? See if you pushed me far enough that I'd come crawling back? Well, congrats. Yours," he flung at her again, bitterly, tears sliding down the one side of his face. "I'd come crawling back to you over broken glass if you kicked me in the face for it."

"And you think that's what I want?" she asked, not resisting as he pushed her against the wall. "You think that I could ever care about someone so completely broken?" But the knowledge that the answer was 'yes' was breaking her in half and so she kissed him again, though the kiss belied the words.

"Sticks and stones," he said unevenly as he came up for air. "If you don't want me, finish the job. Put me out of my misery." He didn't like walls. Not enough room for movement.

"You want that," she said breathlessly. "You want that, and I'm not just going to give you what you want anymore."

"Then tell me what you want." He wasn't begging her. He wasn't. His hand tightened in her hair, almost spasmodically. #Tell me. Please.#

"I don't want anything from you," she said, a hint of venom in her voice, but her actions belied the words again as she hooked a leg around his hips.

"Liar... why are you lying to me?" Clothes in the way, damn it. His and hers. That was no good. What the hell were they doing in an alley? His thoughts were racing around, disconnected, disjointed. Thankfully instinct took over.

"Don't, want, to get, out of, practice," she managed to pant between kisses, hands wandering at will.

"Love you," he whispered raggedly, hopelessly. This was wrong, this was nothing but wrong. The link was sealed off like Fort Knox, and he clung to what she was projecting at him, the mixture of anger and raw desire. "Goddamned dress..." Fabric tore.

She wouldn't say it, she wouldn't. She didn't care if maybe it was true. Instead she clung to him, kissing him until he couldn't see straight.

Silent. Silent lips, silent mind. She didn't answer, not in any of the ways she usually responded, and that flicker of hope inside Scott faded and died. Just this, he thought. There was nothing left but this. Tears trickled silently down his face, and he groaned a curse and pushed her hard against the wall.

"Damn you," he choked out as he finally got the last of the clothing-type barriers out of the way. "Damn you and damn me..."

Deep within the prison of her own mind Jean was screaming to be heard but with Jane keeping guard there was nothing but her own voice echoing protestations of love.

There was nothing like tenderness in any of this. He would hate himself for this the moment it ended, Scott knew that without it being a cliche, but he couldn't pull back. Couldn't stop. Whatever else she wanted, whatever was going on in her mind, utterly closed to him for the first time in so long, she wanted this.

Pathetic, her cold voice echoed in his mind and he lost himself in her, shutting out everything else. Just for now. Just for the moment. Whatever happened next, right now he could pretend there would be a next.

If she thought about it, Jane would perhaps be exulting about his self-hatred, but there was no room for thought, no room for anything outside of this moment which even Jane knew was a bad idea.

If Scott had been a petty man, and if Bobby Drake hadn't been the farthest thing from his mind, he might have reflected on just how completely the little shit had been outdone here. But even if both of those conditions had been fact, coherent thought was at something of a premium at the moment. Scott steadied himself with a hand against the wall, gasping in lungfuls of cold air and willing his knees to hold him. The tears felt frozen on his face. He felt frozen.

And he pulled away, rearranging his clothes, trying not to meet her eyes.

Her feet on the ground again, Jane let her head fall back against the wall, breathing shallowly and trying to regain control. This had been such a mistake.

Scott turned slowly, as if unable to stop himself. She was slumped against the wall, bedraggled and beautiful, and there was no hatred, no malice in her expression. What had just happened? Was this really happening? He moved back to her side like a man in a trance.

"Jean," he said weakly, reaching out hesitantly, fingertips brushing her cheek. Look at me. Don't look at me. I don't know which I want. Which could be worse.

"Jane." It was little more than a whisper. "My name is Jane." And then she looked up, meeting his eyes and reaching out with her powers to steal away his memories of the evening.

Scott's eyes went wide with shock and he stumbled backwards, fumbling to raise some sort of defense against her. But all the walls were down, he'd put them down, and she was in his mind, slicing away the memories with icy knives.

"No-" he gasped out, hands flying to his temples as if to ward her off. But she was too deep, too deep already. "No, please..." Jane? Who was Jane, who was she, who was looking out from Jean's eyes...

He was fighting her, and his training was extensive but it would be insufficient, Jane knew. Tonight shouldn't have happened, so she would make it not have. She cut away his memories to before she had come, to the blonde and the drinks, and then she wrote him new ones; memories which disguised their falseness with alcohol, and explained away the smell of sex at the low cost of his shame and pride. He would wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, but it was less than he deserved for making her love him.

~*~


When I came here there was more.
Now I've come back to destroy,
And I've got nothing left,
And it's a shame what we've become,
When we hurt the ones we love,
And it's a place I can not go,
Anymore.

When we collide we lose ourselves.
When we collide we break in two,
And as we push and we shove and we hurt the ones we love,
It's a hard mistake.
When we collide,
We break.

- 'Collide', Dishwalla