Terry and Jean

[x-siryn.livejournal.com]

Before the sliding starts, Terry runs into Jean in the laundry room. Awkwardness ensues.



Terry had told Bobby that she wasn't going to wait on him hand and foot. They may have been married but it was still his job to make sure he had his own clean socks. The fact that she was in the laundry room today ensuring that he'd be able to have something for work tomorrow wasn't in anyway her falling down on that promise. It was just that she didn't have class and he did have work so it made sense for her to do it instead of him.

Besides, Terry didn't mind doing laundry so long as she didn't have to iron anything. Ironing was boring.

No one would ever be able to say that Scott wasn't a neat (sometimes painfully, obsessively neat) man. But that didn't mean that she necessarily wanted to wear clothes that had been lying around in drawers or hanging in the closet untouched for four months. They might not have been dirty, but they didn't feel entirely clean. Hefting a load, Jean headed down to the laundry room, grateful that at least he hadn't mothballed her stuff.

Rather than run back upstairs just to have to come down again, Terry settled in with her iPod and a book, tucked into the corner of the laundry room. The synchronicity of listening to the Wicked soundtrack while reading Wicked was just the kind of thing that made her needlessly happy. She was singing along quietly to "What Is This Feeling?" when the door opened and Jean walked in.

She'd sensed Terry down here before she'd reached the door, but had shrugged and gone in anyway - avoiding the girl would be silly in many ways, especially after she'd got her basket all the way down there. But, if there was something not entirely natural in the motion as she nodded a greeting to the other red head and set her basket down by the other washing machine, Jean felt it could be excused.

"There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation. It's so p..." Terry cut herself off as her jaw dropped. She tugged the earbuds out of her ears before she could think better of it and tried to think of something to say. But then again, she'd been avoiding Jean precisely because she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be the very definition of awkward. She settled for a very tiny, "Hi."

"Afternoon," Jean replied. "What are you listening to?" she asked as she set about starting her load. Small talk. Safe, boring, small talk.

Terry was eyeing the washer and dryer she was using, wondering if she could possibly have the supremely good fortune that they would both finish and she could get the hell out of here. Or maybe they'd blow up and kill her, that would work too. As a result, she missed the question and it took her several startled moments to respond, "What? Oh, um, Wicked. The Broadway show. It's, um, Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth."

Terry's body language was so obvious that even with her shields up Jean could tell the girl was unsettled. No points for guessing that, though, she told herself. Although the fact that Jean was somewhat amused by it was perverse, and was undoubtedly what was prompting her to continue the conversation. "I've heard of it," she said, "but don't know it. It's a book, too, yes?"

Wordlessly Terry lifted the book in her lap, showing Jean the cover. "They're not really the same. The book is a lot darker." Dear God, if you strike me dead right this instant, I promise I'll never ask for anything ever again. She knew there was no way that Scott hadn't told Jean about Terry's outburst the other day. Which meant that the striking dead was an act of mercy and God was all about those, right?

"Ah, neat," Jean said, then seemingly turned all of her attention to sorting through her laundry, letting Terry stew.

"Uh, yeah." Terry considered putting her earbuds back in. It would be mostly a symbolic gesture--her iPod didn't get loud enough to drown out external noises and Jean knew it. Similarly, it was playing loudly enough now that she didn't need them in order to hear and Jean knew that too. Terry left them in her lap and just lifted her book again instead, not quite completely pointedly ignoring Jean.

Jean continued with her laundry in the less-than-amicable silence for a few minutes then, as she turned the machine on, spoke up. "So, I hear you're planning a second wedding? Mind if I ask when?"

So they weren't going to ignore each other? Hell. "Um, March maybe. It's kind of up in the air still. We need to see what's the most convenient for people." People like the wedding party who weren't even set yet. Terry refrained from the little whimper of panic that accompanied all wedding talk these days as the full enormity of planning it occurred to her.

"March should be nice. Well, good luck with the planning." Jean turned and headed for the door to go back upstairs, somewhat pleased with herself for maintaining her calm, and obscurely pleased with Terry for not starting anything.

"Yeah," Terry responded softly, surprised to find that her voice was edged with more anxiety and sorrow than when Jean had first walked in. This was a woman Terry had adored for years. Whose life and death had shaped her own since childhood. And they spoke as no more than strangers in a laundromat. She'd had deeper conversations with Medusa who Terry still wasn't certain actually liked her. "Dr. Grey?"

Jean stopped, pausing for a second before turning back. The tone of Terry's voice didn't sound confrontational... "Yes, Terry?"

"I..." Terry stared up at her for a moment, lost. What are you planning on saying, Terry? It's not going to magically fix anything. "nevermind. It's nothing. Welcome home. " The buzzer on the dryer sounded and Terry set aside her book hastily in order to deal with it, grateful for the interruption.

Jean watched her fuss with the laundry, mulling over her options. The girl had been her student for years; she'd watched her grow up, helped her when she'd been hurt, taken care of her when she was sick, cheered her victories and chided her mistakes. But Terry wasn't a little girl now. Maybe she wasn't yet an adult (the words 'impetuous young woman' seemed to fit so much better) but she was close and, as with Marie and Jubilee and even Lorna, there came a point where she had to stop considering the child who had been her student and deal with the woman who was constructing her own life. And Terry had to learn how to do that, too.

When Terry turned back with her full laundry basket, Jean was still there, watching her. "Terry," she said quietly, "no one expects this is going to be easy. Not after what I did, and the things that were said. Part of being an adult is facing up to the hard problems of life, and part of being married is doing that together. I've... come to terms with what I did, and Scott and I are working on us. But how you and I are, or you and Scott, or Bobby and either of us, is a different, equally difficult matter. And I'm not going to push it. I can't make either of you be comfortable around me after what I did, and I wouldn't even if I could. But, if you want, we can talk. We can work on it. Anytime. Or we can stay out of each other's ways, as much as is possible. Your choice." And turning back to the door, Jean slipped out into the hallway.

Terry remained where she was for a moment, knuckles white where they gripped the laundry basket then she dropped it, heedless of the way it spilled, and rushed after Jean. "I don't know what to do," she gasped as she caught up to the older woman. "Sure and I have to forgive you. I'd be the worst kind of person if I didn't. But...I don't know. I don't know what I'm forgiving you for. I don't know how much was true." She backed off just as rapidly as she'd approached, hands held out to her sides. "I'm afraid to find out."

"You don't have to forgive me," Jean said, looking away from Terry for a moment. "What I did was unforgivable, at least in my mind. I haven't forgiven myself for any of it, and I doubt I ever will. Instead, I learned, am learning, to live with it." Looking back, she met Terry's eyes. "And I don't know what to tell you, especially when you don't know what you want to know."

Terry's own gaze dropped to Jean's shoes. She shook her head. "You don't...I just thought... I'm not trying to hurt you or Mr. Summers. I just can't figure this out yet and I...I don’t want to see any more hurt." She shrugged uncomfortably and turned away back to the laundry room. She needed to fold the clothes before they wrinkled.

'Life is pain' was probably not the right answer. It was just that, at some point, Jean had accepted that pain was part of life, and that sometimes people got hurt no matter what what you did or said. But she didn't want Terry to learn that lesson, at least not from her. Instead, Jean let her walk away, turning back down the hall and heading upstairs. No resolution for either of them but Jean, at least, hadn't expected any.