Tuesday, July 17: Jean and Pietro

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As Jean suggested, Pietro goes down to the medlab to see her; of course, he's misunderstood why she wanted to talk to him, but once they get that straightened out they manage to amuse each other. It's probably a good thing that Jean gets along well with stubborn (some might say obsessive) men, even when they're cranky.



(backdated, obviously, to before Pietro found out Attilan still existed.)

Pietro lounged against Jean's doorframe, directing not quite a glare at the doctor. "So, what is this all about? Do I get medical procedures involving some sort of tube, in addition to the genteel interrogation sessions? Because if so, and I hope you won't take this the wrong way, I think I'm going to stake your husband out over a nest of fire ants."

Jean looked up, surprised - Pietro did rather have a way of just appearing when he wanted to - and blinked. Then blinked again. "Why?" she asked, cocking her head at him. "Did you want a medical procedure involving some sort of tube? I'm sure I could come up with something if you're very insistant."

"No!" Pietro said quickly. "Not in the slightest, thank you, I have no complaints about my health. But with Summers on another one of those kicks where he wants to 'save me from myself,' I'm sure you can't blame me for being just the slightest touch suspicious when his wife the doctor says she wants to see me the minute I arrive on campus."

Jean blinked again, then smiled brightly. "Ah," she said after a moment, "I see. You fell into that trap. You see, my name is 'Jean', not 'Scott's wife, whats-her-face, the brainless-parrot'." There was a remarkable lack of rancor in her tone, given the words, and the smile, if anything, got brighter. "My appologies for assuming you'd understand this, but generally when a friend comes back from being away for an extended time, one wants to reconnect. Say hi. Offer cookies. That sort of thing." She paused, then shrugged faintly. "Although, actually, real appologies if the tone of the comment came off wrong - was dealing with some of the littles today who thought it would be a fun and exciting summer adventure to discover every patch of weeds on the grounds and compare plant samples, and thus came in with a fun and exciting case of severe poison ivy rash."

"We're friends?" Pietro raised an eyebrow. "Hm. The way you phrased yourself it did sound like you wanted to be next in line for 'having at' me, but I suppose I could chalk that up to the idiot children. There have been one or . . ." He thought for a moment. ". . . Possibly two occasions when I've been needlessly suspicious."

The grin was back at that, full force. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. And you know, I even have cookies. I mean, they're store bought, but I'm perfectly willing to give them to you, and coffee, milk or your choice of liquor while we discuss completely inoccuous things. Or not-inouccous but hopefully not infuriating things."

"Coffee would be fine. Black." Pietro glanced over his shoulder. "And I suppose while we're on the subject of things you won't tell anyone, I do understand why Summers is being a pain. Not that he has any grounds whatsoever to talk about singlemindedness."

"Except possibly in the sense that experience gives perspective?" she offered, standing up from behind her desk and heading for the coffee machine, collecting a clean cup on the way. "Not that perspective is really likely to help right now."

"Mm. Helpful perspective would have been if the two of you hadn't cut out early and missed all the excitement." Pietro frowned. "I would've given a lot to have had a telepath on that plane. One that doesn't get a head injury every time something significant happens, that is."

Jean frowned, scowling slightly herself, although not really at Pietro. "Yes, I did think of that while you were gone. But it's a hindsight being twenty-twenty matter. I can't change that Scott and I both had responsibilities here that called us back earlier, and we had no way of knowing..."

"No, I suppose you didn't. Everybody I've talked to was caught totally by surprise, no matter how unwilling some of them were to admit it." Pietro brooded. "I wish I'd been able to get my hands on the manifests for the planes that were able to leave Attilan that morning. That might have been enlightening. None of the right sort of contacts, though--I'd never had reason to work in Portugal before."

"Oh?" Jean asked, eyebrows raising. "Do you have a theory, or do you just think there might be something in that information?"

Pietro shrugged. "It would have been another list of people to track down and interrogate. Or I might have recognized a name, I don't know. I suppose I really was just spinning my wheels there at the end."

And, given that he'd admitted it, she definitely wasn't going to rub it in. Remembering she'd mentioned them earlier, Jean offered, "Cookie?" She glanced over at the cabinet under the coffee machine and the door opened, a packet of cookies floating out. "Things have been shockingly quiet of late here, actually," she said. "Minus the odd bit of childish antics to blow off steam. Although, I guess, the big news is we have a new staffer."

"Considering the usual trend for big news around here, I'm almost afraid to ask," Pietro said, lifting out a cookie. "Though I suppose if my father had come bask asking for his old job, Summers would have mentioned it by now."

"Er, yes," Jean said, nose wrinkling slightly. "I suspect it would have come up. No, Professor Amahl Farouk has come to do some independent history courses with the advanced kids, one on one, while he works on some private projects. He's... interesting."

"So, three or four independent studies, if that?" Pietro smiled around his coffee. "I swear, sometimes it seems like half the people purportedly on staff here just hang around to make the place look busy. Quite a range of electives, though. Is he a mutant, this Farouk?"

"Not that it takes much to make this place look busy," Jean pointed out. "And Farouk has the advantage of having an actual degree and teaching credentials." She hesitated briefly before answering his other question. "Yes, he is," she said at last. "Telepath, here to work with Charles." Anything much more than that, though, Pietro would have to get from the man himself.

"That I'll grant you. And the relatively small number of teaching hours means more of you are free to put enough time into the other job to be reasonably competent at it, for which I have had reason to be thankful." Pietro crunched his cookie thoughtfully. "More telepaths. Well, I'll spare you the usual refrain--I daresay I've got slightly more excuse to be distrustful than the average person but I can't think that makes it more bearable." He grinned, a quick flash of teeth. "Considering I'm seldom bearable to begin with."

"I appreciate the restraint," Jean said, collecting a cookie for herself. "And look at that, you're making progress with this whole 'civility' thing," she added, grinning back at him. "Next thing we know, you'll be able to make small talk with strangers, as long as they don't say anything too stupid."

"There are any number of people in Portugal who could tell you I'm very good at making conversation with strangers," Pietro said in tones of mock offense. He smirked. "Or, you know, interrogating them, but it's really the same basic skill."

Jean laughed. "No, you know, I really don't think it is."

"What? You talk to people, you ask them questions, you find out things about them. Really, when you get right down to it, what's the difference between small talk and interrogation?" Pietro was grinning now. "I mean other than that small talk--at least outside nursing homes--tends to result in drier pants."

Jean buried her face in her hands briefly. "You're dreadful," she said when she looked up, grinning. "You really are. I mean, it can't just be your natural talent - of which you have lots, of course. You surely must practice and work extra hard to pull this sort of thing off..."

"Endless minutes slaving over a hot cup of disdain for my fellow man. It's nice to see my hard work appreciated for once." Pietro's smile went sardonic. "Of course, to bring the conversation back full circle, it does help that I've just been having the line blurred at me with choice of teacake."

"I take it Charles was being extra..." thorough "understanding? He was worried about you and your refusal to come back for so long. He wasn't the only one, either."

Pietro scowled. "I was three seconds away by annoying purple teenager if there had been an emergency the rest of you couldn't handle. My monomanias are my own business, and anyway somebody needed to be looking into things on-site. I did report in."

Jean held up a hand as though to ward off the scowl. "I actually agreed with you, for what it's worth. There was no way of knowing if you might find something and with that chance you might as well be there. Scott... did not much appreciate my opinion on the matter."

"Summers is a mother hen," Pietro grumbled. "And no question where he learned it, either. Maybe I got a little carried away, but I'm not actually incapable of recognizing when I've hit a dead end."

"He is," Jean agreed with equanimity, deciding not to point out that, much like Scott, Pietro might be able to recognize when he hit a dead end, but that didn't actually mean he'd give up. "I tend to find it more cute than annoying, but I married him, so my priorities may be skewed. Regardless, though, it's done. For whatever reason, you're home. Have another cookie."

"Bah," said Pietro, but he took another cookie. "At least you realize where your irrationalities are. That's probably one of the reasons I can stand you."

"Oh, believe me," Jean said, smiling faintly, "when you spend as much time crazy as I do, you have to learn what sets you off. I accept my irrationality. Sometimes I even glory in it."

"Insanity's not much different from being a deep-cover mole, in that respect, then," Pietro said with a wry smile, and drained his coffee cup thoughtfully. ". . . I'm not sure if that's supposed to be reassuring or what."

"I don't know that there's anything particularly reassuring about either state of being. Except possibly the point when you no longer are one. That's nice. Of course, it's probably easier for you not to be a deep-cover mole than it is for me not to be crazy." Jean pouted faintly, although the twinkle in her eyes rather put the lie to the look.

"Are we talking about vocation, or habits? Because I still don't like, for example, answering personal questions truthfully." Pietro snorted. "Though I admit, walking down the hall and rapping on his door is a much easier way to get Summers' attention than the system of dead-drops we used to use."

"Well, I had meant vocationally. Not that I want to admit that being crazy is a vocation, mind, and the parallel does sort of imply that. Hmmm."

"Considering the work we do, it's really no surprise the implication leaped to mind, either. But then, that makes me just as crazy as everyone else." Pietro's grin flashed back to life momentarily. "Which means Xavier has good reason to drag me in for friendly little talks, and I utterly reject that position."

"Oh, yes, we definitely can't have that," Jean agreed, grinning back.