Jean and Kevin: Thursday Evening

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean meets up with Kevin for a casual dinner and drinks. The conversation takes several twists and turns.


Buddakan was a trendy Asian fusion restaurant with an atmosphere that resembled something you might see in the Far East, rather than the streets of New York City. The main seating area seemed like a cross between a viking dining hall and a Buddhist monastery, with the other adjourning areas a mixture of clean modern lines and metal industrial accents. Since Jean's return back to the states, she had meant to follow up with Kevin on the promise for lunch and today she was making good on that promise. By some small miracle she had a day off. To keep from losing time on her fellowship, while she was taking care of business in Europe she had arranged to work on some of it with Moira at Muir. Returning back to Claremont wasn't too big of a deal, however, as there wasn't much to catch up on. People got sick or injured everyday so there was always someone new to take care of.

She'd taken a seat in one of the booths, and was glancing over the menu. While she waited she enjoyed a cup of 'Earl Grey Reserve' tea, occasionally pausing to savor the fragrant smell of bergamot mixed with black tea and blue corn flowers. She considered seeing if they sold the tea by the box so she could bring some back to Charles.

"Jean." Kevin said quietly, slipping in across from her. The server provided the lukewarm crock of sake and bowed, as if he knew the other man. Kevin arranged himself and leaned forward. "How are you?"

Jean had learned early on how to block a person's thoughts. So much so that they generally became white noise, a low steady murmur in the crowd. Because of this, she wasn't actively 'listening' for Kevin's arrival. Nevertheless, she had been expecting him, so her subconscious had registered his presence a couple of moments before he arrived by locking into his psi-signature. It was the only reason why she hadn't been startled when he seemed to almost materialize in the way only a spy could.

She glanced up with a smirk. "Good, but indecisive. Everything looks appealing," she said, the smirk turning into a smile. "And you?"

"You know me. Endlessly adaptable." He took a sip from the sake and waved the barman back over. They had a short conversation in rapid-fire Japanese before he picked up the flask and took it back with him. Kevin smiled. "Are you a fan of sake?"

Resting her chin in her hand, Jean squinted thoughtfully. "I had a glass a couple of years ago but as I recall I was very drunk and had had a few other drinks before that so I don't remember if I liked it or not. I tend to stick to what I like when it comes to my spirits but I'm feeling adventurous so I'm up for trying it."

"I'll let you in on a little secret then that you can lord over plebeian sake fans. Traditionally, sake is supposed to be served hot, right?" He quirked an eyebrow. "The thing most people don't know is that when you heat alcohol like sake, it muddies the flavours so you can't pick it apart. The Japanese didn't start serving sake hot until it was finally opened up for trade in the 19th century. They did it for the sake they served to foreign officials and workers, gaining face by making them unknowingly drink the lowest quality sake they produced."

He leaned back as the waiter returned with a new flask and pour both small cups full. "To drink good sake, the only thing you do is slightly warm the flask. Just enough so that the full bouquet of the alcohol develops." He drained in cup and smoothly refilled it.

"So if I'm ever offered hot sake then I'll know it's probably rubbish? Good to know," Jean mused with a smirk. She picked up the sake.

"Well, here goes...." she said, taking a small sip from the cup.

"Not necessarily, but if you ever pay for good sake, you now know how to drink it." The sake was excellent; a smooth strong taste with just a hint of something floral behind the alcohol fueled bite.

"Mmm," Jean said decisively. "Very nice." Taking another sip, she let the flavor linger in her mouth a moment before she swallowed. It was a departure from what she usually had, which was a good change.

She smiled. "So in your opinion, where's your favorite place to drink sake?"

"Belgrade. There's a tiny shop run buy a Japanese immigrant who ended up there in the 80s. He has some kind of deal with small batch suppliers back home. His wife makes the most exquisite sweet rolls."

"Belgrade? I've been there once. Ferried a couple of twin girls there to meet up with their father. Only stayed couple of days, though, so I didn't get to explore. I don't really speak much Serbian. We had a translator."

"You missed out. Remarkable place when you're not being actively hunted."

Jean laughed. "If we ever find ourselves there at the same time you'll have to show me around," she said.

"Being hunted just adds a air of urgency to getting everything in before they try to kill you. Life is fleeting, right?"

"It's the opposite. Being hunted makes you appreciate the rest of the time more. For example, sitting with an attractive red-head drinking good sake."

Jean pressed her hand to her heart, letting out a laugh. "Oh the line...I knew it was coming," she smirked.

"I take it you've been in this situation a lot...hunted and drinking with members of the opposite sex? Rather playing to the James Bond spy stereotype, aren't we?"

"Less than I wish. Most intelligence work is extremely boring and focused on committees of old men." Kevin smiled. "But, having a pretty doctor sidekick would have made a lot of missions more stimulating." Leaning in with a grin, Jean kept her smirk as she arched her eyebrows.

"I bet it would. I'm a little offended at being called 'sidekick' though. I'm definitely a partner."

"I don't doubt, but according to the genre, you'd need to speak more languages, have conflicted loyalties and be wearing a leather cat suit."

"Good thing it's 2015 and a few more modern era spy films have come out. At least this time I can wear relatively modern clothes and demonstrate my hacking skills before I get killed by the villain in an overly elaborate way," Jean said.

"You'd think they'd change things up a little."

"It's a bit of a shame. The girl in the cat suit never died." He topped her glass up. "But spy films never reflect real spy work, like I assume hospital films never get it right."

"I don't think she rode off into the sunset either," Jean said. She then burst into a grin. "Oh, my coworkers and I have a drinking game for Grey's Anatomy every time they mess up. We only play it if we want to get especially plastered."

"We once had a female comms operative in Germany. She used to read terrible spy novels. At the time, coded transmissions were intercepted and then retyped and sent by wire back to COMINT. Between shifts, they used to keep their translation chops sharp by translating... poetry, Shakespeare, whatever, into Russian and sent to COMINT. She used to send chapters of these novels. About a year later, we find out from a source inside that the Soviets have gone absolutely apeshit about this incredible source they'd found outlining all of these CIA missions, assets and goals." Kevin leaned back with a smile. "Yeah, they'd compromised her wire and thought the chapters were actual intel on missions. We must have feed them a dozen shitty books through that wire before they caught on."

Jean laughed. "So when you had them believing you, did they try to go after this adventurous spy?" she said.

"How did you manage to convince them of the charade for so long?"

"By not doing anything different. You know that thing people talk about, using the internet to find whatever symptoms they have to convince themselves they have rubella or something? Intel works the same way. If you're convinced something is happening, you can always find clues to fit your idea."

"Like people with paranoia, convinced someone's watching them if their doorman looks at them funny when in reality he was thinking about something else," Jean said, leaning back. She smiled.

"Pretty clever. So when did you decide that being a spy was for you?"

"It's not like being a doctor, Jean. The job chooses you most of the time." He paused as they made their meal orders, not surprisingly discovering that Kevin's fluent Japanese opened up a few more 'specials' not available to the rest of the patrons. "You tell me. What made you want to be a doctor? What are the parts about Jean Grey that focus you to that as opposed to pure science or engineering, or, I don't know... fashion modeling?"

The waiter had given them some water and Jean had started to take a drink when she paused to laugh. She finished taking a drink, then glanced over the menu again.

"How do you know the job didn't choose me?" she said, glancing up with a smile.

"Because you don't accidentally do seven years of med school and umpteen hours of interning while trying to make up your mind."

"I'd say the same thing about you and training on every way to gather information and kill people without even knowing you're there. There's always a moment," Jean said, enjoying the coolness of her glass. The restaurant's air conditioning bordered on warmer, likely a bit on the fritz, and the transition into summer made the air sticky.

"For me it started with an understanding. When I was very young I discovered first hand what it felt like to die when my best friend accidentally ran out in front of a car. My powers kicked in and they connected with her. I felt every moment of pain, of fear....I felt her slip away. And I felt helpless. I realized that for everything a mind and a body can do, it can be broken. And for awhile, I grappled with that realization, until I met two people who showed me that I could do so much more with my life than feel helpless. They showed me that even though a person is so fragile, with the right knowledge you can put them back together again. All I had to do was learn how. So I became curious about the world, and how to heal people."

"And you had the requisite drive and intelligence to learn how to do the job. That's a rare gift, Jean." He pointed out, picking up his drink again. "I was trained in the US Army as a sniper because I had a good eye. After a year of seeing human beings as targets, I showed the kind of... moral flexibility that a good operative needs to have. You became a doctor because you were gifted and inspired. I became a spy because I had the capacity to suppress any kind of empathy when larger considerations were involved. You don't want to cheapen your work by comparing it to mine."

Jean was thoughtful a moment, then smiled. "Thank you, but I don't see myself as cheapening my work. I'm trying to understand yours. I came here, to the mansion, with a certain set of ideals. Over time I'd convinced myself that that was how it was supposed to be. And I'm beginning to realize now that....it isn't. I can hold myself to certain regard but it's not my place to ask that for others, or judge. I can only try to understand how people work, and keep doing what I'm doing, hoping somehow that somehow I'll make a difference. At least, that's my current goal anyway."

"You are looking at a big shift coming. But I think you missed my point. People become doctors because they're driven or talented. People in my line of work come there because they're either patriotic enough or broken enough to be willing to accept the costs. They aren't the same thing." He held up a hand. "And that's not me denigrating my field. It's just understanding it. You'd never be a good spy. That's a positive in the real world."

Jean rested her chin in her hand. "And why's that?" she said. She already knew she wasn't spy material but she wanted to hear his take on it. Consult the experts as it were.

"Like I mentioned, empathy. Could you leave a person to die, knowing that because of the things that he did for you meant that he'd be shot in the back of the head. Justifying it by the idea that a marginal additional insight into a weapons program might save some lives on your side? Knowing that his family was, at best, going to be without a father and at worst, march into death with him?"

Leaning back in her chair, Jean studied him. "No, probably not," she said after a couple of moments. She looked away, shaking her head. "I tried the spy thing once and even just betraying a person I cared about was a problem for me. Leaving someone to die is definitely not my MO. I'm still having trouble beating up terrorists. And they deserve it."

Glancing back, she tilted her head. "I take it your example isn't just an example is it, though?"

"What I do isn't very nice. We justify it by it is necessary, and it is. But that doesn't mean we don't understand what we have to do."

Jean took another sip of water. "I didn't think you spent your days just sipping martinis and hitting on women," she said. She stared out over the bar.

"Sometimes I wonder if people think I'm weak for not wanting to go as far as they do."

"The term for people who think that is... idiot." Kevin shook his head and gave a light chuckle. "One of the justifications that many of us use is that if we're the ones doing it, someone else doesn't have to. Although, I wouldn't complain if there were more martinis and women on a day to day basis."

"I think I'm afraid someday I might have to. Like I'm a relic of a bygone era that doesn't exist anymore and to survive I have to do what I don't want to do. I've... already started doing that," Jean said.

"Then you take a stand. I won't lie. It's not pretty out there for mutants and its likely to get worse before it gets better. But isn't the point of your X-Men to be heroes? If that's the case, then you can't allow yourself to get changed into something different for the sake of effectiveness." Kevin pointed out. "Believe me, one person taking a stand was the cause of so many damn headaches in the Agency... a year of careful planning wiped out by student protests morphing into the deposing of a corrupt leader."

The last was delivered with a sly smile. "Relax, Jean. I'm not saying you shouldn't be concerned about it, but dwelling on it won't give you any answers."

Jean smirked. "Good on the student," she said. She let out a breath, laughing.

"And dwelling is kind of my thing. I've been told what the X-Men stand for, but I see something different in practice. I think many of them have been pushed so far that they're close to breaking. And because I'm the new person I don't think I can do much to change that because they don't think I understand. So they don't listen to me. I've tried....and I got so frustrated that I turned into a bitch about it."

"Change takes time. Especially with people who has been too close to the edge too many times. Reminding them what they're supposed to be as opposed to trying to force them to act that way will likely get you a lot further than you think."

Steepling her fingers, Jean shook her head. "I don't know how to do that, though. Maybe it only takes one person but I don't even know if I'm that person. I'm not Charles Xavier. I'm not Scott Summers. I'm just...an apparently overly moral, impatient doctor who feels way in over her head most of the time."

"It all starts somewhere. And it all starts with the first small push." Kevin waved for a new flask. "You're looking for a fix as if it was a wound. Go in, stitch this up, everything becomes alright. It's not. It's a process that builds on itself. So it won't be just you to change it. You just might be the first piece of many that leads there."

Resting her chin in her hand, Jean slowly nodded, her attention far away, wrapped up in her thoughts.

He was right. She was looking for an instant remedy.She needed to keep remembering that it was like physical therapy. She had spent her life, preparing, living and working in the moment. You find someone bleeding on the street, you patch them up. She rarely dealt in the aftermath, the time it took to heal. It was so easy to get wrapped up in the chaos of the moment and forget that there was more than just the needle and the wire. It was what came afterwards. Coming to the mansion, living with these people, she had wanted to learn about the aftercare of patients, helping them recover from their injuries. It was the same with their minds as well.

After a few moments she realized she'd gone silent and smiled, snapping out of her reverie. "If I had known we were going to spend dinner having philosophical discussions I would've brushed up a little on the topic before I arrived."

"Getting philosophical after a few drinks is almost a cliche." He shrugged, shifting as their refreshed drinks and food arrived. "But, if you'd be more comfortable with a less personal topic, I'd be happy to provide."

"I don't know...It's nice to be able to do both, "Jean said with a lingering smile. "But I'm up for something a bit less existential over our sushi."

"Perfect. How do you feel about jazz?"

Picking up her chopsticks, Jean grabbed a piece of sushi with practiced nuance, dipping it into her soy sauce.

"Strongly," she said. "I like to listen to it after a long day or just because. Though my tastes tend to be eclectic when it comes to music. The professor and I share a love for the Rolling Stones."

Kevin ignored the sauce, opting for a touch of wasabi as the only condiment to his very minimalist sushimi. "Well, there is an excellent trio starting in an hour at a place that I happen to know makes an exceptional martini. If you want the full 'spy' experience."

Adding a bit of ginger for kick, Jean smiled. "I thought you said I'd never be a good spy. Wouldn't that be tempting fate?"

"I said you wouldn't be a good spy. But I think you'd be spectacularly successful with a catsuit."

"I take it you haven't seen the X-Men uniforms. They're practically leather catsuits," Jean said, taking a slow sip of her sake. She was not thrilled by that.

"Then you're practically an expert already. Sounds good enough for a martini."

Squinting at him a moment, Jean realized where this was probably going but she decided that she didn't really care. She hadn't let herself have that much fun since she got there to the mansion and it was time to fix that.

"You're on, Mr. Bond."

***

The Duke was an old New York institution. The second floor bar was over ninety years old, lined in deep paneled wood that still bore the scars of decades of wax and smoke vying for dominance. It was large for a midtown bar, having survived largely because the building was owned by an extremely old and wealthy patron who didn't like change. The menu had a dozen items, and not a single one would appear on a gasto-pub website; porterhouse, butter braised chantelles, baked potatoes swimming in sour cream, and a rabbit in a bourbon sauce so thick and creamy that it had likely died of a heart attack. Over the years, the bar had been a hangout for an ever changing mix, usually punctuated by an old guard of regulars who'd started decades ago. At one point, it had been the place to be in Manhattan. However, that point had been over fifty years ago.

It was a mixed crowd tonight, a few older regulars, a smattering of young professionals, and fans of the scorching good jazz trio currently playing, the bass and drum racing to try and catch the bebop of the clarinet. The grey haired bartender slid over the martinis; not his usual drink but it brought back memories of many years at that bar. Kevin slid back a couple of twenties with a wave.

"Thanks Henry." It was very cold, very dry, and just a hint of the brine from the olives had snuck into the flavour. Perfect.

"Here." He said as he passed a glass to Jean, joining her at the table they'd selected off to one side.

Jean surveyed their new place, a definite switch from the modern to the well-established old school.

"Thanks," she said with a nod, taking the glass. It was more savory than she preferred, but it was so well made that she didn't mind.

"Let me guess, this was an old haunt of yours back in the day?"

"At various points. The session players around the city used to come here all the time. I once came in while Coltrane and Sanders just noodling around."

Jean blinked, pausing mid sip of her martini. "Now you're just showing off," she said with a laugh.

"Seriously? Did you get to meet them?"

"Showing off? A little, assuming you're impressed. But no, I didn't." He took a sip. "I was a nobody and the place was thick with fellow musicians at the time."

"Yes, I am impressed," Jean said, smiling. "Mostly at the serendipity of the moment. It's great that you got to see them perform. Were they everything they were hyped up to be?"

"Very different. Less cerebral and more instinctive. I'm pretty sure Coltrane was high as a kite at the time."

Jean used her toothpick to stir her martini a little, not that it needed it. "I'm guessing the majority of musicians in the 60s were probably on something at one time or another."

She leaned in, resting her chin in her hand again. "So how does it feel to watch time move around you and people you know age like fruit on a vine?" Picking up her toothpick, stocked with olives, she examined it.

"This is my last one, by the way," she added decisively.

"Your last olive? What a terrible line to draw in the sand." Kevin leaned back, watching the band with his drink. "I try not to think about it. Working at the Agency made emotional isolation easier. My only attempt at marriage lasted less than ten years, for good reasons."

He took another sip, relishing it. "You learn to change your priorities. To focus on what is good and worth doing now. The future is going to come regardless."

"Did I catch a not-so-veiled bit of advice in your observations on potential immortality?" Jean mused, plucking one of the olives from the toothpick. "This my last drink. I'm a little buzzed, and that's enough for me."

"Depends whether or not you think you need advice. After all, my position is somewhat unique." He shrugged. "But, it does make things like jealousy or shyness become much less important in the now. That's a plus."

The trio shifted into a slower pace, still uptempo but more of an Ellington riff, occasionally touching on 'Take the A Train' before noodling off for a while and coming back. "Do you care to dance, Doctor?"

"I don't know, it sounds like good advice for we mortal types as well," Jean said with a smirk. She glanced back at the band a moment before turning back to him. "I'm not really dressed for a sashay but sure, why not?"

"Now I can give you some advice. When dancing, if you're doing it right, the last thing that matters is your outfit."

Her attention flickered to the older patrons, standing guard like gargoyles on a building. "I don't know. These guys might have something to say about that," she said with a smile.

"I think they're more jealous than anything." Kevin stepped onto the floor in front of the band where a couple of other pairs had started dancing. He smoothly turned, drawing her into a traditional two-step. His hands were very firm, actually leading her properly instead of sliding around, looking to grab her ass.

Jean laughed, falling into step. She actually seemed like she knew what she was doing as she moved with a credible amount of rhythm.

"Other than the tango I always liked jazz best to dance to. Not that other music isn't fun."

"I was always more of a mambo fan myself." He said, wrapping her around and back with a simple spin.

"I forget about that one sometimes," Jean said as she twirled, toes almost pointed like a ballerina.

"I like that one too."

"Aren't you a little young for the mambo, Doc?"

"I have parents, had grandparents, and work with older patients, don't I?" Jean said. "You pick up certain things."

"I thought doctors tried to avoid picking things up from their patients." Kevin joked, moving her back with a momentarily complicated bit of footwork to move them out of the way from some less coordinated dancers.

Jean grinned. "I'll always welcome good conversation and the occasional dance moves." she said, turning her grin toward the dancers as they moved past before nodding in acknowledgement.

"You should be careful. I might give you a reputation after all."

"For spending time with older patients?" Jean said with a smirk. "I think many doctors have that reputation."

"Then I'll need to give you a different one."

"And what would that be?" Jean said. "I'm happy with the one I have."

"I can almost guarantee you'd be happy in the process of acquiring the one I could help you have." Kevin said with a smirk.

"Are you saying your trying to be the Yoda to my Luke Skywalker?" Jean mused.

"I have absolutely no idea what that means."

Jean laughed. "Don't tell me you've never seen Star Wars?"

"Domino put on the movies one time. I didn't pay much attention, to be honest." He shrugged. "Also, there was this annoying frog thing speaking the worst pidgin."

Jean smirked. "Pretty sure the 'annoying frog thing' you're talking about was Yoda. Basically there are two characters that have a zen master and his protege kind of relationship," she explained. "That's what I'm saying."

"So, wait, I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out to be the protege doctor. So does that make you the junior spy now?"

Squinting thoughtfully, Jean shrugged. "Not really. Since you said I wouldn't make a good spy. So I guess we'll see what happens?"

Kevin paused as the band stopped. "You might be right. I apologize. I don't think you'd make a good spy. That's part of the reason you can be remarkable in a number of other ways."

The other dancers started to make their way off the dance floor. Jean turned to glance at Kevin, tilting her head before she joined them.

"'Remarkable' is a strong word to use for someone you've barely known for a few hours. Even when only describing potential," she said.

"But thanks."

"Weasel words, you know. Saying you can be remarkable isn't the same as you are remarkable," Kevin replied with an increasingly familiar sly smile. "Although, I don't think I'd take the bet against."

Taking her seat back at the booth, Jean laughed as she picked up her glass. "I had a feeling it was another line. I'd been keeping a mental tally. What is it....4 or 5 now? Admittedly it did stroke my ego a little."

"Don't be so dismissive of a line. They're the starting point for a lot of things. Besides, apparently 'nice legs' isn't as well received as it used to be."

"Yeah, women tend to not like to be thought of as just a nice couple of body parts. And trust me, I know what a line is usually the starting point for," Jean said, stirring her martini glass with her toothpick. She smiled. "Most women do. We get issued the handbook in home ec along with our Suzy Homemaker apron."

Plucking an olive off of the toothpick, she casually popped it in her mouth. "I'd rather you stick to the usual medley instead of pretending to pander to my sense of self-worth in your pursuit of figuring out what I look like with my clothes off, thanks."

"Doc, I'm a shapeshifter. If I want to know what you look like naked..." He shook his head. "Regardless, you will find that outside of my professional work, I don't pander. Jokes aside, you're a young doctor who doubles as a superhero and just happens to move stuff with her mind. I don't think I need years of experience with you to recognize that as remarkable. Or to recognize that you're a fundamentally decent person. What I do find interesting is how quick you seem to dismiss that people might recognize that. Is it old-school humility or something you don't see?"

Laughing, Jean picked up her glass and finished it off with one gulp. "That doesn't make me remarkable," she said, setting the glass down on the table.

"Not where we live. There are three more like me--young doctors with unique abilities who are out to save the world--back at the mansion. I'm nothing special."

"I think you've confused unique and remarkable." Kevin was silent for a moment, chin in his palm as he looked at her. "Let me take a shot in the dark here. You don't think you measure up as an X-Man. You don't think that being a doctor is enough because everyone else seems to be better with their jobs in the medlab than you. And you don't even feel like you fit into the mansion any more. I'm willing to bet that in the last month, you've strongly considered leaving because you don't think they need you. Am I at all close?"

Jean glanced away to study the other patrons. "If you are what do I win? A rousing speech on how I need to chin up because it's all in my head and I'm stronger than I realize?" she said, turning back to him.

"I've been walking on eggshells the moment I got here. I understand. I know why. But I don't feel like I can be myself here. And so I either try to be a overly nice sycophant automaton with no opinion of my own because I'm afraid of ruffling feathers or I turn into a shrieking, judgmental harpy when I can't stand doing that anymore and wind up alienating people. It''s cyclical. And I'm not sure how to break out of that cycle."

"Do I look like the rousing speech type?" Kevin shook his head. "And the problem isn't all in your head. It just starts there."

He waved to the bartender. Henry would replace the glasses, but keep hers off to one side, in case she changed her mind about the last drink. "You seen like the type that has been driven your whole life for things. You made goals, figured out how to get there and then worked your ass off to do it. Feel free to correct if I'm wrong. In the case of the mansion, you came in with an idea of what your goal would be. And it has turned out to be entirely different from what you expected. Different enough that you don't know how to square it with your original idea and don't know how to give into it. Any of this sounds like it applies?"

Resting her chin in her hand, Jean smiled. "I don't know you're the shapeshifter. Somehow I picture you adapting to match the situation in more than just your form," she said, then shrugged, almost in defeat.

"And yeah, pretty much."

Without even glancing over she grabbed the martini glass and took a drink.

"If I get told to 'loosen up' one more time I'm going to stab someone in the eye with a toothpick."

"Loosen up isn't the right term. What you need to do is to take a step back from all that you've built up in front of you. Because right now, it's a wall that you're trying to get past by running headfirst into, rather than figuring out if you need to go that direction in the first place." Kevin sipped his refreshed drink. "And you need to start looking at and doing things because you want to. Not because you think you have do to fit some image or meet some kind of expectation from someone else. Trying doing what Jean Grey wants first once. That will go a big way into sorting things out."

"I don't know what I want," Jean admitted.

"I've been running so long full steam on my professional career....college, then medical school, then residency...that all I do is live and breathe medicine when I'm not out gallivanting around with a group of strangers," she said, eyeing her glass like it might have some insight.

"I want to trust them. I want to get to know them. But I can't. Not when it almost seems like they don't trust me."

"Hard to trust someone you don't know. And it seems like they've only seen Doctor Grey and X-Man Marvel Girl." Kevin smiled thinly. "But you can't be honest with them until you're ready to open up yourself. Which I kind of doubt you've done in a while. What's the last thing that you did just for you? That you didn't care what anyone else said or thought; that you were going to do regardless?"

Jean's eyes turned distant for a moment, thoughtful, before she frowned. "Not much is coming to mind. God, that's pathetic...An art exhibit when I first got back to the states maybe? And even that turned into Pandora's box," she said. She took a long sip of her drink.

"I've tried to open up. I think opening up is the problem. Because I tell them exactly how I feel and that rarely goes over well. It's already ended one relationship."

"Complete honesty is for sociopaths. Letting people get to know you is different from letting them know exactly how you feel. It's not a procedure in which you do something and then the patient gets better. It's a process of adaptation and empathy." He said, regarding her struggle across the table. "You need to break free of this structure you've created for yourself. Put the doctor and then X-Man away for a little bit and reconnect with yourself. Until you do that, connecting with others is going to be a minefield."

"It already has been," Jean said, letting out a breath that wound up blowing away a few strands of hair. Resting her chin in her hand she laughed, smiling at him.

"Got a sledgehammer?"

"Shapeshifter. I have whatever it is you need." He joked.

Jean's smile blossomed into a grin as she laughed again. "Good point," she said.

"Thanks for the advice."

She was somewhat at a loss on how to learn to do that. It didn't sound like something she study in a book but it was a good direction to follow.

"That's a start. Don't worry if you trip up a few times. Just get a little more comfortable in your own skin. Have that extra drink you normally wouldn't. Stay out an hour later than you normally do. Give yourself a chance to breathe. Regardless of what happens, you'll find your natural balance soon enough."

Glancing down at the drink that was in her hand, Jean smirked. "Is that a hint?"

"It's a bit of good advice. Because if there's ever a lady I've met in need of rewinding, it's you, Jean."

Jean laughed. "Rewinding. Sounds a bit like time travel," she said. Finishing off her drink, Jean held out her hand.

"Well, Mr. Sledgehammer. I'd like to try for a little practice. How about another dance?"

"I'd be delighted, Doc."