Jean and Scott: Sky Full of Stars (Backdated)

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Scott witnesses Jean dancing in her suite. The two wind up having a discussion over tea.



The suite was relatively basic: a bed, nightstand, dresser, closet, and bathroom. There were some with kitchens and extra bedrooms but Jean wanted to give those to people who needed them more, the couples and whatnot. She was content to have her meals in the main kitchen downstairs. It made it easier to get to know people. She had, however, purchased a small dorm fridge for her room. Some items, she had already discovered, tended to go missing from the main fridge downstairs, even if they were labeled.

Her parents had finally managed to ship a lot of her stuff to her, and even planned to come visit once her father was able to take a break from his classes at Oxford. She'd gotten the first set of boxes in a day or two ago and spent her time unpacking.

"Cause in a sky, in a sky full of stars, I think I see you...."

Jean had her computer playing the radio and, during said unpacking, a desire to dance had crept into the routine. As the beat kicked in to the song, Jean, wearing a Columbia sweater, a pair old blue jeans, and bare feet, swayed her hips from side to side, lifting her arms up in the air as she danced. Her hair fell into her eyes but she didn't really care, a broad grin on her face, eyes closed, lost in the song.

They hadn't been this busy in a while, all of a sudden it seemed like everyone and their uncle wanted to come and stay at the mansion. There had been more new residents turning up in the last few weeks than combined in all the months prior to that. So Scott had decided to do a quick inspection of the rooms, not that he was worried they'd run out of space but rather just to see how many more rooms they should dust off and prepare in the future.

Or at least he had been, before the sound of footsteps and music drifting out through an open doorway Glancing in he saw a mop of red hair swaying back and forth as Jean danced along to the song, completely oblivious to his gaze. Scott couldn't help the sad smile that played across his lips as he remembered the other occasions that she had been dancing away without realizing he was there.

The radio had been tuned to some random station that was currently belting out 'Low Rider' by War. The sun streamed through the skylight as Jean cleaned their apartment, dancing as she worked. She wore a red bandanna, and one of his shirts, her sleeves rolled up, picking things up off the floor and swirling around her duster to clear out the dust bunnies that had converged. Just a lazy Sunday morning. Upon spotting Scott out of the corner of her eye, Jean turned, beckoning him toward her with a smile.

"Hey Slim, dance with me."



For a second Scott could almost see Jean, his Jean, dressed in an old pair of jeans as she cleaned their apartment, streaks of dust marking her face like warpaint, highlighting a smile to die for, the one she had kept hidden from the rest of the world. Her 'Red' face. The X-man could feel a pressure building at the back of his eyes, but, closing his eyes, he pushed it away. It was a good memory, not a sad one and he was determined to keep it that way.

By then Jean had fully gotten into the beat, and had shimmied halfway across the room, twirling around the room with some clear, practiced rhythm, reminiscent of ballet. But just before she closed her eyes to really let herself go, she noticed the door open and paused, eyes wide, freezing mid-pose like she were raising her hands for the police.

"Oh! Hi," she said with a breathless laugh, the grin on her face broken by biting her lip in embarrassment. She glanced away. The radio clicked off, and she put down the t-shirt she'd been holding.

"Sorry. I didn't know the door was open."

"It's these old doors," Scott noted, nodding at the offending door. "You think it's closed but they have a habit of swinging open. I can't tell you how many teenagers have ended up embarrassed by that. Best tool the staff here have in the fight against teenage hooliganism," he told the redhead with a straight face.

Jean laughed. "I'm guessing it's a never ending battle," she said with a smirk, then opened the door a little wider.

"Would you like to come in? My parents just sent me a few things so I'm in the middle of unpacking. I could offer you a soda, or possibly some tea or coffee," she said, motioning to the makeshift kitchen area she had made in the corner, consisting of a rolling table with a small fridge underneath it, and a microwave on top. Next to the microwave was a large assortment of teas, as well as a keurig coffeemaker.

It was the sight of the coffeemaker that stopped Scott short, and made him want to run as fast as he could. "Uhhh, perhaps the kitchen?" he offered, "I'm sure you'd like a break from the unpacking, If I remember correctly, those boxes are hardly the most elegant and becoming of dance partners."

Peering out over the small contingent of boxes that seemed to be judging her by the way they all piled together like a mountain, taunting her to take care of them, Jean squinted. "Yeah, that might be good."

It was also a battle, but at least this one had an end once she got through all the boxes. Unlike perpetual teenage hormones.

She grabbed a green cardigan to slip on, feeling a tiny bit cold once she'd stopped dancing, then smiled. "Shall we?" she said.

"I'm still trying to get used to a communal kitchen. There was a small one at the hospital I worked at but that was only during work hours. It's a bit different when you're craving hummus at 2 am and need to get remotely presentable to go downstairs."

"Don't worry about it. After a while you stop thinking about it. I'm pretty sure we have an unofficial rule here that no-one gets to judge people going to and fro the kitchen between 10 and 6." Scott scratched his head, you know, we have a surprising amount of traffic around here in the middle of the night."

Jean laughed. "Well, I don't think I'm going to parade around in the rec room in my knickers but I'll keep that in mind," she mused, then tilted her head thoughtfully.

"And I guess they'd be the night shift. I know I tend to wander when I can't sleep. Usually I pace around my living room reading a book but now I have an entire mansion to attempt to grow drowsy in."

Scott waved his hand back and forward, "The mansion isn't that great to fall asleep in if you wander around. Too much is happening all the time. I've always found the best bet it just to curl up with a hot drink or maybe watch something boring on tv. The background noise helps."

"Hmm, good idea," Jean said. She was used to the noise in her head, buried behind mental walls. It acted like its own white noise at times. So adding something for her ears to focus on might help. She smiled as they made their way down the stairs.

"So, know any hot drinks you could recommend we try out now?"

"The espresso machine does a mean hot chocolate if that's your kind of treat. Or," the X-man shrugged, "I normally settle for a cup of tea. I've got Charles to blame for that."

Jean grinned. "Really? He's the main culprit for me too. And, well, living in the UK. I usually have a cup before I go to bed...and when I wake up. It's become habit, really. I find I can't sleep or make it through my day without one."

"So what's your favorite?" she said, pausing a moment to study him, her hand propped under her chin. "Let me guess, Earl grey?"

"So Charles has corrupted you too then?" Scott asked wryly, "I guess everyone who spends much time around the professor develops a taste for tea. I was one of the only people in college who actually knew well anything about tea other than you pour in the hot water and flavor comes out. That man has a lot to answer for." Scott shook his head, keep guessing."

"He's a bad influence," Jean said, shaking her head with a sigh. "He also introduced me to the Rolling Stones. I like the story about him once returning Keith Richards' guitar to him after a guy stole it after a show in London in the 1970s....before the accident." He didn't talk about it much, and she always understood.

She glanced at Scott again, tilting her head, really looking at him this time. He dressed conservatively in a simple blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and grey slacks, nothing extravagant or expensive like Warren. He carried himself the way he acted: his shoulders strong, back straight. He a purposeful stride, as if he always knew exactly where he was going. He smelled like fresh linen with the hint of sandalwood and he had the slightest bit of stubble along his chin, which was chiseled and strong.

His eyes were impossibly blue like a cloudless sky. And when he looked at her it was like he could see right through her.

She glanced down. "It'd be something rich, full bodied, but bright...." She finally looked up at him.

"Ceylon?"

Scott arched an eyebrow at Jean, "Lucky guess," he conceded with a laugh. "I don't think I've ever met someone who goes there first, most people start off with the darjeeling or better known teas. I can see Charles spent some time education you about 'the finer things in life.'"

Jean blinked with an astonished grin, a little surprised herself that she guessed correctly. She laughed. "My parents like it too. Though my mom prefers coffee, no matter how many years she lives abroad. I prefer chai myself. Always enjoyed a bit of spice, with a splash of milk to add balance."

They reached the kitchen, and Jean went for the cabinet containing the mugs. She still didn't know where everything was but she was getting there.

"Well most people do end up preferring coffee, I mean you've seen the size of the coffee maker here," Scott nodded at the mentioned device, "but Charles has his way of getting tea under your skin. Just no sugar in your tea, otherwise I'm pretty sure he'd blow a gasket."

Jean laughed. "I can respect old traditions but I consider myself a revolutionist. Aren't we supposed to be dedicated to promoting change and new thinking?"

"I dunno, we're kinda dedicated to the past here," Scott noted with a laugh, "Besides when it comes to our caffeinated beverages, revolutionists are really not acceptable at all." he pointed out with a laugh.

"That's what they say...For decades it's black dark roast coffee, two sugars, maybe a bit of cream. " Jean said with a smirk as she grabbed a tea kettle. "And then mocha lattes and frappuchinos come along and suddenly everyone's in line for one. Change is good. Keeps things interesting. But yeah, people do seem to be resistant to new fangled things until they try them. Makes sense. Fear of the unknown and all."

She plucked two mugs from the cabinet, then filled the kettle full of water. Across the kitchen, one of the stove burners clicked a couple of times, then roared to life and she crossed the room to set the kettle on it. They had a few minutes for the water to boil so she took a seat on one of the stools next to the counter.

"Makes it hard to break out of your comfort zone."

"Food and drink are a special case," Scott added, "If people like something they tend to stick with it because of the comfort value," he pointed out, "Well most of them. I heard someone order a pumpkin spice mocha latte soy I can't ever repeat it," Scott shook his head ruefully, "Just hearing that made me feel old."

Taking a seat at one of the counter stools, Jean laughed. "I don't do soy either, but I do like to add a little coffee to my creamer. Dark roasts are a little too bitter for me. But I think it depends on the brand."

She rested her chin in her hand, grinning.

"And yeah, I suppose you're right. Wars have been fought over food and drink, after all."

"It's those simple pleasures in life that cause the most problems," Scott agreed. "You should have been here for the coffee crusades," he told Jean with a smile.

Jean quirked a brow of interest. "Please tell me there was chain mail, armor, and quests to other countries in the sake of converting people into loving espresso?" she said, laughing with a glitter in her emerald green eyes.

"Armies were gathered, empires rose and fell and heroes were both born and forgotten the the midst of some of the most staining of battles that you ever did see," Scott confirmed.

"Oh, with that amount of caffeine being spilled I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't sleep for days....weeks," Jean said, pressing her hand to her chest with wide eyes.The kettle started to whistle, and Jean headed over, pouring the boiling water into their teacups before covering them with a plate to allow them to steep properly.

"Must have been epic. Do you want anything with your tea? I think I saw some cookies in the cabinet earlier but that doesn't mean anything here. They're probably gone by now." She smirked.

"We do go through sweets at a rather alarming pace," Scott agreed. "Now I think about it the sugar intake at the mansion is probably unhealthy but you know," he smiled. "Tea and celery just doesn't really work."

Jean laughed, holding up her hands. "Hey, no judgement here. I've been guilty of eating enough sweets in one sitting to probably make Willy Wonka raise an eyebrow so I--Ah Ha!"

Hovering about a foot off the ground in front of the very top shelf cabinet where the old crackers and other unwanted items like wheat germ sat, Jean smiled in satisfaction as she reached in the back and pulled out a box of shortbread cookies.

"I had a feeling that would happen so I prepared accordingly." She shook the box.

"Want some?"

"I really shouldn't," Scott replied, but they were shortbread and he could let himself enjoy it once. He'd have some celery later. "Famous last words," he noted with a rueful sigh as he reached for a cookie.

Grabbing her own tasty morsel, Jean side-eyed Scott with a giggle. "Yep. I'm a bad influence," she said as she wiped a crumb from her lip.

She hopped up and took the plates off the tea, then slid his over while she took to doctoring hers with cream and sugar.

"Here you are," she said with a smile.