![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-jeangrey.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsNorth comes to talk to Jean. Jean, reeling from the after effects of Genosha is not very receptive and has a bad reaction. Things manage to resolve themselves in the end, however.
Navigating the mansion based on vague personal memories and what little he remembered from studying blueprints a year or three ago was a pain given that David had strangely not run into anyone during his mission to find the gym. It was therefore with some relief that he located the room and pushed open the doors, stopping in the doorway as he studied the sight before him. When Amelia had informed him that Jean was in the gym, he had somehow pictured the redhead doctor peddling the gears off an exercise bike, and not literally beating the stuffing out of a punching bag.
Jean's hair had originally been in a tight ponytail. But over the course of her workout strands of hair had come loose and made a sort of reddish aura, framing her face like fire in the florescent light over head. Her muscles glistened with sweat as her fists pounded rhythmically against the bag, her eyes focused with a startling intensity.
"What do you want, David," she said without looking up. The bag swayed lightly back and forth with each punch.
It did not take a genius to figure out that the telekinetic was not in the best of moods. David watched her moves for several more beats before shrugging. The rise and drop of his shoulders appeared casual, but the German was wondering if he should enter and engage contact or remove himself from the situation. “It occurred to me that I should visit my favourite doctor now that I’m back in town.”
Letting out a cross between a grunt and a laugh, Jean punched the bag harder, causing the chain suspending the bag from the ceiling to screech.
"Amelia's in the medlab."
“She’s my second favourite,” he replied, allowing the door to shut behind him as he stepped inside the room. David cocked his head to the side. “Bad mood?”
The moment he said it the weights nearby began to rattle and metal chain holding the bag snapped, sending the bag crashing to the ground with a large thud. It probably would've been more spectacular had the giant firebird erupting from Jean's back, firey feathers extending to the sky, not obscured the sight.
Jean stared at the bag on the floor. The weights continued to rattle. The Phoenix lingered. For that moment she seemed unaware.
Almost automatically, David had stepped back, his back plastered to the wall and one arm on the door handle, ready to bolt at any given moment. He held his breath for a moment, willing his powers to kick in. But pale blue eyes remained steady, taking in the pretty damn magnificent sight before him. He kept his silence, self-preservation telling him that Jean was probably not in complete control of herself right now.
What was that thing?
Never had the spy heard of such a thing of one of the most powerful psions in the mansion. A new development, perhaps. With the fiery image half-blocking his view of her, Jean seemed almost otherworldly, her flame-coloured hair shifting with an unfelt wind as David waited for her to come back to herself. Well, at least that answered his question.
Apprehension. The emotion cut through like a beacon. Jean closed her eyes, and a dead silence came over the gym as the weighs stopped moving. The firebird disappeared like a candle being extinguished. She put her hand to her temple, glancing to David.
"I'm sorry," she said, furrowing her eyebrows.
"That was...I didn't mean to."
David’s hand slipped from the door handle. That she had not meant to was hardly reassuring, but he could only nod. “You are troubled.”
Jean turned away from him, grabbing a towel off the bench. She didn't say anything. Letting her powers go like that...she didn't know what she would've done had she hurt him. It was the entire reason why she had benched herself from the team.
“Are you all right?” David ventured further into the gym, stopping some ways off from her. He prodded the punching bag with a foot, not sensing any heat from it. Its chains were snapped cleanly without serration. The precognitive glanced at Jean.
Not really knowing how to respond to that question without being a little flippant, Jean laughed humorlessly in spite of herself and shook her head.
"Why would I be? The whole place is falling apart."
“Is it?” David cast a glance around, but all that he could see were several displaced weights and a broken punching bag. Nothing else but silence answered him. “I think,” he suggested evenly. “That you may be the one falling apart, Doc.”
Jean slowly looked behind her, back toward him, then spun to face him, cocking her head to the side as she marched up to him. Her eyes narrowed. She was equal height to him with her shoes on.
"I have seen five patients in the last four weeks... three admitted by their own actions...One, yourself, near death, three in the last two weeks alone. By the time one person is able to leave the medlab, down to the day another one comes in. Sometimes two overlap. I sleep during the day sometimes because I'm afraid if I don't someone will burst into my dreams with their thoughts, screaming my name because someone decided today was their day to try to kill themselves or get high on drugs in the middle of the night and overdose so I have to administer CPR or pump someone's stomach or give them fluids because they haven't eaten properly in months...I have young girls who have barely just begun who burn out their powers...who drop like flies and get carried in like rag dolls....They all come in...people screaming...all of them...Jean...please help...wide eyed, frantic....their minds blaring like fog horns...faces white as a sheet...And I have to be calm...I have to hold their hand when they wake up and tell them it’s alright until the next person comes in and I do it all over again because I have to...I want to save them...I have to save them because I'm the one they come to...So don't...." She jabbed her finger into his chest.
"Don't you dare. Maybe I am...but maybe that's the goddamn reason for it."
“So you’re falling apart with good reason,” David met her glare with a comparably placid one of his own, hardly flinching from the digit digging into his chest. “I am not judging you, Grey. Merely making an observation.”
Pausing, Jean blinked and laughed incredulously, staring at him like he'd just grown a third eye. "Wow. Okay," she said.
It was his poker face that was setting her off. How completely calm and collected he was, like she were some hysterical creature. And maybe she was. And the idea of it made her feel foolish.
"I need to go," she murmured, turning to brush past him.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side as he watched Jean in his typical stoic fashion. He did not stop her, but was obviously not willing to let the conversation end with her walking out on that note. “When one is overwhelmed, overworked, and overstressed, and the world is falling down about your ears, going away for a while may clear your head and make things seem less bleak.” David cracked a small, self-deprecating smile – barely a quirk to his lips. “I speak from personal experience, of course.”
Jean slowly came to a stop, folding her arms. "It’s not that easy," she said. She'd been trying to do it, and for a moment it felt like it might've been getting better but then something else would happen.
It was hard to stop and see where the eye of the storm was when you were right in the middle of it, being hit by debris.
“The world’s not an easy place.” The cliché was easily quipped at her because of the plain truth in it. “Not the world you live in, at least. But you can’t change that world, Doc. You can only influence how you interact and deal with it.” Now it sounded like he was preaching or giving one of those motivational speeches that certain brands of idiots paid good money to listen to. David shook his head.
“If every doctor were to lose their cool over morons who like to land themselves in the hospital with their brainless actions, then there would be very few doctors – and morons, granted – around. As I believe you to be a capable doctor, I would hazard another guess that that’s not the only reason you’re crumbling faster than the world.”
Glancing down at her hands, Jean began to unwind the tape she had wrapped around them for use with the punching bag. She didn't know him well enough to pour her heart on her sleeve. She was very good at bottling until the top popped off. Grey family trait.
"They teach you in medical school to be objective, detached. It’s not a good idea to get too close to patients...it can affect patient care..." She shook her head.
"But most doctors don't have to live with their patients, or teach them high school science, or lead them into battle. It’s easier to be detached when they aren't a part of their lives..." she said, continuing her focus on her hands, stripping off the tape until none remained.
"I can understand when people get hurt. When bad men do bad things. But when someone does it to themselves...on purpose...whether they know it or not...it--"
It resonated. Because she felt it more than most. She felt their body and their mind. Even if she tried not to. The self-loathing, the overwhelming, deep, dark, abandon, tugging a person under. It was different than treating someone who had broken their arm falling out of a tree or mending a burn from trying to rescue someone from a fire. They were in pain but they weren't trying to cause themselves that pain. It was easier to send them off because they wouldn't actively be trying to go try to hurt themselves again on purpose. And she understood them, because sometimes she felt like that, and it was too close.
"I guess it hit me harder than I thought it would."
Not quite sure exactly what ‘it’ Jean was referring to, David merely nodded in agreement – she had an almost irrefutable point to it, after all. And he (especially him, perhaps) was in no position to contradict it even if he could and desired to. She was feeling what she was feeling for reasons only she could tell, and while he could not empathise or completely comprehend it, he was not about to probe for further details.
In all honesty, he had sought her out with the intention of getting help. But David was not about to request aid from someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown for aid. It would be stupid… and likely against some unspoken social rule he could not be arsed to find out about. So the German man cocked his head to the side and watched as she removed the tape.
“Have you tried temporarily removing yourself from this place?” He asked, standing by his suggestion that Jean take a vacation away from her troublemakers.
Dropping the tape in the garbage, Jean readjusted her ponytail, smoothing the errant strands back in place. She leaned next to the door, a soft, wry smile creeping upon her lips.
"More than once. Spent a month in Tibet...California with Scott for awhile..." she said, then shook her head.
"I imagine I'm long overdue. I had given it some thought but it can take a kick in the pants every once and awhile to get me past the stubbornness. I just hate running from my problems. Even if I know taking a break isn't considered running. It feels like it to me."
Which probably was why he ended up doing work during his own leave. David shook his head. “One day, Doc,” the spy glanced down at his watch. “Is enough. You don’t need an entire month abroad to piece yourself together.”
Jean shrugged. "I did then. Now..." She glanced up at the sky, then let out a breath. "Even when I leave I still think about the place." It was never really leaving.
She smiled again, putting her hands above her head to stretch, letting her hands drop before folding her arms.
"Charles would tell me that I need to learn to let go. I love the idea...just don't know how to bring it about it practice."
She cocked her head to the side, noticing his check of the time. "If there's somewhere you need to be I won't keep you."
“No, I do not,” he replied shortly, abruptly. “Fancy a road trip to Boston, Grey?”
"Depends..." Jean said suspiciously, squinting. "Do we have to go to a Red Sox game? Not a fan."
David snorted. “I am German. I do not watch the Red Sox. Are you a fan of good food, drink and music, then?”
Jean smirked, resting her chin in her hand. "I could be persuaded."
****
Shielding his eyes from the sun, David peered up at the twisting metal structure with his brows drawn into a frown. Above the snaking queue that they had joined, people were screaming their lungs out. The German man turned to look at Jean, blue eyes somewhat unreadable. “Well, feel free to ‘let go’ while we’re hanging upside down.”
Jean studied the cars as they weaved their way around the track. This was where most normal people got their adrenaline rush. She laughed. "I went here a couple of times as a kid. It seemed bigger. But I guess most things usually do at that age."
It seemed almost poetic, him taking her out to an amusement park to try to cheer up when she herself had tried, nearly failed, and then taken Garrison in her attempt to cheer him up.
“I’m pretty sure once you’re in that thing, that won’t matter any more.” It had been a whim, bringing Jean here. He was not all that fond of amusement parks, but screaming was therapeutic, as was sitting in fast-moving vehicles, although he was almost sure that she would not have appreciated him speeding down the highway as much.
Cocking her head to the side, Jean smiled a bit. "It sounds like you're trying to kill me instead of taking me on a roller coaster. I've already been on that ride," she said.
"Not exactly my idea of fun."
“Don’t worry,” David replied, in all seriousness. “I don’t usually give my targets enough time to register that they are being killed, much less time to bring them on a joyride. I suppose it lacks that sense of anticipation some people love so much, but.” The German man shrugged, arching a brow at the redhead with a wry twist of his lips.
Slipping her hands into her pockets, Jean glanced away with a faint smile. "How thoughtful," she said. She didn't agree with X-Force's methods but she didn't feel like being preachy. Because that went over so well the last time she had a philosophical discussion with another X-Force member.
"But it sounds like you keep busy. I'm surprised you were able to take the time out to kidnap me."
“You make time for important things,” he said, almost nonchalant in his reply. Granted, what had initially been so important was trying to convince the good doctor to help him with his problems. “Our work never ends either way.”
"You noticed that too," Jean said. Finding the balance was key. Though many times that balance was shifted off kilter.
"The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for the good to do nothing."
That was one of the things that kept her going.
“Aye,” David nodded with a casual rise and drop of his shoulders. Good and evil were not necessarily concepts he agreed with. But for the sake of discussion, Jean’s point was not one he disagreed with. He believed that what he did was with the right goals in mind and he used the necessary methods because not everyone else could or would employ them to achieve said objectives. Whatever taint it might leave on his already tattered conscience, the spy was adept at ignoring. “And an exhausted ‘good’ person is not in the best position to do any good.”
He glanced at her and quirked a half-grin. “It was a difficult lesson to learn.” And an even more difficult lesson to remember and apply.
"Mmm," Jean nodded in agreement, for most of those statements as they finally wound up close to being the next in line to climb onto the roller coaster.
"I'll admit. I've had my moments of doubt."
Whether or not it was a viable goal, to keep going or just let it fade away. After her Hope had been lost....she'd found herself torn.
“About what?” He nodded at the pock-marked teenager who waved them onto the contraption, and clambered in as gracefully as he could.
"The dream," Jean said, slipping in beside him. A peaceful coexistence.
"But....then I see my students...I see other moments...where it gives me..." She looked away. She couldn't say the word. It felt silly.
“Hope?”
Jean smiled, glancing out over Coney Island, and the harbor nearby.
"Yeah," she said. She shrugged.
"I know it'll take time."
“And we do not know whether we will live long enough to see it happen in time,” he stated, grabbing the metal bar in front of them as they started forward with a lurch. His powers were bound to kick in, and his preferred way of dealing with it was to keep his eyes closed as he enjoyed the ride.
“Stop thinking so much, doc.”
She glanced over, arching a brow with an amused smirk. "'Thinking so much' is kind of my thing."
Anything else she might have said or he might have responded with was lost in the wind as the metal contraption rapidly climbed steep rails, and faced off with a steeper drop.
Experiencing the ride with his body lagging after his mind was an interesting experience he could not explain in words. The German man smirked as adrenaline began to course, the sound of screams from the other riders sounding shrill in the air.
Jean's eyes widened, so focused on the conversation that she hadn't really been paying attention. She was glad she hadn't let reflex take over, otherwise she would've stopped the car dead on its tracks. And as the coaster went around, her hair billowing about like flames, she finally closed her eyes and held up her arms.
****
The jazz bar was at half capacity when they arrived, and the band slotted to perform was not on the raised platform yet. They ordered their food and drinks and settled against the pleather upholstery of the booth to wait for their food.
There were three exits – the main door, back door near the bathrooms and one behind the bar – and most of the windows were obstructed by various knick-knacks save for the one closest to the front entrance. David had chosen a booth that had their backs against the wall, with a clear exit route out the back. Occupation hazard.
After studying the crowd, Jean glanced David over. She smiled.
"Hard to get off the clock, hmm?" she said. He had the look of a calculating man. She saw it on Scott often. Even she was guilty of it. Worked too much, drank too much coffee, trained too much. The more she needed to do was have fun. And even then it was hard to work in her schedule.
“What clock?” David replied, almost jokingly, unperturbed at being caught. “It’s a lifestyle.”
"I can see that," Jean mused as she took a sip of the water the waitress had brought out while they were waiting.
“It has saved me more than I care to remember. No reason to stop,” he said placidly. “But all the more reason for you to relax. The schnitzel here is good, as is the band that plays on week nights, and I trust you have no complaints about the company.”
"Merely an observation," Jean said, studying the crowd. "I haven't been to this place yet. I have my favorites. Though I never would've equated 'schnitzel' with 'jazz.'
She rested her chin in her hand with a smile. "And the company is nice."
He responded with a slight small of his own. “The chef here is German. And cheats at poker.”
"Remind me not to play poker here, then," Jean said with a smirk as the waitress finally came back with their drinks.
"Pool's more my game." Granted, she might've cheated a little. So at least he'd know what to expect.
“I am almost certain I will be at a disadvantage if we ever play pool,” David said blithely, watching from the corner of his eye as members of the band started trickling on stage for set up. He raised his glass towards hers and tilted his head in a thought. “To happier times ahead.”
"And why's that?" Jean said innocently, then lifted up her glass. "And good heath for all."
She'd rather see someone in a social context rather than a professional one.
David smirked and did not respond, merely drank deeply from his glass. The band struck its first note, and he glanced towards the stage, listening appreciatively to the smooth sounds of the alto saxophone.
“Care for a dance?”
Glancing over to the band, Jean smiled, extending her hand. "I'd love to." Jazz clubs were one of the few places she enjoyed dancing in. The music had its own elegant rhythm, making impossible to not want to get up and do a few moves.
Grasping her hand lightly, David led her onto the dance floor. Her experienced and precise moves were counterpoint to his less than elegant shuffling around, but the spy only smiled as Jean finally, finally relaxed into the dance.
Navigating the mansion based on vague personal memories and what little he remembered from studying blueprints a year or three ago was a pain given that David had strangely not run into anyone during his mission to find the gym. It was therefore with some relief that he located the room and pushed open the doors, stopping in the doorway as he studied the sight before him. When Amelia had informed him that Jean was in the gym, he had somehow pictured the redhead doctor peddling the gears off an exercise bike, and not literally beating the stuffing out of a punching bag.
Jean's hair had originally been in a tight ponytail. But over the course of her workout strands of hair had come loose and made a sort of reddish aura, framing her face like fire in the florescent light over head. Her muscles glistened with sweat as her fists pounded rhythmically against the bag, her eyes focused with a startling intensity.
"What do you want, David," she said without looking up. The bag swayed lightly back and forth with each punch.
It did not take a genius to figure out that the telekinetic was not in the best of moods. David watched her moves for several more beats before shrugging. The rise and drop of his shoulders appeared casual, but the German was wondering if he should enter and engage contact or remove himself from the situation. “It occurred to me that I should visit my favourite doctor now that I’m back in town.”
Letting out a cross between a grunt and a laugh, Jean punched the bag harder, causing the chain suspending the bag from the ceiling to screech.
"Amelia's in the medlab."
“She’s my second favourite,” he replied, allowing the door to shut behind him as he stepped inside the room. David cocked his head to the side. “Bad mood?”
The moment he said it the weights nearby began to rattle and metal chain holding the bag snapped, sending the bag crashing to the ground with a large thud. It probably would've been more spectacular had the giant firebird erupting from Jean's back, firey feathers extending to the sky, not obscured the sight.
Jean stared at the bag on the floor. The weights continued to rattle. The Phoenix lingered. For that moment she seemed unaware.
Almost automatically, David had stepped back, his back plastered to the wall and one arm on the door handle, ready to bolt at any given moment. He held his breath for a moment, willing his powers to kick in. But pale blue eyes remained steady, taking in the pretty damn magnificent sight before him. He kept his silence, self-preservation telling him that Jean was probably not in complete control of herself right now.
What was that thing?
Never had the spy heard of such a thing of one of the most powerful psions in the mansion. A new development, perhaps. With the fiery image half-blocking his view of her, Jean seemed almost otherworldly, her flame-coloured hair shifting with an unfelt wind as David waited for her to come back to herself. Well, at least that answered his question.
Apprehension. The emotion cut through like a beacon. Jean closed her eyes, and a dead silence came over the gym as the weighs stopped moving. The firebird disappeared like a candle being extinguished. She put her hand to her temple, glancing to David.
"I'm sorry," she said, furrowing her eyebrows.
"That was...I didn't mean to."
David’s hand slipped from the door handle. That she had not meant to was hardly reassuring, but he could only nod. “You are troubled.”
Jean turned away from him, grabbing a towel off the bench. She didn't say anything. Letting her powers go like that...she didn't know what she would've done had she hurt him. It was the entire reason why she had benched herself from the team.
“Are you all right?” David ventured further into the gym, stopping some ways off from her. He prodded the punching bag with a foot, not sensing any heat from it. Its chains were snapped cleanly without serration. The precognitive glanced at Jean.
Not really knowing how to respond to that question without being a little flippant, Jean laughed humorlessly in spite of herself and shook her head.
"Why would I be? The whole place is falling apart."
“Is it?” David cast a glance around, but all that he could see were several displaced weights and a broken punching bag. Nothing else but silence answered him. “I think,” he suggested evenly. “That you may be the one falling apart, Doc.”
Jean slowly looked behind her, back toward him, then spun to face him, cocking her head to the side as she marched up to him. Her eyes narrowed. She was equal height to him with her shoes on.
"I have seen five patients in the last four weeks... three admitted by their own actions...One, yourself, near death, three in the last two weeks alone. By the time one person is able to leave the medlab, down to the day another one comes in. Sometimes two overlap. I sleep during the day sometimes because I'm afraid if I don't someone will burst into my dreams with their thoughts, screaming my name because someone decided today was their day to try to kill themselves or get high on drugs in the middle of the night and overdose so I have to administer CPR or pump someone's stomach or give them fluids because they haven't eaten properly in months...I have young girls who have barely just begun who burn out their powers...who drop like flies and get carried in like rag dolls....They all come in...people screaming...all of them...Jean...please help...wide eyed, frantic....their minds blaring like fog horns...faces white as a sheet...And I have to be calm...I have to hold their hand when they wake up and tell them it’s alright until the next person comes in and I do it all over again because I have to...I want to save them...I have to save them because I'm the one they come to...So don't...." She jabbed her finger into his chest.
"Don't you dare. Maybe I am...but maybe that's the goddamn reason for it."
“So you’re falling apart with good reason,” David met her glare with a comparably placid one of his own, hardly flinching from the digit digging into his chest. “I am not judging you, Grey. Merely making an observation.”
Pausing, Jean blinked and laughed incredulously, staring at him like he'd just grown a third eye. "Wow. Okay," she said.
It was his poker face that was setting her off. How completely calm and collected he was, like she were some hysterical creature. And maybe she was. And the idea of it made her feel foolish.
"I need to go," she murmured, turning to brush past him.
“Maybe you should,” he agreed crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side as he watched Jean in his typical stoic fashion. He did not stop her, but was obviously not willing to let the conversation end with her walking out on that note. “When one is overwhelmed, overworked, and overstressed, and the world is falling down about your ears, going away for a while may clear your head and make things seem less bleak.” David cracked a small, self-deprecating smile – barely a quirk to his lips. “I speak from personal experience, of course.”
Jean slowly came to a stop, folding her arms. "It’s not that easy," she said. She'd been trying to do it, and for a moment it felt like it might've been getting better but then something else would happen.
It was hard to stop and see where the eye of the storm was when you were right in the middle of it, being hit by debris.
“The world’s not an easy place.” The cliché was easily quipped at her because of the plain truth in it. “Not the world you live in, at least. But you can’t change that world, Doc. You can only influence how you interact and deal with it.” Now it sounded like he was preaching or giving one of those motivational speeches that certain brands of idiots paid good money to listen to. David shook his head.
“If every doctor were to lose their cool over morons who like to land themselves in the hospital with their brainless actions, then there would be very few doctors – and morons, granted – around. As I believe you to be a capable doctor, I would hazard another guess that that’s not the only reason you’re crumbling faster than the world.”
Glancing down at her hands, Jean began to unwind the tape she had wrapped around them for use with the punching bag. She didn't know him well enough to pour her heart on her sleeve. She was very good at bottling until the top popped off. Grey family trait.
"They teach you in medical school to be objective, detached. It’s not a good idea to get too close to patients...it can affect patient care..." She shook her head.
"But most doctors don't have to live with their patients, or teach them high school science, or lead them into battle. It’s easier to be detached when they aren't a part of their lives..." she said, continuing her focus on her hands, stripping off the tape until none remained.
"I can understand when people get hurt. When bad men do bad things. But when someone does it to themselves...on purpose...whether they know it or not...it--"
It resonated. Because she felt it more than most. She felt their body and their mind. Even if she tried not to. The self-loathing, the overwhelming, deep, dark, abandon, tugging a person under. It was different than treating someone who had broken their arm falling out of a tree or mending a burn from trying to rescue someone from a fire. They were in pain but they weren't trying to cause themselves that pain. It was easier to send them off because they wouldn't actively be trying to go try to hurt themselves again on purpose. And she understood them, because sometimes she felt like that, and it was too close.
"I guess it hit me harder than I thought it would."
Not quite sure exactly what ‘it’ Jean was referring to, David merely nodded in agreement – she had an almost irrefutable point to it, after all. And he (especially him, perhaps) was in no position to contradict it even if he could and desired to. She was feeling what she was feeling for reasons only she could tell, and while he could not empathise or completely comprehend it, he was not about to probe for further details.
In all honesty, he had sought her out with the intention of getting help. But David was not about to request aid from someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown for aid. It would be stupid… and likely against some unspoken social rule he could not be arsed to find out about. So the German man cocked his head to the side and watched as she removed the tape.
“Have you tried temporarily removing yourself from this place?” He asked, standing by his suggestion that Jean take a vacation away from her troublemakers.
Dropping the tape in the garbage, Jean readjusted her ponytail, smoothing the errant strands back in place. She leaned next to the door, a soft, wry smile creeping upon her lips.
"More than once. Spent a month in Tibet...California with Scott for awhile..." she said, then shook her head.
"I imagine I'm long overdue. I had given it some thought but it can take a kick in the pants every once and awhile to get me past the stubbornness. I just hate running from my problems. Even if I know taking a break isn't considered running. It feels like it to me."
Which probably was why he ended up doing work during his own leave. David shook his head. “One day, Doc,” the spy glanced down at his watch. “Is enough. You don’t need an entire month abroad to piece yourself together.”
Jean shrugged. "I did then. Now..." She glanced up at the sky, then let out a breath. "Even when I leave I still think about the place." It was never really leaving.
She smiled again, putting her hands above her head to stretch, letting her hands drop before folding her arms.
"Charles would tell me that I need to learn to let go. I love the idea...just don't know how to bring it about it practice."
She cocked her head to the side, noticing his check of the time. "If there's somewhere you need to be I won't keep you."
“No, I do not,” he replied shortly, abruptly. “Fancy a road trip to Boston, Grey?”
"Depends..." Jean said suspiciously, squinting. "Do we have to go to a Red Sox game? Not a fan."
David snorted. “I am German. I do not watch the Red Sox. Are you a fan of good food, drink and music, then?”
Jean smirked, resting her chin in her hand. "I could be persuaded."
****
Shielding his eyes from the sun, David peered up at the twisting metal structure with his brows drawn into a frown. Above the snaking queue that they had joined, people were screaming their lungs out. The German man turned to look at Jean, blue eyes somewhat unreadable. “Well, feel free to ‘let go’ while we’re hanging upside down.”
Jean studied the cars as they weaved their way around the track. This was where most normal people got their adrenaline rush. She laughed. "I went here a couple of times as a kid. It seemed bigger. But I guess most things usually do at that age."
It seemed almost poetic, him taking her out to an amusement park to try to cheer up when she herself had tried, nearly failed, and then taken Garrison in her attempt to cheer him up.
“I’m pretty sure once you’re in that thing, that won’t matter any more.” It had been a whim, bringing Jean here. He was not all that fond of amusement parks, but screaming was therapeutic, as was sitting in fast-moving vehicles, although he was almost sure that she would not have appreciated him speeding down the highway as much.
Cocking her head to the side, Jean smiled a bit. "It sounds like you're trying to kill me instead of taking me on a roller coaster. I've already been on that ride," she said.
"Not exactly my idea of fun."
“Don’t worry,” David replied, in all seriousness. “I don’t usually give my targets enough time to register that they are being killed, much less time to bring them on a joyride. I suppose it lacks that sense of anticipation some people love so much, but.” The German man shrugged, arching a brow at the redhead with a wry twist of his lips.
Slipping her hands into her pockets, Jean glanced away with a faint smile. "How thoughtful," she said. She didn't agree with X-Force's methods but she didn't feel like being preachy. Because that went over so well the last time she had a philosophical discussion with another X-Force member.
"But it sounds like you keep busy. I'm surprised you were able to take the time out to kidnap me."
“You make time for important things,” he said, almost nonchalant in his reply. Granted, what had initially been so important was trying to convince the good doctor to help him with his problems. “Our work never ends either way.”
"You noticed that too," Jean said. Finding the balance was key. Though many times that balance was shifted off kilter.
"The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for the good to do nothing."
That was one of the things that kept her going.
“Aye,” David nodded with a casual rise and drop of his shoulders. Good and evil were not necessarily concepts he agreed with. But for the sake of discussion, Jean’s point was not one he disagreed with. He believed that what he did was with the right goals in mind and he used the necessary methods because not everyone else could or would employ them to achieve said objectives. Whatever taint it might leave on his already tattered conscience, the spy was adept at ignoring. “And an exhausted ‘good’ person is not in the best position to do any good.”
He glanced at her and quirked a half-grin. “It was a difficult lesson to learn.” And an even more difficult lesson to remember and apply.
"Mmm," Jean nodded in agreement, for most of those statements as they finally wound up close to being the next in line to climb onto the roller coaster.
"I'll admit. I've had my moments of doubt."
Whether or not it was a viable goal, to keep going or just let it fade away. After her Hope had been lost....she'd found herself torn.
“About what?” He nodded at the pock-marked teenager who waved them onto the contraption, and clambered in as gracefully as he could.
"The dream," Jean said, slipping in beside him. A peaceful coexistence.
"But....then I see my students...I see other moments...where it gives me..." She looked away. She couldn't say the word. It felt silly.
“Hope?”
Jean smiled, glancing out over Coney Island, and the harbor nearby.
"Yeah," she said. She shrugged.
"I know it'll take time."
“And we do not know whether we will live long enough to see it happen in time,” he stated, grabbing the metal bar in front of them as they started forward with a lurch. His powers were bound to kick in, and his preferred way of dealing with it was to keep his eyes closed as he enjoyed the ride.
“Stop thinking so much, doc.”
She glanced over, arching a brow with an amused smirk. "'Thinking so much' is kind of my thing."
Anything else she might have said or he might have responded with was lost in the wind as the metal contraption rapidly climbed steep rails, and faced off with a steeper drop.
Experiencing the ride with his body lagging after his mind was an interesting experience he could not explain in words. The German man smirked as adrenaline began to course, the sound of screams from the other riders sounding shrill in the air.
Jean's eyes widened, so focused on the conversation that she hadn't really been paying attention. She was glad she hadn't let reflex take over, otherwise she would've stopped the car dead on its tracks. And as the coaster went around, her hair billowing about like flames, she finally closed her eyes and held up her arms.
****
The jazz bar was at half capacity when they arrived, and the band slotted to perform was not on the raised platform yet. They ordered their food and drinks and settled against the pleather upholstery of the booth to wait for their food.
There were three exits – the main door, back door near the bathrooms and one behind the bar – and most of the windows were obstructed by various knick-knacks save for the one closest to the front entrance. David had chosen a booth that had their backs against the wall, with a clear exit route out the back. Occupation hazard.
After studying the crowd, Jean glanced David over. She smiled.
"Hard to get off the clock, hmm?" she said. He had the look of a calculating man. She saw it on Scott often. Even she was guilty of it. Worked too much, drank too much coffee, trained too much. The more she needed to do was have fun. And even then it was hard to work in her schedule.
“What clock?” David replied, almost jokingly, unperturbed at being caught. “It’s a lifestyle.”
"I can see that," Jean mused as she took a sip of the water the waitress had brought out while they were waiting.
“It has saved me more than I care to remember. No reason to stop,” he said placidly. “But all the more reason for you to relax. The schnitzel here is good, as is the band that plays on week nights, and I trust you have no complaints about the company.”
"Merely an observation," Jean said, studying the crowd. "I haven't been to this place yet. I have my favorites. Though I never would've equated 'schnitzel' with 'jazz.'
She rested her chin in her hand with a smile. "And the company is nice."
He responded with a slight small of his own. “The chef here is German. And cheats at poker.”
"Remind me not to play poker here, then," Jean said with a smirk as the waitress finally came back with their drinks.
"Pool's more my game." Granted, she might've cheated a little. So at least he'd know what to expect.
“I am almost certain I will be at a disadvantage if we ever play pool,” David said blithely, watching from the corner of his eye as members of the band started trickling on stage for set up. He raised his glass towards hers and tilted his head in a thought. “To happier times ahead.”
"And why's that?" Jean said innocently, then lifted up her glass. "And good heath for all."
She'd rather see someone in a social context rather than a professional one.
David smirked and did not respond, merely drank deeply from his glass. The band struck its first note, and he glanced towards the stage, listening appreciatively to the smooth sounds of the alto saxophone.
“Care for a dance?”
Glancing over to the band, Jean smiled, extending her hand. "I'd love to." Jazz clubs were one of the few places she enjoyed dancing in. The music had its own elegant rhythm, making impossible to not want to get up and do a few moves.
Grasping her hand lightly, David led her onto the dance floor. Her experienced and precise moves were counterpoint to his less than elegant shuffling around, but the spy only smiled as Jean finally, finally relaxed into the dance.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}