Quentin & Jean, backdated to September 22

[xp-erverse.livejournal.com]

Quentin does the mature thing and apologizes to Jean for his misbehavior the previous week. They even have a productive, amiable if somewhat heavy discussion. Content warning for issues of consent.


The last several days had been trying, to put it simply. No matter what Quentin did (or, as per Friday night and Saturday morning, whom he did), he still could not get Tom out of his head. No one understood the burden of telepathy.

There was one person who did, though, but it would take an extraordinary act of contrition to get her to talk to him.

So after a short trip to town, Quentin found himself outside Jean's office with a small box of chocolates and a little teddy bear holding a heart-shaped pillow emblazoned with the words "I'm sorry for what I said when I was hungry." He knocked on the door with his free hand.

Silence came following his knocking, before the door finally opened. Jean was at her desk, writing out a few notes on one of her patients

"Is there something I can help you with?" she said.

"Uh, yeah." He held out the gifts, but when she did not rise to take or at least look at them, he levitated them to her desk right on top of her papers. He still stayed by the door, though. "Look, about what happened last week. Can we, like, talk or whatever?"

Staring down at the tokens of apology now blocking the sentence she was writing on Mr. Bordeaux's cardiomyopathy, Jean straightened and put down her pen. Finally she motioned toward the nearby couch.

"Have a seat."

Though she had a feeling, and hoped, he was probably going to change his mind and apologize, the initial underlying incident still needed to be addressed.

She did not kick him out, so that was a good sign. He took the offered seat and crossed his left left over his right, and then after a moment's thought, crossed right over left. His fingers drummed restlessly on the arm of the chair. "Do you like it? There was also a bear that said 'Shit, bitch, you is fine,' but I thought I'd save that for V Day."

Jean slipped off her glasses. It was obvious this sort of thing was a challenge for him, so she was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You didn't have to do anything, a simple apology would've sufficed. But the gesture is appreciated," she said, taking a seat in the chair across from him.

"Well, you know, words are meaningless," Quentin said with more than a hint of bitterness. "Thought something actually real would be better. And you'll also notice that the chocolate box is almost full. I only ate the coconut one. Lot of people don't like those but I do so I saved you the trouble. You're welcome."

Studying him for a few moments, Jean crossed her legs."I don't know...I happen to think words hold a lot of power," she said. She tilted her head.

"And I know you do too. I was there, at the school. I could see the results. And I can see they're holding a lot of power now. Something else is bothering you. What happened?"

Quentin, still fidgeting, frowned and turned away, as if suddenly finding the wall to be a lot more interesting than Jean. The objects on her desk started to vibrate in sync with the increasingly rapid beating of his heart. "Do you think it's possible to have a consensual sexual relationship with anyone when you're a telepath?" he asked finally, getting straight to the point. "I mean, I assume you've had sex before. You're, what, 25? You're not a virgin. Stress of the ER gets you horny and you and your attending physician or whatever try to relieve yourselves in the supply closet. Or at least, that's what you think you're doing. He doesn't have a choice, and he doesn't know he doesn't have a choice. You're in his head, whether you like it or not. Your mind bleeds out into other minds. It's just the nature of being a telepath. So what you might as well have dosed him with rohypnol, for all he can resist you. Right?"

Jean didn't reply to Quentin for a few moments, but it was clear she was a little startled. His pain resonated like a road flare searing through a blackened sky, and she didn't quite know what to say.

"No," she said finally with honest sincerity, shaking her head.

"That's not right. You can have a consensual sexual relationship. I've had my share. Is it possible to use your powers to get someone to do something they don't want to do? Yes. But it's not what normally happens."

Rising from her chair, she took a seat beside him, her voice was gentle as she glanced him over.

"Is that what you believe?" she said.

"How do you know?" Quentin demanded, his gaze falling down to the clenched fists resting on his lap. "How can you be so fucking sure that you're totally in control all the time? Would you even know if you lost control? We don't, you know, blow up and take a city block with us. We violate the sanctity of other people's autonomy. And the worst part is, we might not even know we're doing it."

Jean kept her eyes on Quentin. "You're right...No one has complete control over themselves. But if I wanted to keep someone near me with my powers, unconscious or otherwise, do you think I'd still be alone?" she said. She still wasn't sure what to say.

She tilted her head. "What makes you think this way? What....what did you do?" she said softly after a moment or two.

Obviously something had triggered this enough for him to ask her. She knew he had a lot of anger, and his way of defending himself was to be as cruel as the world could be sometimes. But sometimes there was a darkness in him that she was afraid he might give into without encouragement,

Nevertheless...she had a feeling this wasn't an example of that darkness.

Words could not do Quentin justice, so he relied on the next best option, and opened a telepathic channel with Jean. Were she not a psi herself, the speed and crudeness with which he forged the bond would have hit her like a runaway car. As it was, it could not have been too pleasant, although to Quentin, that paled in comparison to the memory he shared with her.

Quentin at Tom's place. The cocky, angry, pissant almost unrecognizable as the lovelorn, heartbroken teenager.

"How could I know that? Hell, Quentin, as a matter of fact - you might not have known! Like, what if you didn't know and you ... you influenced me? It wasn't my fault, how was I to know you had powers, maybe got in my head..."

"Please, you have to believe me. I'd never do that to anyone, especially not you! Not even accidentally. I couldn't. I'm not that kind of person."

"Not a great feeling, is it, to hate yourself? Welcome to the adult word, Quentin. Didn't I tell you it sucks?"

Startled by the abrupt shift in "location," Jean was silent for a few moments, staring at the man in the memory. He seemed much older than him. She finally turned to Quentin, drawing in a breath before speaking.

"I know showing me what happened is important, but you cannot do that to me again without permission, okay? You were asking about consent. That's something that was needed here. Next time you need to ask. I want to help you, but respect is important, and I don't feel like I have that from you," she said. The delicacy of the subject was not lost on her, and she knew it took a lot for him to let down his guard enough to come talk to her, but she had to make her boundaries clear.

Quentin was half-tempted to snap back at her, purely out of habit, but she was right so he had the decency for once in his life to appear moderately embarrassed and mutter an apology. One that seemed genuine per the lingering threads of the now vanishing psychic link.

The real world slowly ghosted back into being, like stepping through a fog, and Jean glanced back to Quentin. "Thank you," she said.

"For the apology, and for trusting me enough to come to me about this. It wouldn't have even easy for me."

She glanced down, then added gently. "Who was that, in your memory?"

"That was Tom. Tom Logan," Quentin informed her, sighing partly in dismay and partly in melancholy. He rubbed his eyes. "When everyone found out about us, he quit so he wouldn't be fired. He wouldn't reply to my texts or calls and he moved away. I finally found him a little while ago and I thought . . . I mean, I guess I'm not really surprised he blames me. I was the one who showed up at his house, I was the one who wanted to fuck. I started it. I just didn't think he thought I forced him. I didn't think I did, either. But maybe I did . . ."

Jean was silent for a few moments. "How long had this been going on?" she said.

"Were you dating before you manifested?"

"'Dating,'" Quentin snorted with mild amusement. "Just the TK, as far as I know. Had that since 13, I think. Telepathy came, well, you were there. But who knows, really? Could've had lowkey TP for years, too. I wouldn't know, you know?"

Jean shook her head. "Low level telepathy is possible. But in this case, I don't think it's that cut and dry. That kind of power is something that doesn't extend to just one person. You'd notice, especially if people were acting differently than they were before. This...what Tom did...He was trying to put the blame on you, when it was on him for taking advantage of you. He was an adult, and you were a teenager. And he knew he was doing something wrong when he got caught. So he used your being a mutant, your telepathy, as an excuse for what he did. I know you loved him, and that might be hard to hear, but....I don't think you did this."

It was everything he wanted to hear, everything he needed to know. But the time-honored disconnect between heart and head was real, and Quentin could not so easily accept her reassurance. "It's just . . . that's not him. He was never like that. We never 'loved' each other," he said with some disgust for the L word, "But we at least cared. Why would he try to hurt me like that? That doesn't make sense."

Letting out a breath, Jean was admittedly relieved when he acknowledged it wasn't love. It didn't mean it couldn't still hurt him, though. "Control, maybe? Power. Some people prey on those they consider weak due to age or inexperience. And when they lose that power, like being discovered, they try to regain some part of it somehow. He could've been arrested for doing what he did, so he ran. And maybe in his desperation to feel like he was still in control....he...took it out on you. I don't....I think he was just trying to take advantage of you for his own needs. People who care for one another don't do what he did. Even friends."

She shook her head again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through this. That isn't how it should be."

"Serves me right for thinking some flatscan should have any part in my life," Quentin said with equal parts malice and self-loathing. "Mutants only from now on. Hey, you're single, right?"

Studying Quentin, Jean was quiet for a moment before ignoring his question. "Mutants can be just as bad as humans. And humans can be just as good as mutants," she said.

"Just because someone has powers doesn't make them better, or worse than anyone else. It's just an added element. I know you're hurting right now, and I can understand why you'd want to protect yourself by avoiding every human you see to save yourself more pain. But all you've seen are the worse faces of humanity. It's enough to make anyone think badly of someone. Just like humans usually only see bad mutants in the news. Many want to assume every mutant is bad. And you know that's not true. There's so much good out there." She shrugged.

"And I know that sounds trite right now, but I'm just saying...don't give up on all of humanity just yet. Just that asshole Tom."

This was getting too feely for Quentin's comfort, and his natural reaction kicked in to dial it back and erase any goodwill he might have accidentally accumulated. He leaned back in his seat and spread his legs, offering Jean a bawdy expression. "I didn't hear a 'no' there. You and me, we'd be a real power couple. You might have to dye your hair, though. We clash."

Jean eyed his current display of masculinity with an unimpressed look. "No, Quentin. I'm not interested. And I know you're not either," she said simply.

"You're just avoiding the issue. I get it. It's hard. But pushing your feelings away is only going to make them fester. And pretty soon your anger's going to eat you alive. So how about you drop the bullshit for once and let's talk about it, okay? I'm not going to judge you. I want to understand, but only if you let me in."

"Ugh. You're missing out, though." Quentin pulled himself back up and crossed one leg over the other. "Look, that's all there is. I fucked up. I fucked up with Tom and I fucked up with you, twice. And now, you know, I can't trust myself with anyone because who knows if I'm accidentally in their brains, or if they think I am? Should just get myself one of those handheld blowjob machines and call it a day."

Studying him a moment, Jean shook her head. "First of all? You messed up with me because of your attitude and lack of respect, not your powers. But you're trying to make amends, and I appreciate that. Keeping doing that. And second of all, like I said, Tom was a prick who was trying to manipulate you to cover up his own problems.That's on him. He took advantage of your attraction to him when he shouldn't have. He was your teacher and you were a teenage boy. He knew that was inappropriate, otherwise he wouldn't have tried to cover it up and put the blame on you," she said, then let out a breath.

"If you're really concerned, we can continue to work on your abilities, but if you were, or ever start influencing people, I would know, and so would the other telepaths in the mansion. That kind of mental ability has certain psionic traces that we can sense."

Quentin swallowed. "You're serious? You still want to help me even after all this?"

"Only if you're willing to listen," Jean said. "No more showing off, no more disrespect. Okay?"

"I can't promise I'll try. But I'll try to try." He sighed at her expression. "Fine. No more bullshit."

Jean nodded. "Good," she said, rising from the couch. "Then we can start back up again next week. I'm open Friday."

Quentin stood, too, and nodded. "Friday. Enjoy your chocolates." He headed to the door but stopped and turned back before he left. He did not quite meet Jean's gaze when he nodded again and said, with uncharacteristic humility and honesty: "Thank you."