Jean and Pietro

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

After being snippy at Nathan on the journals, Jean goes to take out her anger on something that can't hit back, and Pietro finds her there after yelling at her husband.



It wasn't Nate she was mad at. Jean reminded herself as she re-tightened the straps on the gloves - no point bruising her knuckles to match her eye. Nate being stupid was a side issue and right now she had, as Pietro put it, redlined her imbecile tolerance, and Nate was simply a convenient target.

So was the heavy bag.

It actually took more effort to avoid demonizing Nate and Scott and everyone else who was making her angry and to simply hit the bag as a bag, but that was kind of important. She didn't really want to hit... No, yes she did. But she shouldn't want to hit her husband or her friends. See the bag for what it is - a tool, a focus.

A big, heavy, bag of sand, that made a lovely satisfying 'thunk' when she hit it and didn't talk back to her or do stupid things or try to get itself blown up and couldn't scare her because she didn't care about it.

Pietro's voice from the doorway was tolerably amused with an undertone of frustration. "Now, why am I not surprised to find you in here? I'd appreciate it if you didn't actually kill the bag, since I'd like a turn when you're done."

Holding a hand out, she stopped the swinging of the bag before turning to nod at Pietro. "No, no killing. And, since we all know why it's not surprising that I'm here, I get to ask who you are planning on displacing your frustration from?"

"About so tall, brown hair, complete disregard for his own well-being? I think you've met." Pietro rolled his shoulders and sighed. "I just spoke to him. And I didn't bounce his head off the wall, which I think should warrant some sort of commendation."

"Yes, please don't bruise him. The broken bit inside my head that likes wearing black vinyl and hurting people has this thing about people other than me bruising Scott. And right now she's a tad bit harder to restrain than usual." Turning back to the bag, Jean slammed a fist into it before continuing to beat on it for a bit as she asked, "Aside from a perfectly understandable desire to beat my husband, though, how are you?"

"Aside from that? Just fine. Bruised my knuckles a little on an invulnerable chin, but you should see the other guy." Pietro smiled slightly. "I told him to come quietly. But then, it's not like I don't know terrorists aren't generally the listening sort. And super-speed means very seldom getting hit by anything, even in an
airplane cabin full of shrapnel."

"Well, here's to you, then, and your lack of significant damage. I say we start giving prizes to the X-Man who comes home with the fewest marks."

"I could always use more prizes," Pietro said thoughtfully. His smile gained a note of genuine amusement. "And maybe a whole shelf of them will convince Crystal I really do know how to do this job without smashing myself to bits."

"Yes, but if you took all of them, where would the incentive aspect to get everyone else to stop taking damage be?" She shook her head but didn't let up on the bag. "You'd have to learn to share."

"But I'm awful at sharing. Ask Wanda. Besides, the first time I came back and didn't have one, Crystal would probably get herself kidnapped for an afternoon or take dinner in an alternate dimension just so I'd know she's serious about our deal." Pietro chuckled. "She's got a very distinctive way of worrying about people."

Jean stopped for a moment, turning back to Pietro with what was almost a smile. "You two have a deal? Do tell. And we could always get you a special, lifetime achievement award, and use the other for everybody else."

"That's a thought, certainly." Pietro shrugged. "It's an elegantly simple deal, really; we came up with it after I told her I was joining the team. I keep myself from getting blown up on X-Men missions, and in return she doesn't get kidnapped, brainwashed, possessed, transported to another dimension, attacked by demons, or any of the other usual extracurriculars." With a soft snort, he added "Yesterday was rather treading the line; she only gave me credit because we didn't quite blow up the plane and the worst I got was lightly bruised."

Jean arched an eyebrow. "She's a strange girl, Crystal is. I'm fond of her, but she is strange. Which isn't to say it's not a good deal. I'm in favor of both you not getting blown up and her not getting kidnapped, etc."

"She only seems strange because this school is full of lunatics," Pietro said defensively. "She's a good friend."

"Yes," Jean agreed, conceding the point without rancor. "The sane one in a madhouse is always the odd man out. But I'm glad you've found a friend in her. And vice versa." Jean turned back to the bag, then shrugged before peeling off her gloves.

"So am I," Pietro replied, mollified. He raised an eyebrow. "Gloves not getting it done for you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm... well, I'm hardly done with being angry, but I'm done here. It's become too companionable to continue with the mindless rage." She smiled slightly as she offered him the gloves.

Pietro laced up the gloves and took a few halfhearted swings at the bag. "Blast, you're right," he said, taking the gloves back off. "This is why I usually run, you know. Easier to keep up a good head of indignation when nothing can catch up with you to blunt it."

"Told you. Besides, mindless rage isn't good for me. I start channeling my not-repressed-anymore-alternate personality, and, really, that's only fun when Haller does it."

"Yes, he scares the piss out of the Mountie, which is always a good laugh. The way I hear it, only people who run fetish stores are happy to see your psychosis; not being one, I suppose I'm glad I stopped by. Oh--" Pietro made an odd face. "Why I'm reminded of this now I don't know if I'll ever understand outside my nightmares, but I did suggest to Summers that he make things up to you in some fiscally imprudent way. You might want to consider what kind of hints you'd like to start dropping."

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, I can see how the mental connection between me, my husband buying my forgiveness and fetish stores could be a tad disturbing, but surely that face is a bit over the top. I looked good in the black vinyl. There are pictures. Unfortunately."

"Oh, I'm quite certain you did. I just didn't need the mental picture of Summers thinking you looked good in the black vinyl." Pietro shook his head mournfully. "Haven't I already been tormented enough by the thin, echoing metal walls in some of my father's bases?"

Jean groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "Bad image, bad image. Now you're just sharing to be mean."

"Yes. Yes, I am."