Fred and Jean: Tattoos

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Jean does Fred a favor with something he's been wanting to do.



Fred inhaled, and watched his thin, well built bared chest rise higher in the mirror on the far side of the room. He seemed to try and hold his breath as long as possible, and looked away from the mirror before he exhaled. Casting his eyes down at the large, technologically daunting cuff on his forearm, Fred couldn't help but feel like the mild, warm discomfort flowing through him arm was God's way of reminding him not to look in the mirror too long...

Doing his best to avoid looking at anything reflective, Fred looked over at Jean from the long bench he sat on, offering her a small smile, "Thanks again for offering tah, uh, 'chaperone' me tonight, Mrs, uh, Doctor Summ-erm-Grey...?" Fred sighed and rubbed his eyes. Never too late to make a bad impression, huh Dukes? Try again. Stick with what you know. "Uh, Dr. Jean...?"

"Jean's fine," Jean said with a soft smile that faded into a look of concentration as she studied him carefully. She knew he was just trying to be friendly. Even she didn't know where her relationship with Scott was at the moment. She wasn't expecting everyone to keep scorecards. It wasn't fair to them.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." There was a pause before Fred winced and shook his head a little, "Nah, Ah guess Ah ain't. Ah dunno. Figurin' out iffen yah're fine or not's a hard one." Fred caught himself looking in the mirror again before turning back to Jean, "How bout you? Ah, uh, no it ain't mah business or nuthin..."

Jean laughed. "I couldn't agree more," she mused, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall, studying the equipment to make sure it looked properly sanitized. After a moment she shook her head.

"No, its okay. I don't know either. I guess it depends on the day. I'm trying for one day at a time. Today's gone well so far. Yesterday wasn't so bad either. I'm hoping for a continual trend."

Various artwork lined the walls. She wondered how many of their selections had been used. All of them? It was close enough to NYC that they probably had their fair share of customers. It also helped that they were mutant friendly and didn't really ask too many questions.

"So what made you decide to get a tattoo?"

Fred had lit a cigarette, dragging off of it as he too looked around at the art on the walls. He frowned a little when Jean asked about the tattoo, and it took him a while to answer. "...Ah'm tryin tah like how Ah look." he said finally, tapping his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, "Or...trying tah get comfortable with tha body Ah got. Or..." He cussed a little under his breath, "Ah...yah know...?"

Jean nodded. "Your genes determined what you look like...You want to make your own mark," she said a broad smile. It was definitely understandable.

"I know Hank struggled with it when he was younger. Still does from time to time. It can be harder when you're a mutant. But the idea of normalcy is a myth. Almost a caricature. The only normal you see is on TV. And even then that's questionable."

Especially reality television.

Fred blew smoke out his nose, trying to keep his attention on his size 19-Wide Chucks that now pooled around his feet rather than blurting out what he wanted to. The few seconds let him figure out, at least a little better, what he wanted to blurt out, "Ah talked with Hank sum, Dr. Jean. An' Ah know a lotta what yah went through mentally is like what he an Ah did physically, but..." Fred reached down and turned off the Neutralizer on his wrist. There were several low, cracking rumbles, like a house settling.

After a few painful moments, Fred sat on the now sagging tattoo bench, rippling with his normal layers of fat and muscle, "Yah were a teenage girl, an twentysumthin. Yah tell me how they normally look at this." Far from his words being venomous, Fred just spoke softly, even managing a little smile...

Jean took a seat in a chair nearby. "Depends on the girl," she said. She shook her head. She didn't quite know what to say to make him feel better. It was the question that was always asked by those who looked different, were different....why me?

Glancing down, she smiled back faintly. "Well this....certainly took a turn for the philosophical."

Fred blinked a few times, as he reattached the bracelet and began shrinking back to 'person'-size. He took a drag from his cigarette, then chuckled and genuinely smiled, "Don't mean tah bring the vibe down. Here, Ah'll fix it: monster trucks, feelings are dumb, uh...tits...?"

Pausing, Jean tilted her head to make sure she heard him properly, then let out a quick, surprised laugh.

"No, it's okay," she said, then shook her head.

"I'm sorry...I'm normally better at this," she admitted, brushing her hair behind her ears.

"I guess its easier to talk about the issues to a bunch of delegates in suits than people I know. I don't much care if I hurt a congressman's feelings."

"Usually they have it commin, Ah wager. An Ah wouldn't worry too much about hurtin mah feelins," Fred pulled the artwork of the tattoo he wanted out of his discarded jacket, and smiled a little around his smoke, "Nuthin hurts the Adipose...!" he said, with all the faux drama he could muster. Pulling up a chair, Jean plopped down beside Fred. "I remember," she said.

"I always thought that whole thing about words never hurting was a lie."

She smiled back, a bit of a smirk creeping in.

"And yeah...the guys in Washington usually do."

She nodded to his picture. "Can I see?"

Fred unfolded the cheap paper, handing Jean the picture of an ornate, colorful anchor, "Ah figure it's fitting, in a weird kinda way. Ah mean, like how Ah don't moven iffen Ah don't want tah..."

Jean nodded in affirmation. "Makes sense. It could also work on a metaphorical level as well." Being someone's 'rock' as it were.

Fred nodded, a small, unreadable little grin on his face, "Ah ain't no ones rock...but Ah think Ah see what you're sayin..."

"Don't sell yourself short," Jean said, leaning back in her chair.

She tapped her temple. "You have more strength than just in your muscles."

Fred chuckled out smoke, crushing out his cigarette, "Yeah, iffen someone needs information on Stuart Gordon, or Gamera, or Elvira, then I'm the folk for the job..."

Jean arched a brow. "I recognize Elvira...at least I think. Not sure about the other two."


Fred did his best to look aghast, but devolved into chuckling. As the tattoo artist wrapped up with his other customer, and started heading towards the pair, Fred offered Jean a hand, "Tell yah what; since yah did me a solid with this, Ah'll grab yah a beer and further your education whenever yah have some free time. Deal?"


Extending her hand, Jean smiled. "Deal."