Gabriel & Rogue

[x-velocidad.livejournal.com]

Gabriel and Rogue talk about adulthood and art therapy.

Boredom begat restlessness, and restlessness led to wandering, which is how Gabriel found himself shivering in a pea coat as he navigated the grounds of Charles Xavier's estate.

The idea of a walk in the country air had seemed romantic enough, and he'd like how Downton Abbey it seemed. But Mary Crawley had fur coats and a greater tolerance for cold weather than a 19-year-old who grew up in the desert. Also, she was fictional, which probably helped her constitution considerably.

Spotting the boathouse ahead, Gabriel used his powers to speed toward it and threw open the door. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, pulling his ear buds out and reaching in his jacket pocket for his phone. It hadn't occurred to him until he looked up that he might be crashing someone else's zen time.

Squish went that project, Rogue thought, looking forlornly at the clay in front of her. She'd been trying to come up with an idea for Christmas presents and was failing miserably. She was a terrible knitter, she was finding zero inspiration in painting, and now sculpting was out of the question.

She gave a smile at the boy at the door. "Hey cutie, ya here for art, or for warmth," she asked, noting his red cheeks and nose.

"Oh, uh..." He shrugged, looking around. "Warmth, unless you've got a heated painting I can cuddle." While Gabriel wrapped his headphones around his, he looked at her pile of clay. "Guessing a statue's out."

She looked down and nodded. "It was jus' turnin' into a mess anyways.". Wiping her hands on her smock, she motioned to a chair in front of the table she was working on. "Sit. Do you want some coffee? I think there might be tea, but I can't vouch for its freshness. I'm Rogue, by the way. Have we met?"

"Not officially." He unbuttoned his coat and walked toward her. "But you know, it's like that whole thing where you're vaguely familiar with the people in your apartment building even if you don't know their names." And then you made up nicknames like Gauges Guy or Aspiring Vampire Girl when you saw them around.

"I'm Gabriel." He sat. "Coffee sounds great."

Walking over to the kitchenette area, she set up the keurig. "Didja know that people, in general, are more likely to be friends with people who live closest to them? And even end marrying those that live nearby? It's a law of attraction. Proximity.". She brought the coffee back to the table, black, and had a creamer and sugar. "Here ya go. Sorry. That apartment comment made me think of that."

"Huh. Go figure." He shrugged his coat off, then lifted the cup with a nod. "Does that mean we're going to be friends for life?"

"Well, I sure as shit ain't marryin' ya, cutie, so I guess friends is where it's at." She lifted her cup as well, in a mock toast. "So here's to new friends, even though we probably should know each other by this point." She took a sip, and gestured to his outfit. "And what exactly where y'all trying to prove, walkin' around barely dressed for the weather? Did your mama never teach you about old man winter?"

Gabriel sighed. "No, not really." He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. "I'm from El Paso." He grabbed the sugar. "We don't know about parkas and polar vortexes and blizzards, and all that other East Coast winter weather nonsense." He gently swirled his cup. "Kinda had to figure all that crap out on my own."

Rogue nodded sympathetically. "I'm from Mississippi, so really, I was jus' teasing ya." She sat down at the table, and put one leg up, balancing her cup in her knee. "Once upon a time, I ran away to Alaska. Holy shit, was I ever cold. I learned the value of a good coat that day."

"Alaska?" Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. "That's why you run away to places with buildings and heat and, you know, stores. I'm all about distance, but Christ. Toronto's just as far, and it's probably a lot more civilized."

She gave a shrug. "Alaska seemed more exotic than Canada, but looking back, I agree. I lived in Montreal for a while, couple o' years ago. Canadians are nice." After a thought she added, "If I hadn't gone to Alaska though, I wouldn't have met Logan and I wouldn't have ended up here. Life is funny that way."

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded. "No kidding." His own journey to the mansion probably hadn't been any less weird, even if there had been less mileage involved. "You like it here, though? I mean, you know, you came back."

"Must be," she agreed with a cheery smile. "I don't really got family, so this here place, this is my family: Scott and Jean, Logan, the Professor, Garrison, etc, etc. There's something about the Mansion that makes it easy to get to know people, right? I mean, I don't know you, and here we are, gabbing with the understanding that we both belong here." She looked down at her cup and looked back up. "Is that too philosophical for a winter's day? I confuse Matt when I get all dreamy like this," she admitted with a giggle.

"Nah, just the right amount of philosophy." Gabriel smiled before taking another sip of his coffee. "I kinda know what you mean. I don't really have family either, and it's just... nice. You know, to be somewhere and have everyone have this thing that we're all kinda dealing with together. Not so much judgment."

"No judgement at all," she echoed with a nod. "Now expectations," she waggled a finger at him, "be prepared for Scott's patented glare of disapproval. I remember one of my first missions...." She gave a shudder. "Not gonna get into details, but man...I swear, having both Logan AND Scott disappointed in me...well, let's just say, I never felt such despair in my soul. No joke." The smile showed she was, in fact, joking, but at the same time, there was a measure of truth. She hated disappointing people, especially those who had done so much for her. "So tell me something about yourself, Gabriel. Is it always Gabriel and never Gabe? What's your story? I love stories. Bonus points if it makes no sense, and has dragons."

"Usually Gabriel," he nodded. "People say Gabe, but my parents were always all, you know." He adopted a stern face. "Su nombre es Gabriel, hijo, quien es 'Gabe', bla, bla, bla." Gabriel rolled his eyes, trying to hide the sting that often came when he thought about home. "Now they're not around to care so much, what with the kicking me out of the house. I was in Austin for a while, but you know, eventually you just want to put all that shit behind you."

"Ah." There wasn't much she needed to say to that. Not with herself having gone through that recently. "Well, one of the joys of bein' an adult means y'all can call yourself whatever you want. You can live where ya want, you can do what ya want AND," she added, with utmost importance, "you can eat ice cream for dinner and no one will yell at you." She gave a firm nod. "Clearly the best part of growin' up."

"Eh, I'm more into the part where you can just be whoever you are without worrying about values you don't give two shits about or trying to get the love of close-minded people who don't know any better." He looked down at his coffee for a second, then back up with a smile. "Sorry. I'm not usually this intense, I swear. Holidays stress me out."

She gave him a look. "Wolverine's like my mentor, best friend, whatever you wanna call it. Trust me. You are a teddy bear in intensity compared to that man." She set her cup on the table and tilted her head. "Wanna talk about it? I'm a good listener...or you can draw your feelings out if you'd like." Rogue motioned to the easels in the room. "I'm a certified art therapist, and find that there's nothing a good painting session can't fix."

"Not much to talk about. Just kinda weird every holiday that comes and goes, you know?" Gabriel followed her gesture to the easels. "What's art therapy?"

Rogue couldn't help it -- she gave a little laugh and a shake of her head. "Oh sugar, theses have been written on that topic. My definition of art therapy though...well, it's letting the subconscious through using a different medium than talkin'. Not everyone wants to sit and chat, and not everyone CAN sit and chat, but we all gotta get these feelings out, one way or another. Art therapy can be whatever media y'all wanna use: painting, sculpture, writing, photography, whatever. As long as you can transmute those emotions into something tangible, essentially through sublimation, it's actually one of the most effective coping skills a body can have." She took another sip of her coffee, noting that it was almost finished. "And it's so personalized, jus' like all therapy, so what works for you, might not work for someone else. It's the therapist's job to try to find out what works for you, so that you can successfully meet your goals. A person shouldn't be in therapy for ever, it's no good. Gotta build those skills so y'all can do it on your own."

"Sounds like a nice idea," Gabriel nodded. "But I have the artistic skills of a walrus whose flippers were accidentally poached by whalers. So." He glanced around the room. "You help a lot of people, though?"

"Better to be accidentally poached than on purpose," she responded cheerfully. Finishing her coffee, Rogue circled the top of her mug with her finger. "I like ta think so." There was a pause while she tried to collect her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke again. "People come for therapy for differin' reasons. I may be able to gauge your situation, an' know that y'all could benefit from intensive therapy, but if all ya want is to deal with blank, well, my job is to help ya deal with blank. And I try to get ya to see that you might need to deal with A, B, and C first before we can even get to blank. So, yah. It's hard to say. I think I'm good at it though. I kinda miss it."

"You thought about doing it here? Lord knows there are enough problems to go around." He wasn't just talking about himself, either.

She gave a little shrug. "I dunno. I'd like to eventually, but I gotta work on myself first. Get back into the swing of things, ya know. It's not easy pickin' up the pieces, and with supports, and all, I should be okay. Then, and only then, can I hang out my shingle. Jus' like Lucy."

"God, I hear you." Gabriel nodded. "Like, now that I don't have to worry about rent and bills and city living, I'm supposed to be figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. And I don't even know what that means."

"I'll let ya in on a lil secret, sugar: no one knows what being a grown up means. Those that say they do, are lying."

"Oh good. I'll just keep stumbling along in the dark acting like I've got a plan and hoping nobody calls me out on it."

Rogue laughed heartily. "That's the spirit! Besides, half of life is pretendin' to know what's goin' on. Fake it til you make it...I mean, if I walk into a hospital, wearing a lab coat, stethoscope, all that jazz, and pretend to be a doc, full of beans.... well, studies have shown that nurses will follow." Another study, she thought. Maybe she did miss her work more than she'd thought." "It's all about confidence, and you look like someone who has that."

"More than I know what to do with," Gabriel said. "Trust me."