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xp_logs2015-03-19 10:09 am
x-jeangrey.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2015-03-19 10:09 am
Entry tags:
Jean and Warren: Differences
After Jean's first X-Men mission goes badly, Warren comes to check on her. Things don't go well.
It was torture waiting.
His phone had been glued to his side as he tried anything to take his mind off of Jean. After their text messages earlier, and the vagueness of it, he'd turned on the news.
Warren was not a man to be scared in the face of danger but this....this went far beyond his small moments of vigilantism. The TV blared all night, and he found himself incessantly checking for a text,a call, anything, especially after it appeared it had been dealt with.
Finally, he couldn't stand it. Walking to her room, he placed an ear to the door. He couldn't tell if anyone was there though. So he knocked lightly.
Knock knock, knock knock knock. It reminded Jean of a woodpecker. Covering her face with a pillow, attempted to turn over but found the act of moving brushed against her bandages and she let out a faint yelp. Cecilia had released her back to her room. She didn't need to be admitted, thankfully. But the old saying was true that doctors were lousy patients.
"Go away," she mumbled, not knowing who it was. She had been given pain killers and though she couldn't sleep quite yet, she was certain if she stared at the shadows of the leaves from outside on the ceiling long enough maybe, just maybe she would.
That sounded human but it was muffled. "Jean? Are you okay?"
Warren. Jean pulled the pillow off her face, letting out a soft sigh. She laid there for another few moments, then realized he wasn't going to go away, and maybe she didn't want him to. So finally, the door unlocked and came open.
God, she loved telekinesis sometimes.
"I met a guy who could set things on fire today...yesterday...?" she murmured, lifting up her arms to reveal the bandages. She didn't know what day it was.
Warren had walked in when the door opened, but he was surprised at what he saw. Jean looked like a mess and he suddenly felt himself to be completely out of his element. "Did he now, darling. I'm sorry to hear that. Are you alright?". He stepped closer to the bed. "Shouldn't you be in the medlab?"
Jean shook her head, scooting up a bit against the headboard and drawing her knees up to her chest. But she forgot it involved moving again and grimaced.
"There's not much they can do but bandage me up and for me to return for followups," she admitted. The third degree burns were going to leave some scarring, luckily there weren't that many places. But until they healed she had to take it easy. Going to work was going to be interesting. She'd have to come up with a good excuse for why she looked like a mummy. She rested her chin on the pillow that she'd wrapped her arms around.
"Lay with me?"
She suddenly didn't feel like being alone at the moment.
Without hesitation, he kicked his shoes off, and unbuttoned his suit jacket, leaving him still in work clothes. Climbing on the bed behind her. He carefully wrapped his arms around her, trying his best not to be as gentle as possible. Laying his head next to hers, he let out a breath. "I was watching it all on the news," he said. "It was terrifying. How are you alright?"
Jean leaned against Warren's chest, her body tensing with a few breathy grimaces as she moved just the wrong way a couple of times until she found the most comfortable position. She still smelled vaguely of antiseptic and something burned, despite her shower.
"It felt terrifying," she admitted. "I....I don't know how they do it. When I was with X-Corps it was an entirely different feeling...someone wasn't trying to actively burn you to death. People wanted you to help them." Jean let out a breath.
"I don't....think I'm cut out to be on that team. I saw some things....what some of the people did, I couldn't do. I think that might have been a rare thing, something to do with that person, but if it wasn't...."
He tried to process what she was saying but he didn't have a frame of reference. Instead, he focused on trying to be a comforting presence for her.
The smell of antiseptic was strong and he wondered how injured she really was. "Did everyone on the team do questionable things, or was it just this person? And was it a random or something deserved?"
Listening to the sound of Warren's beating heart, Jean fell silent for a few moments. It helped quell some of the restless thoughts she was having. "I don't know. I only worked with one person when it came to fighting. The man we were trying to stop said some vulgar things, and he tried to attack us. My teammate warned him, but when he didn't stand down....she cropped his finger off. Then it all went to hell. I mean....yes, he was trying to kill us, but I don't think removing body parts is the way to go."
Warren was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to cut someone's finger off, but he could think of several instances where he would have liked to. "Would he have listened to reason though?" His lips twisted in a wry grin. "I think I read somewhere that when a person is in a heightened emotional state, they can't make rational decisions anymore." His hand absently stroked hers as he talked. "Think about it some more. Process it when you're not bandaged. No sense in rushing into a decision."
Jean pulled herself up, blinking at Warren. "I don't believe that. I get into situations all the time where I have someone on the table who's going to die if I don't do something. Yeah, I get nervous, and but I don't say 'fuck it,' decide to put a lampshade on my head and run out of the room just because I have a momentary freak out.
"If you're faced against someone who's trying to attack you your first instinct should not be to maim them. If everyone else's like that...I don't want to be on the team," she said.
"You've had training," he pointed out. "Training to help with that stress. Anyways. This is all theoretical. I don't have a clue who you're talking about." Lifting his arm up, he propped up his head. It was easier to look down at her this way. "And frankly, I don't care. All I'm worried about right now is you. I am yours to command," he said, cheeky smile on his face. "What is your wish?"
He would quickly find out that Jean was tenacious. "Her name is Clarice Ferguson. She's also a medical professional, specializing in traumatic surgery, and has been an X-Man longer than I have. She's been trained. I know she has," she said, letting out a faint hrrmph before leaning back against him.
"I'm sorry..." she said. She covered her face with her hand, then added, after a moment with a faint smirk. "I'm ignoring that grin because I know it'll get me in trouble."
"I would ask for wine but I can't have it with the painkillers. As it stands, I'm content to just lay here and wallow. And eventually have food that's horribly bad for me. And try to ignore just how good you smell."
"I smell like money," he responded, ignoring her comments about her teammate. The name meant nothing to him, and to be honest, he forgot names almost as quickly as he heard them. Faces. He was better with those. "I've heard women find that attractive."
Jean side-eyed him, laughing. "You smell like soap. And some sort of aftershave. And...oddly...ozone." Weird. But interesting.
"Money smells like old rotting linen. I don't think you want to smell like that."
"Money smells like power," he corrected her, leaning down to brush a kiss on her forehead. "And I have plenty of both. Although ozone. I've never heard that one before. What does that smell like?"
"Skies before rain," Jean said. She fell silent after his declaration. It was just how he was raised, she told herself that. But she didn't feel comfortable with that being his obsession.
And he'd made her mad. Or upset her. Warren wasn't quite sure. Threading his hand through hers lightly. "There's a word for that," he started. "Although it's more specifically for damp leaves. Petrichor I like that smell." He cleared his throat and leaned down to bury his face in her hair.
"I was worried and restless. Flying didn't help. I thought if I kept my body busy, my mind would shut up, but it didn't." A pause. "I'm glad you're safe."
Jean closed her eyes. "Thanks," she said. It felt...not good but...comforting to know that someone was there worrying for her to come home.
"And ozone is associated with the formation of lightning. Petrichor is after," she said. She was trying not to let it bother her....this nagging thought, a hint of her own restlessness.
"You really don't care that she chopped off a man's finger? And you don't trust my judgment about it?"
"When did I say I didn't trust you?"
"You didn't. But you tried to find the rationale for why cutting it off was a good idea," Jean said, then sighed, sitting up as she bit back a whimper but stubbornly stayed in that position.
"I think something's wrong with that. I just...thought you would have felt the same way."
He chose his words carefully, still propping himself up on the pillow with his arm. "And I thought I was trying to understand why someone would, and then determined that I don't care." He gave her a curious look. "I'm not this Clarice. I don't have to live with that decision. For whatever reason, she did it. It's done. Why dwell on it when it has no effect on you?" Warren waved a dismissive hand. "Just ask Scott not to pair her with you again, or talk to her. Simple fix."
By now Jean was up off the bed without even a wince. Anger could be a powerful anesthetic. "It's not a simple fix, Warren. You can't just avoid someone for the rest of your life. Being on a team means putting your life in their hands, and vice versa. Or at least, that's what I thought. I would need to work with her in the future. What if this happens again and she accidentally hurts an innocent person because she attacks first and asks questions later? And you're wrong...It HAS an effect on me," she said, lifting up her shirt slightly to show the bandages, the bruises.
"I nearly got killed after the man got enraged. I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt since they just lost a big chunk of people during M-Day but I'm not just going to let this go and let it fester. I want to help. If something's going on then it needs to be addressed. It bothers me how casual you are about all this."
"You know what?" She shook her head. The door opened.
"I need to be alone."
Before she let her emotions get the better of her.
He looked at her for a moment before shrugging and standing up. Warren didn't bother putting his shoes back on, choosing instead to carry them.
His intention was simply to leave but when he reached the door, he had a thought. In a calm tone,he began to speak. "I promised you honesty and that's what I gave. There's always two sides to a situation and the only way to know what truly happened is to discuss it. If you're really going to be upset because I didn't smile and nod and tell you you're unequivocally correct and instead played devil's advocate....". He trailed off.
"I know you're upset. It was a stressful day. I never questioned your judgment, and you're right -- it's important not to let it fester but if all you wanted was to vent and not have feedback, then you should've said so. I would've kept my opinions to myself." He could tell his speech was getting more tense. It would probably be good to stop talking. "As mentioned earlier, I'm glad you're safe. I'll be in my suite. I hope you get some rest."
And with that, he left the room.
Jean stood there for awhile, impassively staring. He'd left the door open. After a few moments she closed it, then sat down on the bed, catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror. She didn't really recognize herself in that moment. A whirlwind of emotions went through her mind: anger, frustration, sadness, pain, desperation, longing.
She wanted to give herself in to anger, because it was righteous, and hurt less than the others. She could cloak herself in it, let it consume her. But she knew it'd get her nowhere other than bitter. Still, his attitude confounded her. He was air, and she was fire, two elements that created destruction. Yet still, she didn't want to be alone.
But she was. She was.
Lying back on the bed, Jean stared up at the ceiling and watched the shadows of the tree branches move across her ceiling until exhaustion finally took over.
It was torture waiting.
His phone had been glued to his side as he tried anything to take his mind off of Jean. After their text messages earlier, and the vagueness of it, he'd turned on the news.
Warren was not a man to be scared in the face of danger but this....this went far beyond his small moments of vigilantism. The TV blared all night, and he found himself incessantly checking for a text,a call, anything, especially after it appeared it had been dealt with.
Finally, he couldn't stand it. Walking to her room, he placed an ear to the door. He couldn't tell if anyone was there though. So he knocked lightly.
Knock knock, knock knock knock. It reminded Jean of a woodpecker. Covering her face with a pillow, attempted to turn over but found the act of moving brushed against her bandages and she let out a faint yelp. Cecilia had released her back to her room. She didn't need to be admitted, thankfully. But the old saying was true that doctors were lousy patients.
"Go away," she mumbled, not knowing who it was. She had been given pain killers and though she couldn't sleep quite yet, she was certain if she stared at the shadows of the leaves from outside on the ceiling long enough maybe, just maybe she would.
That sounded human but it was muffled. "Jean? Are you okay?"
Warren. Jean pulled the pillow off her face, letting out a soft sigh. She laid there for another few moments, then realized he wasn't going to go away, and maybe she didn't want him to. So finally, the door unlocked and came open.
God, she loved telekinesis sometimes.
"I met a guy who could set things on fire today...yesterday...?" she murmured, lifting up her arms to reveal the bandages. She didn't know what day it was.
Warren had walked in when the door opened, but he was surprised at what he saw. Jean looked like a mess and he suddenly felt himself to be completely out of his element. "Did he now, darling. I'm sorry to hear that. Are you alright?". He stepped closer to the bed. "Shouldn't you be in the medlab?"
Jean shook her head, scooting up a bit against the headboard and drawing her knees up to her chest. But she forgot it involved moving again and grimaced.
"There's not much they can do but bandage me up and for me to return for followups," she admitted. The third degree burns were going to leave some scarring, luckily there weren't that many places. But until they healed she had to take it easy. Going to work was going to be interesting. She'd have to come up with a good excuse for why she looked like a mummy. She rested her chin on the pillow that she'd wrapped her arms around.
"Lay with me?"
She suddenly didn't feel like being alone at the moment.
Without hesitation, he kicked his shoes off, and unbuttoned his suit jacket, leaving him still in work clothes. Climbing on the bed behind her. He carefully wrapped his arms around her, trying his best not to be as gentle as possible. Laying his head next to hers, he let out a breath. "I was watching it all on the news," he said. "It was terrifying. How are you alright?"
Jean leaned against Warren's chest, her body tensing with a few breathy grimaces as she moved just the wrong way a couple of times until she found the most comfortable position. She still smelled vaguely of antiseptic and something burned, despite her shower.
"It felt terrifying," she admitted. "I....I don't know how they do it. When I was with X-Corps it was an entirely different feeling...someone wasn't trying to actively burn you to death. People wanted you to help them." Jean let out a breath.
"I don't....think I'm cut out to be on that team. I saw some things....what some of the people did, I couldn't do. I think that might have been a rare thing, something to do with that person, but if it wasn't...."
He tried to process what she was saying but he didn't have a frame of reference. Instead, he focused on trying to be a comforting presence for her.
The smell of antiseptic was strong and he wondered how injured she really was. "Did everyone on the team do questionable things, or was it just this person? And was it a random or something deserved?"
Listening to the sound of Warren's beating heart, Jean fell silent for a few moments. It helped quell some of the restless thoughts she was having. "I don't know. I only worked with one person when it came to fighting. The man we were trying to stop said some vulgar things, and he tried to attack us. My teammate warned him, but when he didn't stand down....she cropped his finger off. Then it all went to hell. I mean....yes, he was trying to kill us, but I don't think removing body parts is the way to go."
Warren was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to cut someone's finger off, but he could think of several instances where he would have liked to. "Would he have listened to reason though?" His lips twisted in a wry grin. "I think I read somewhere that when a person is in a heightened emotional state, they can't make rational decisions anymore." His hand absently stroked hers as he talked. "Think about it some more. Process it when you're not bandaged. No sense in rushing into a decision."
Jean pulled herself up, blinking at Warren. "I don't believe that. I get into situations all the time where I have someone on the table who's going to die if I don't do something. Yeah, I get nervous, and but I don't say 'fuck it,' decide to put a lampshade on my head and run out of the room just because I have a momentary freak out.
"If you're faced against someone who's trying to attack you your first instinct should not be to maim them. If everyone else's like that...I don't want to be on the team," she said.
"You've had training," he pointed out. "Training to help with that stress. Anyways. This is all theoretical. I don't have a clue who you're talking about." Lifting his arm up, he propped up his head. It was easier to look down at her this way. "And frankly, I don't care. All I'm worried about right now is you. I am yours to command," he said, cheeky smile on his face. "What is your wish?"
He would quickly find out that Jean was tenacious. "Her name is Clarice Ferguson. She's also a medical professional, specializing in traumatic surgery, and has been an X-Man longer than I have. She's been trained. I know she has," she said, letting out a faint hrrmph before leaning back against him.
"I'm sorry..." she said. She covered her face with her hand, then added, after a moment with a faint smirk. "I'm ignoring that grin because I know it'll get me in trouble."
"I would ask for wine but I can't have it with the painkillers. As it stands, I'm content to just lay here and wallow. And eventually have food that's horribly bad for me. And try to ignore just how good you smell."
"I smell like money," he responded, ignoring her comments about her teammate. The name meant nothing to him, and to be honest, he forgot names almost as quickly as he heard them. Faces. He was better with those. "I've heard women find that attractive."
Jean side-eyed him, laughing. "You smell like soap. And some sort of aftershave. And...oddly...ozone." Weird. But interesting.
"Money smells like old rotting linen. I don't think you want to smell like that."
"Money smells like power," he corrected her, leaning down to brush a kiss on her forehead. "And I have plenty of both. Although ozone. I've never heard that one before. What does that smell like?"
"Skies before rain," Jean said. She fell silent after his declaration. It was just how he was raised, she told herself that. But she didn't feel comfortable with that being his obsession.
And he'd made her mad. Or upset her. Warren wasn't quite sure. Threading his hand through hers lightly. "There's a word for that," he started. "Although it's more specifically for damp leaves. Petrichor I like that smell." He cleared his throat and leaned down to bury his face in her hair.
"I was worried and restless. Flying didn't help. I thought if I kept my body busy, my mind would shut up, but it didn't." A pause. "I'm glad you're safe."
Jean closed her eyes. "Thanks," she said. It felt...not good but...comforting to know that someone was there worrying for her to come home.
"And ozone is associated with the formation of lightning. Petrichor is after," she said. She was trying not to let it bother her....this nagging thought, a hint of her own restlessness.
"You really don't care that she chopped off a man's finger? And you don't trust my judgment about it?"
"When did I say I didn't trust you?"
"You didn't. But you tried to find the rationale for why cutting it off was a good idea," Jean said, then sighed, sitting up as she bit back a whimper but stubbornly stayed in that position.
"I think something's wrong with that. I just...thought you would have felt the same way."
He chose his words carefully, still propping himself up on the pillow with his arm. "And I thought I was trying to understand why someone would, and then determined that I don't care." He gave her a curious look. "I'm not this Clarice. I don't have to live with that decision. For whatever reason, she did it. It's done. Why dwell on it when it has no effect on you?" Warren waved a dismissive hand. "Just ask Scott not to pair her with you again, or talk to her. Simple fix."
By now Jean was up off the bed without even a wince. Anger could be a powerful anesthetic. "It's not a simple fix, Warren. You can't just avoid someone for the rest of your life. Being on a team means putting your life in their hands, and vice versa. Or at least, that's what I thought. I would need to work with her in the future. What if this happens again and she accidentally hurts an innocent person because she attacks first and asks questions later? And you're wrong...It HAS an effect on me," she said, lifting up her shirt slightly to show the bandages, the bruises.
"I nearly got killed after the man got enraged. I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt since they just lost a big chunk of people during M-Day but I'm not just going to let this go and let it fester. I want to help. If something's going on then it needs to be addressed. It bothers me how casual you are about all this."
"You know what?" She shook her head. The door opened.
"I need to be alone."
Before she let her emotions get the better of her.
He looked at her for a moment before shrugging and standing up. Warren didn't bother putting his shoes back on, choosing instead to carry them.
His intention was simply to leave but when he reached the door, he had a thought. In a calm tone,he began to speak. "I promised you honesty and that's what I gave. There's always two sides to a situation and the only way to know what truly happened is to discuss it. If you're really going to be upset because I didn't smile and nod and tell you you're unequivocally correct and instead played devil's advocate....". He trailed off.
"I know you're upset. It was a stressful day. I never questioned your judgment, and you're right -- it's important not to let it fester but if all you wanted was to vent and not have feedback, then you should've said so. I would've kept my opinions to myself." He could tell his speech was getting more tense. It would probably be good to stop talking. "As mentioned earlier, I'm glad you're safe. I'll be in my suite. I hope you get some rest."
And with that, he left the room.
Jean stood there for awhile, impassively staring. He'd left the door open. After a few moments she closed it, then sat down on the bed, catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror. She didn't really recognize herself in that moment. A whirlwind of emotions went through her mind: anger, frustration, sadness, pain, desperation, longing.
She wanted to give herself in to anger, because it was righteous, and hurt less than the others. She could cloak herself in it, let it consume her. But she knew it'd get her nowhere other than bitter. Still, his attitude confounded her. He was air, and she was fire, two elements that created destruction. Yet still, she didn't want to be alone.
But she was. She was.
Lying back on the bed, Jean stared up at the ceiling and watched the shadows of the tree branches move across her ceiling until exhaustion finally took over.