Jean and Warren: Perspectives

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean Grey meets Warren Worthington at an exhibition opening. The two hit it off.


It was just another event, another excuse to spend money while at the same time patting one's self on the back.

At least, that's how he viewed his mother as she flitted around the room, ‎perfect smile on her face, extolling her own involvement in getting the collection to the Museum -- she didn't even known the difference between a Rembrandt or a Rueben.

Warren‎ was there to lend support,be the face of Worthington Industries as per usual. That being said, he enjoyed these kinds of things. There was a certain calm that came with paintings, one that he revelled in.

He also appreciated beautiful women. One ‎in particular had caught his eye. A redhead, poised and with a subtle class about her. He'd bumped into her a few times, tossed a smile her way and carried on, but after a while he decided to be proactive. Grabbing two flutes of champagne, he walked towards her as she stood in front of an abstract painting.

"Pardon me for intruding," he said, flashing a smile. "However I noticed your hand was empty and wondered if you would like a drink. I've always found ‎that abstracts require a certain level of libation to truly understand the artist's perceptive."

Jean was still trying to get used to the idea of 'a night off' or a full 8 hours of sleep, even. Since arriving back in New York to visit her sister and the rest of the Bailey brood she found herself longing for a night on the town and had decided to take advantage of what the city had to offer, in this case: art. Museum exhibitions were a chance to dress up, take in a little culture, and drink for free. Who was she to turn down that?

She had one gown to her name, a little black cocktail dress that she'd purchased for the party celebrating her graduation from medical school. The rest she'd pared down over the years in an attempt to travel light. She was wearing that dress when she spotted the tall, handsome, blonde man in the extremely expensive suit who kept trying to catch her eye.

When he offered her a drink she took it with a smile. "Thank you. For me it's on a case by case basis," Jean said.

Folding her arms, she surveyed a nearby painting, which was pretty much just a splash of red with a bunch of yellow and blue lines across it that looked like a bored child had decided to start scribbling.

"This one? Absolutely needs the application of alcohol."

He nodded in agreement, one hand tucked in his pocket. Leaning over, he whispered loudly "Can you believe that painting alone cost more than $25,000 to purchase?" Warren straightened up and shook his head. "That being said, I have all the artistic ability of an anteater."

Taking his hand out of his pocket, he stretched it out in handshake. "I'm Warren, by the way. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting before."

"It's interesting what perspective can do," Jean said, still studying the painting with a wry, curious smile crossing her lips that also carried with it a touch of incredulous wonder. "The power of an idea, of how...status and belief can make a few strokes of paint splattered on canvas and wood worth $25,000." She shook her head.

"And I'm rambling. I'm Jean. You're right, we haven't met. I think I would have remembered. I'm very good with faces."

"As am I," he replied, raising his glass to his lips before pausing and continuing. "Especially beautiful ones." His sentence said, he followed through with a drink, ‎enjoying the tartness of his champagne.

"Tell me," he asked, returning his gaze to the painting. "What is it about society that causes us to ascribe an arbitrary number on an equally arbitrary object? What, in turn, has led itself to this moment, this exhibition?" ‎

"Wow," Jean replied with a smirk, quirking a brow at the compliment. "Smooth." So he was one of those, the snake charmer. She kept the glass in her hand but didn't take a sip.

"A person with wealth decides that something pleases their eye...They purchase it, decide to nurture it, lend a bit of their status to it. That object or person gains power because of it. Other people recognize that status by proximity. Or, someone does something first...they lead the way, and are recognized in kind for being the innovator. The brightest candle. And they're rewarded."

Her eyes traced the lines of paint as they swirled around the canvas. "It's often mankind's driving force to try to find meaning in something. If they can't...they assign it."

"Too true." Immediately, his mind thought to his mutation and the stigma they came with it. If anyone knew about it, there'd be a price to pay, as mutancy came with it's own meaning.

"I'm sure I'm not the first to say this, but you have an ease with words that is envious.‎ Are you often a public speaker?" He raised a finger as a pause, and added, "Because if you're not already, I should give you a job." ‎

Jean quirked a brow in surprise, then laughed. "Thank you, I'm flattered, but pondering the existential meaning of the universe is just a hobby. I'm actually a doctor." In title. She wouldn't fully feel like a doctor until she'd completed her residency, which was not for another year. Her other...hobbies had kept her from fully actualizing that role.

"So I speak to the public, though it's mostly to tell them that troublesome rash is nothing to worry about."

He smothered a grin. It wasn't hard to imagine that conversation. "And I gather that is generally done in ‎the safety and privacy of an examining room." Gently swirling his drink, he took a moment to evaluate the situation in front of him.

Beautiful woman. Articulate. Educated. Wearing last season's dress, but that wasn't a problem.

This was an enjoyable departure from the tedium of the event.

"Would it be safe to assume you're practicing in a general practice, or are you looking to specialize?"

"If it were out in the middle of the street I'd probably lose my license," Jean said with a smirk. She nodded.

"I'm specializing, general surgery. Though eventually I'd like to branch out and become more familiar with other areas. I haven't decided which yet. And what is your specialization....besides buying pieces of art and other small corporations?"

She read the society page. She knew who he was. His family had more money than an Egyptian Pharaoh. How could she not?

It wasn't surprising she knew who he was. Anonymity was something he'd never experienced. He made a back and forth motion of his head. ‎"I leave the art purchases to my secretary," he admitted. "I don't have time to follow up with the latest trends. Please don't judge me for it." He gave her a wink.

"And as for acquisitions,it's actually ‎a very interesting -- and diverse -- field. I try to do my best to honour the original business, even as we bring it forward into the Worthington family." It was hard to keep it from sounding like a sales pitch.

"He or she has good taste, then. I imagine you're busy. I can't really fault you for it, though anyway. Most of my time is spent in scrubs. The extra time I get is usually spent sleeping," Jean said. She smiled as the change in topic resulting in something he was familiar with made his eyes light up and added a figurative spring in his step.

"And I'm sure sure they appreciate that. So you don't necessarily specialize in any one area with your business? You're a Jack of all trades?"

"Jack of all trades, master of none. Isn't that par for the course for executives?," he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.‎ He wasn't actually offended by her comment -- it made sense to think of it that way. In fact, it was a fairly good analogy.

"I've recently been promoted to VP but prior to that, I was working in the legal division, with contracts and what not." It was boring work really, nothing he wanted to get to into. "‎And prior to that I was assigned as project lead on several mergers." he finished his drink and seamlessly placed in on a passing waiter's tray.

"You could say that at one point or another, I have worked in every department of my father's company. I enjoy what I do, and I would imagine you do as well. Medical school couldn't have been an easy route, what with the lack of sleep."

"There are days when I wonder what the hell I was thinking," Jean admitted, then shrugged as a spark of fire and life flashed across her green eyes. "And there are more when I can't imagine doing anything else."

Saving lives. It was perhaps telling that what she did in her spare time: secretly ferrying mutants to safe places to prevent them from being arrested and keeping her finger on the pulse on politics when it came to mutants in Washington DC, meant she tended to take 'making a difference' above and beyond what a doctor usually did. One might say she was addicted.

She couldn't exactly argue.

"Though I imagine you've probably had your fair share of sleepless nights."

"Sleepless nights, sleepless days, weeks where I'm running on differe‎nt time zones, just so I can complete deals in Japan..." He shrugged. "It's all part of running a global business."

He thought for a moment before asking her a question, twinkle in his eye. He offered her his hand said, "Would you like to see something?"

"Let me guess...you have an entire room devoted to Red Bull?" Jean said with a smirk. "I may have had two in a row once while I was studying for an anatomy final....I don't recommend it. Unless you like having your heart beat loud enough that a rock band is impressed."

This question gave her pause, and she quirked a brow, putting her glass on the waiter's tray. She still hadn't drank it.

"Sure. Color me curious." Taking her hand, he moved with a practiced ease through the crowds, weaving in and out of the people effortlessly. In between, he tossed out random comments, the occasional hello, and more often than not, a nod of the head, signifying that yes, he did see them.

Eventually, they came to a non-descript door. Warren took out a key, and gave a smile. "Behold, the wonders of Arabia," he stated with much gusto. Opening the door, there was a fully arranged exhibit, with lush tapestries, gauzy veils and a breathtaking mish mash of colours.

"This was supposed to go on display, until the powers to be deemed it inappropriate." his mother didn't approve of anything that wasn't ethnocentric. "I happen to like it. It's vivid."

The click-clack of Jean's high heels were heard, followed by a quick stop as she took sight of the exhibition. Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open slightly before it turned into a broad smile of appreciation. This definitely was a departure from the other exhibits. It was old world, and a complete departure from the stark, abstract, decidedly American elements of the other rooms.

"I agree," she said as she ventured further into the room. She paused at a tapestry depicting the coronation of a royal figure, her tone turning curious but not terribly surprised. "What about it did the powers find inappropriate?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Do you want the PC answer, or my answer?"

Jean shrugged, her smile mirroring his. "Whichever you feel comfortable giving," she said,

He didn't answer her right away. A few steps to his left was a hands-on exhibit -- essentially an excuse to have people sit on large, opulent cushions, while a movie with B-rated actors depicted what life was like for Persia. He liked the pillows though. They were large and silky, and when he'd seen them the day before, he'd made an order for several.

Sitting down, he stretched out, leaning on his side, with his arm propping him up. "The PC answer is that the exhibit isn't ready for guests." That was obviously a lie. "My answer is that my mother is chair of the board, and she felt it was too offensive for the benefactors of this event. She felt that they needed to be reminded by something American in order to donate. Plus, it's en vogue to hate the Middle East right now." He shrugged. "Regardless, I have since decided that this is my favourite exhibit, and I donated a large sum to the Muslim community this morning. I'd been meaning to, but her racism reminded me to do so."

"And what happens when she finds out?" Jean said. She realized she probably shouldn't have been this forward with a man she'd barely met, but she had had a track record of challenging the status quo. His act of defiance did lend a lot of credence to her impression of him, however.

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "I'm 34, Jean. Not 13. She can hardly ground me. I also ensured that I signed the donation as "The Worthingtons. She won't say anything, it'll make her look horrible. Instead, she'll pretend she had a sudden crusade and need to help the disenfranchised, and in a week or so, she'll be hugging puppies instead."

The honesty he felt around her was surprising. He wasn't normally this frank. "At most, she'll spend a ridiculous amount of money on a useless gala for her mew cause, but that affects my father more than myself."

"You're the vice president of her company, not just her son. While you're using your money for a noble cause, it still makes news," she said, then shook her head.

"But I've never had to be in an environment where family and livelihoods are so dependent upon one another. It is, admittedly, a little fascinating to see the power play."

"It's been bred into the blood over countless generations of perfect breeding. Outside impressions count more than those of one's own family." He played with a tassel of a pillow.‎ "I learned at an early age that appearances were all that mattered."

"And just so you know," Warren added. "It's not her company. Pre-nup ensured that."

"What does she do for a living? Does she play any roles within the company?" Jean said. She studied the artwork again.

"When I was an intern I once had a man that came into the ER after a car accident, a musician. He was walking and talking, even sang a version of Jingle Bells with the nurses. His wife had insisted he come in but he kept saying he was okay. He refused to do any tests because they didn't have any insurance and they were going to already have a massive bill for even coming in. My attending agreed to let him go after he signed the proper forms saying they wouldn't sue if anything were to happen. He died the next day due to a brain aneurysm that had gotten him into the accident in the first place. He looked completely fine."

"And I learned not to trust appearances."

Her attention turned back to him, she smiled. "Like you."

He listened, fascinated by her story. He didn't pretend to admit that his job was useful -- it wasn't. It made money, simple as that. "Your story has more world life application than mine. And to answer your question about my mother, there is little she does. She used to be a model, which is where my chiseled features come in. I highly doubt she would even understand the business."

"Your chiseled features?" Jean said with a broad grin. "So modest. I take it the two of you don't get along?"

"You noticed, don't pretend you didn't," he responded, a cheeky grin on his face. He leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling while he tried to think of how to answer her question. There was no easy answer...so he told her as much. "It's difficult to explain. We like each other just fine, but as individual people. There is no motherly sentiment from her, and I feel no son-like admiration for her. We are simply two people whose lives are unfortunately intertwined. She does her own thing, I do mine, and we try not to embarrass the other."

"You can't choose your blood family," Jean said sympathetically.

"I'm sorry to hear that. What about your father?"

Another shrug. "My father is my father. Again, another person I share my life with due to genetics, more than anything else. We play golf together at times...more when he needs an extra than any other reason." He propped himself up again and gave her a look. "All these questions. Am I truly that fascinating, or are you secretly a reporter? If this is an illicit expose, please ensure you highlight my flawless complexion, and the dimples when I smile."

Jean laughed. "Well, journalism was my second choice if medical school didn't work out," she mused, taking the time to move to another museum display involving ancient weaponry. The intricately carved sword still had a tiny bit of blood on it.

"I like knowing about people. I see them come in to the ER and I wonder what happened in their lives up until this, and where they're going when they leave. We're all human, and yet...we all have such different experiences. What makes one man rich and another homeless? Is it hard work? Is it luck, or bad luck? Fate? All three? So yes...you are fascinating. Everyone is."

She shook her head. "And wow that was hokey. Sorry."

He shook his head. "Never apologize for the musings of an inquisitive mind." Bounding up on his feet, he walked to her. Karen was such a departure from what he normally talked to. In a actuality, all he'd expected was his typical conquest: easy on the eye, minimal conversationalist. ‎

This was a pleasant surprise.

"I'd like to take you out," he said, looking at her with clear, blue eyes. "Dinner, maybe this week."

Jean fell silent for a few moments. She was not used to going out. Eat, sleep, heal, repeat. That was it. She felt rusty. But she was only in town for a little while. She'd probably never see him again after this. Who said she couldn't have a little fun? She smiled. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" He gave her a lopsided grin, absolutely oblivious to her inner dialogue. "What do I need to do to turn that into a yes?"

Quirking a brow, Jean found herself smirking. God, he radiated charm. And he knew it. "I am very busy saving lives, you know. How do I know this is not just some ploy to get into my pants before we even finish the appetizers?"

He didn't even blink. "A true gentleman knows to wait until after dessert."

Jean laughed. "I bet you say that to all the girls. And I bet you get your way. But I just want dinner and conversation. For now. My life is way too complicated to throw in a booty call. Can you manage that?"

"Of course I can," he said smoothly. "Although, let it be known that I would never indulge in anything so crass as a 'booty call'. I prefer 'erotic escapades'‎."

"Sounds like a bad porn movie title," Jean mused. She finally nodded. "Alright. I'm in. Where did you have in mind? After this exhibition, I'm intrigued by what you'll come up with next."

"As you should be," he replied with a wink. "Next Tuesday. Meet me in front of this museum. That'll give me enough time to ensure that the dessert port‎ion will be mind-blowing."

"Should I be afraid?" Jean said, smirking. She was starting to notice that she did that a lot around him.

He seemed to bring out the Irish in her. "What time?" Before he could answer, he felt a familiar buzzing in his pocket. "A new record," he said with an apologetic smile. "That was what, a half hour of uninterrupted time?". Glancing at the screen, his smile turned into a frown.

"I have to deal with something. I'm sorry." He withdrew his business card from a silver case, and held it out to her. "Let's say 8. I'll have you home well before your bedtime. Can't have a tired doctor loose in our emergency rooms." His phone buzzed again, and he sighed. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Jean. Feel free to call me if things have to change. I understand what it's like to be needed." And now the phone was ringing.

"I really have to go now. Enjoy this room as long as you like." With a quick nod, he answered the phone in one slick motion as he walked out, backwards so he could toss her a goodbye wave. "Worthington," he said by way of greeting into his phone. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.

Jean waited until Warren's footsteps had completely disappeared, along with his mental signature before she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Grey, I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," she said quietly to herself, shaking her head.

"And now I'm talking to myself." He was far too famous for her to be getting anywhere close to attached. She didn't need to get in the public eye. It'd jeopardize her work with X-Corps. It was just dinner, that's all. And she'd keep telling herself that.