Jean and Garrison: Workout

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean and Garrison have existential conversations in workout clothes.



Jean was out jogging through the grounds. The gym and the danger room had their perks but sometimes there was no comparison for the real outdoors. The snow had melted, and the grass and leaves were finally starting to turn green again. She listened to the rhythmic sounds of her stride as she made her way along the lake shoreline.

She became aware of a new sound as she approached, one that almost matched the beat of her run, and caught sight of Garrison cutting firewood.

"It is Spring, you know," Jean called as she came to a momentary pause, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

"Of course. Otherwise this would be really cold." Garrison paused, resting the axe against his shoulder. The Canadian's shirt was lying hung over the end of the sawhorse. During the summer, he'd always end up with one or two of the female students who just 'happened' to be resting on the lake near the wood shed. An impressive stack of logs rested from the cull of the grounds' woods, needing to be split and stacked in proper cords for the fireplaces and bonfires the school had. He found it relaxing; the pure clean physical activity and the soothing repetition of the motion with the axe.

Jean brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes as she stood up. She grinned a bit.

"Well, we'll probably have enough wood to last until next spring, so that's good," she mused, lifting her arms over her head to stretch.

"Hmmm. I suddenly have the urge to sing Monty Python."

"It will cost you an awful lot of drinks to get back into my red serge." Kane said, and neatly split another piece of wood. The odd time he had to wear his dress uniform for things always drew puzzled looks from the others, who occasionally forgot he was a Mountie.

"To see that....I might be inclined to buy those drinks," Jean said, wagging her eyebrows with a smile. She pressed two fingers to her neck and checked her watch.

"So are there any lingering side effects from before?" she said. Always the doctor in her wanting to check on her patients. She knew he healed quickly but still found herself asking.

"I'm sorry I blew up at you...I should've known what you said wasn't directed at me."

It had been a veritable roller coaster ride of emotion lately. She hadn't quite found the off switch to stop the ride.

"Hand is still a little stiff but mostly fine. I type like my father right now; two fingers and all the typos you can eat." Kane paused mid-swing. "Wait, what I said when?" Jean's eyes fluttered. The long ingrained information from medical school flashed across her mind. Those coming out of heavy anesthesia can have problems with memory.

She glanced up, then shook her head with a smile. "Nevermind. It's not important. You were just loopy. There are some exercises we can do to help with the stiffness if you'd like to try them. I'd also recommend taking a vitamin B6 supplement to help with the nerves in your hand."

"We can, but, you know, healing factor." Garrison shrugged. "So, considering that I told Marie-Ange that Deathstrike had essentially given my chest a blowjob, what did I say to you? Tell me it didn't involve orange juice."

Jean smirked. "It wasn't quite that colorful," she said, then fell silent a moment as that smirk turned into a quietly embarrassed smile.

"You said I was crazy. And I...went entirely unreasonable, flipped out, and yelled at you. Like I said...I'm sorry. I should've known. You did clarify for me but...the mission left me overly emotional for a little while so I overreacted."

"Huh. Sorry about that." He paused. His memories of the medlab were rather muddled, and he supposed it was better to call her crazy than to make some kind of rude statement. But it obviously bothered her. "Did I mention I think everyone here is crazy? Including myself?"

Jean nodded, then waved it away. "Yep. Like I said, overreaction," she said. It had bothered her at the time but it just hit the right button at the right time.

She should've known he hadn't meant it in a literal sense. Sometimes she still felt there were those who were wary around her because of what had happened and what she'd done. She probably would've been in some respects had she been in their shoes. Most were there were gone by now save for a few, some having heard only bits and pieces of the story. Mental illness was something that was an uncomfortable topic for some. She understood that.

"Have you heard from Dugan lately?"

"Yeah. He's got a doctor lady friend now looking after him. I just don't know how he does it." Kane was watching her gestures closely, but it looked like she believed what she was saying, and it wasn't just for his benefit. "Look Doc, I'm no expert and I know you've got older friends here, but if you ever want to, you know, talk, I'm generally available."

"It's the Hawaiian shirts. We members of the opposite sex are drawn to bright colors and floral so it's our Kryptonite," Jean said wryly, then paused and nodded.

"Thanks," she said. It was a genuine reply but she didn't much feel like talking. What was there to say but to open old wounds that should've remained closed?

"Has he heard anything about Deathstrike?"

"Not a thing. I sent the descriptions up the chain though, and North said that while most of the WEAPON X operatives were kept separated in small groups, he heard about a hydrokinetic that could manipulate fluid inside the body. So there's a chance that we ran into re-activated WEAPON X operatives under her command." Kane buried the axe into the chopping stump and took a seat against the side of the wagon.

Jean fell silent for a few moments, sitting down beside him.

"Does Logan know?"

Marie had been the one who had originally gave them the tip. She wasn't sure if word had gotten back to her or Logan for that matter.

"I wish we knew what they were planning, if it is WEAPON X-related, and what it has to do with human trafficking....Experiments, maybe?" The other usual uses for humans didn't seem to fit WEAPON X's purposes.

"Yeah, but he doesn't really have any memories of his time with the project. As for WEAPON X itself, the program shut down in the late nineties, but Stryker kept it off the books until he ran into you guys. Lyman, his back-up, ran it for a while, but when he crossed the X-Men again, lost pretty much the last resources available to him. There isn't a WEAPON X any longer. But we don't know what pieces are still out there and able to be activated, like that Shiva business." Kane shook his head. This was more his father's territory, but it had fallen to him. "And we still don't know what it has to do with ambushing Alpha Flight."

Jean shook her head. "We'll figure it out," she said. It was the only alternative, though most of the time it felt like whack-a-mole. Knock one down and another popped up.

"But it does make us more interesting than your FBI friends, doesn't it?" she said with a faint grin.

"Depends on the definition of 'interesting', but yeah. Hence my judgment of this whole place being crazy. We fought a super-soldier woman with claws who has come back from the dead, and that was another day at the office. Meanwhile, the people I went to high school with are contemplating their first house. I fought on a burning space laser at it fell out of orbit. They are stressed about finding daycare. It's pretty fucked up, when you think about what we call normal these days."

"I usually reserve the word 'interesting' as a nice term for peculiar, dangerous, and/or messed up," Jean mused.

She probably wouldn't know what to do with herself if she found herself faced with 'normal' after being around 'interesting' for so long. But it was a topic that seemed to come around often with those in this life. Sometimes she wondered what normal would be like again. She had it for a year, but didn't really count it since she wasn't 'herself' at the time. She didn't remember what it was like before.

"What would you do if you were given the chance at a normal life like them? Would you want it?"

"As a mutant? No. With my training and the things I can do, it would be selfish and irresponsible not to use them to the fullest. But if for whatever reason I lost my powers and couldn't do this... I don't know. It's attractive, you know?" He stared out over the lake for a long moment. "Being able to focus on what I want. Having to worry about bills instead of terrorists. Having a girlfriend who doesn't work for Interpol's most wanted assassin, or has the voice of a mass murderer in her head, or is wealthy, part of a scheming rich perv club and is dead crazy to boot."

Jean nodded thoughtfully, staring out over the lake. "They say try to find happiness in what you have instead of what you want. Sometimes its easy, sometimes...its all you think about," she said. A little bit of self-awareness had crept into her voice. It was an occasional thought. But she had Scott, she helped people. That was important too.

"The first thing that I was taught at the Academy was that being a cop is something you never get to put down, once you take it up." Kane said, relaxing against the fence. "The X-Men are the same thing. We can walk away from it, but not without changing part of what makes us us, eh? At least, who we are right now. Part of me would love a regular job, a small home, maybe even someone to share it with that is vaguely normal. But I couldn't be happy there and still be who Garrison Kane right now. Maybe that changes one day, maybe not. So what you want is all well and good, but in my experience, there's usually a good reason for having what you have."

"Destiny? You believe in that?" Jean asked with pure curiosity. It wasn't accusing, merely observational. The nature of philosophy was something different in representation to everyone. Ideals and beliefs and ways to carry out the dream were as different as the people who tried to live by it.

"Nope. Cause and effect." Garrison said. "There's all sorts of little things that make me who I am right now. To just jump from here to something entirely different requires us to change as instantly. I think that's there difference between what we want and what we think we want. I don't think you'd be happy right now without an X-Men shaped spot in your life, despite how much it costs. I know I wouldn't."

"I had that, for a year....but I didn't know what I had. I know I wanted it, but I couldn't remember it to really make that judgment. I know this is rewarding, and I know its right...but for all we do...sometimes the sacrifices we make, that picket fence, that small house, and the people that get hurt along the way....I know it happens, and it know it can happen with what we do...but its getting harder to shake lately. How close we get to death every time we put on our uniforms."

"Doc, if you've changed and this isn't who you are any longer, you have every right to walk away. That happens." Kane pointed out. "Just make sure you're sure about what you're wishing for. Staying for the wrong reasons is just as bad as leaving for the wrong reasons." Jean smiled softly. She didn't know why.

"I don't know what I wish for. I know I have the right, and I don't think anyone would fault me for leaving. They're just thoughts. Because I try to think about what my life would be like if I left...and I can't. Not really. Not with what's out there, or if I could've been the difference between life and death."

She let out a breath, twisting a red curl around her finger as she studied the waves.

"I guess I just wish there'd be some peace between mutants and humans after all this time. Instead its getting worse."

"Darkest before the dawn?" Garrison chuckled wryly. "You know, the sheer scope of what an integrated society needs to deal with stuns me sometimes. Look at me. I'm a cop, who happens to have super powers. Do I count as the use of deadly force automatically? Where does the ethical line exist in the use of mutant powers in the investigation of a crime? Can I use telepathy to interrogate a suspect? And that's just one tiny sliver of the questions we raise. Add on to that the reminder of the kind of damage that just one bad mutant can cause, and the backlash makes sense."

Jean nodded silently, digging the toe of her shoe into a pile of dead leaves that had collected at the base of the wagon.

"Damn you and your logic. I would like my picturesque fantasy world to instantly happen, thank you very much," she mused with a light smirk.

She knew what he meant, though. She knew what law makers thought behind closed doors, what they argued about over champagne or coffee in suits and ties. She knew how long it took with the Civil Rights Movement. She knew it took time, but sometimes she wished for a fast forward button.

"It can, but it will require heavy drugs and the Danger Room." Garrison spread his hands wide. "Make up your own reality. Ask me how!"

Jean laughed. "Frankly, I'm a little frightened at the thought that you probably know someone who would have the heavy illegal drugs you speak of to make that happen."

FBI Agents had contacts, and connections not quite as squeaky clean as doctors and political activists. Not that she didn't have connections. In fact the combination of the two roles probably gave her a leg up in that respect.

"Uh, you do realize that Pete Wisdom was basically my foster uncle as a child? I'm sure a quick trip to the Brownstone would pretty much fill up any stock you need."

Jean lifted her head with a satisfied nod. "Yep, hence the terror on my face. Terr-or."

"And here I thought it was unrestrained adulation." Kane clamboured to his feet and hefted the axe up to his shoulder. "Right, I better get the rest of these logs cut before I lose my excuse to wander around topless for the afternoon."

"You know what they say about assuming," Jean said, wagging her eyebrows before she smiled and stood up herself to stretch, lifting her arms up high over her head.

"Wouldn't want to deprive you of the simple things in life. See you later," she said with a wave, disappearing into the forest as she resumed her run.