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xp_logsIn the hold of a cargo plane headed for Chechnya, Nathan and Jean have several hours to ponder the very important question - are they being a) reckless, b) overly optimistic, or c) all of the above?
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
"I've actually done this before, you know." Nathan smiled slightly, letting his head rest against the cold metal of the side of the plane. He and Jean had found themselves a relatively secluded spot here in the cargo hold, sheltered from view by cargo containers securely fastened to the deck. The aid plane had a full load of food and medical supplies, which meant that the two of them could hide more easily, without having to expend any telepathic energy to keep themselves from being noticed just yet. There'd be plenty of that required on the ground in Chechnya. "Traveled via cargo plane."
"Ah, but have you traveled by cargo plane, or have you stowed away before? Although, knowing you, the answer's probably both." It was not the most comfortable of rides, Jean had to admit, but it did have a certain... novelty value.
"Both. All kinds of times with Mistra legitimately, but a number of times stowing away, too. Why do you think this was the first transportation solution that occurred to me?" There was a gleam of something approaching humor in his gray eyes for a moment, but it faded away, his expression going pensive again. "Your husband and Ororo are going to kill me, I think. However this turns out. Don't be afraid to throw me under the bus, huh?" The humor was back abruptly, although it was definitely forced. "It was my idea, after all."
"My life is always better when Scott doesn't have a reason to yell at me. Somehow, though, I don't think 'Nate started it' is going to be a good enough reason for me to be following you to Chechnya. How about you let him yell at you and I take Ororo?" The light banter was basically an automatic reaction these days, Jean thought. Probably that wasn't necessarily a good thing, though.
"Sure, why not. The last time Ororo and I had a screaming argument she punched me in the jaw. Hell of a right hook on that woman." Nathan rubbed his jaw lightly, remembering. "Your husband's usually a little less direct."
He looked sideways at her, speculatively. "I did mean what I said, about this being recon. Saidullayev nearly killed me in August, and however much training you and I have done since then, I'm not keen on a repeat. For either of us."
"Yes, please," Jean said, more than a touch fervently. "I definitely feel we've both reached our quota of near-death experiences for the decade..." Although she fully believed that Nate meant for this to be reconnaissance, and certainly that was her goal. It was Saidullayev that she didn't trust to keep to the plan.
"Make that the rest of our lives..." Nathan sighed, reaching into his duffel bag for an MRE, which he handed to Jean. They were five hours into the flight, and it wasn't as if they'd had much time to stop for dinner before getting to New York to sneak aboard the plane. "I didn't call Moira and tell her I was going out of town. She's going to have my head over that, too."
"Could be worse," Jean offered, opening the packet. "I left Scott a note. It seemed marginally better than no notice..." There was a touch of wry humor, the sort that indicated that she well knew that her husband would have every right not to speak to her for a month over it.
"Kurt thought we were both cracked. I could tell." Nathan pulled out an MRE of his own. "I just can't help seeing this as a reprieve, you know? We all were living for months with this nightmare scenario of him acting as a member of the Brotherhood, and now we've got a chance to get him locked up safely back in the States where he can't hurt anyone else. I just don't want to mess it up." And he probably needed to stop stewing about this. It wasn't as if Jean disagreed with him, after all, or she wouldn't be here.
"Preaching to the choir," she told him. "And I realize that saying this isn't going to help, but relax. Right now? This is the bit where we can't do or change anything. We're committed to staying on the plan and ending up in Chechnya. Fretting about the next step isn't going to help. Fretting about the step six steps after that? Premature in the extreme." Leaning back as she picked at the food, Jean shrugged. "Something I decided, oh, a couple crises back. There's a time when you just need to wait and not worry about things." After a second she added, "Not that it usually works."
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
"I've actually done this before, you know." Nathan smiled slightly, letting his head rest against the cold metal of the side of the plane. He and Jean had found themselves a relatively secluded spot here in the cargo hold, sheltered from view by cargo containers securely fastened to the deck. The aid plane had a full load of food and medical supplies, which meant that the two of them could hide more easily, without having to expend any telepathic energy to keep themselves from being noticed just yet. There'd be plenty of that required on the ground in Chechnya. "Traveled via cargo plane."
"Ah, but have you traveled by cargo plane, or have you stowed away before? Although, knowing you, the answer's probably both." It was not the most comfortable of rides, Jean had to admit, but it did have a certain... novelty value.
"Both. All kinds of times with Mistra legitimately, but a number of times stowing away, too. Why do you think this was the first transportation solution that occurred to me?" There was a gleam of something approaching humor in his gray eyes for a moment, but it faded away, his expression going pensive again. "Your husband and Ororo are going to kill me, I think. However this turns out. Don't be afraid to throw me under the bus, huh?" The humor was back abruptly, although it was definitely forced. "It was my idea, after all."
"My life is always better when Scott doesn't have a reason to yell at me. Somehow, though, I don't think 'Nate started it' is going to be a good enough reason for me to be following you to Chechnya. How about you let him yell at you and I take Ororo?" The light banter was basically an automatic reaction these days, Jean thought. Probably that wasn't necessarily a good thing, though.
"Sure, why not. The last time Ororo and I had a screaming argument she punched me in the jaw. Hell of a right hook on that woman." Nathan rubbed his jaw lightly, remembering. "Your husband's usually a little less direct."
He looked sideways at her, speculatively. "I did mean what I said, about this being recon. Saidullayev nearly killed me in August, and however much training you and I have done since then, I'm not keen on a repeat. For either of us."
"Yes, please," Jean said, more than a touch fervently. "I definitely feel we've both reached our quota of near-death experiences for the decade..." Although she fully believed that Nate meant for this to be reconnaissance, and certainly that was her goal. It was Saidullayev that she didn't trust to keep to the plan.
"Make that the rest of our lives..." Nathan sighed, reaching into his duffel bag for an MRE, which he handed to Jean. They were five hours into the flight, and it wasn't as if they'd had much time to stop for dinner before getting to New York to sneak aboard the plane. "I didn't call Moira and tell her I was going out of town. She's going to have my head over that, too."
"Could be worse," Jean offered, opening the packet. "I left Scott a note. It seemed marginally better than no notice..." There was a touch of wry humor, the sort that indicated that she well knew that her husband would have every right not to speak to her for a month over it.
"Kurt thought we were both cracked. I could tell." Nathan pulled out an MRE of his own. "I just can't help seeing this as a reprieve, you know? We all were living for months with this nightmare scenario of him acting as a member of the Brotherhood, and now we've got a chance to get him locked up safely back in the States where he can't hurt anyone else. I just don't want to mess it up." And he probably needed to stop stewing about this. It wasn't as if Jean disagreed with him, after all, or she wouldn't be here.
"Preaching to the choir," she told him. "And I realize that saying this isn't going to help, but relax. Right now? This is the bit where we can't do or change anything. We're committed to staying on the plan and ending up in Chechnya. Fretting about the next step isn't going to help. Fretting about the step six steps after that? Premature in the extreme." Leaning back as she picked at the food, Jean shrugged. "Something I decided, oh, a couple crises back. There's a time when you just need to wait and not worry about things." After a second she added, "Not that it usually works."
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