Jean and Rachel - Pancakes & Resolutions

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Rachel runs into Jean, who is making pancakes. The two wind up having breakfast for dinner and discuss various topics, such as New Years Resolutions.


The sound of a Spanish guitar, along with the smell of pancakes cooking, wafted out of the kitchen.

Señora dances calypso....left to right is the tempo....

Jean stood in front of the stove, moving her hips to the beat and tapping her feet.

And when she get the sensation, she go up in the air....

On cue, Jean flipped the pancake out of the pan, then floated a bit off the ground herself when she realized she'd gone a little too high.

Come down in slow motion...

Lifting up the pan, she caught the pancake and landed back on the ground, bobbing her head.

"Jump in the line, rock your body in time---" she sang in unison with the radio, then put her hand to her mouth like she were going to shout.

"Okay, I believe you! Jump in the line...rock your body in time...."

She tossed a pancake onto a plate.

"Whoa!"

"Whoa!" Came an echo from behind her, a second redhead entering the kitchen with that small fanfare. Rachel offered Jean a cheery grin, looking dishevelled in what looked like slept-in clothes, a mild bedhead and eyebags the size of a fist. There was a smidge of grey powder on her left cheek on top of what looked like the beginnings of a monster zit. "Smells like pancake heaven in here.

Jean turned to find Rachel there, and turned the music down. "Sorry, was it too loud? I might have gotten a little carried away," she said. She held up her skillet.

"You want some? If I make some for other people it will stop me from eating the six I had planned on eating."

PMS was a bitch.

"Oh, you're fine. I was on my way to the labs," Rachel waved it off and wandered over to the fridge to fish out a carton of OJ. She drank straight from it as she wandered back over to the middle island and perched her butt on a chair. "Nothing wrong with having six by yourself. Don't let me stop you."

Even if the loud grumble of her tummy said otherwise.

Jean smirked as she poured more batter onto the pan.

"Please, I insist," she said, adding more pancake mix to the bowl. The spoon started to stir itself as she leaned back against the counter, waiting for the pancake to cook.

"My mom used to make these. Secret recipe. She'd make different kinds depending on the holiday....gingerbread for Christmas, chocolate chip for Valentines Day...I haven't made them in years but I was craving breakfast for dinner. Grey family tradition."

"I wish I could do that," Rachel sighed enviously, eyes following the spoon's precisely even circles. "I mean, I wish I had a secret pancake recipe from my mum too -- totally jealous about that, and you should absolutely make me one of every flavour there is -- but I wish I could do that."

She used a finger to mimic the twirling of the spoon in the air and flashed another toothy grin.

Jean tilted her head quizzically, then glanced over at the spoon and laughed, momentarily forgetting she'd done it. Her telekinesis often felt like another appendage.

"Yeah, it does come in pretty handy. You have no idea how hard it is not to do it at work. Especially if I've got my hands full," she said. Grabbing her spatula, she turned over the pancake, resulting in a sharp hiss and a sizzle. The cabinet opened and she studied the contents appraisingly.

"I have enough ingredients to make chocolate chip, peppermint, and possibly fresh strawberries and cream pancakes. Whatever we don't eat will surely be devoured by the masses later," she mused, then glanced over after a moment.

"I thought you were a psi too, though? Is it only telepathy?"

Rachel clapped her hands like a young child as Jean listed off the flavours, apparently absolutely gleeful at getting fed. She had too much takeout, she knew. But whatever. "I'm more adept at destroying things," she explained with a shrug. "The more delicate work escapes me. Like, I'd probably smash the stove into the wall."

Jean laughed at her heaps of enthusiasm as she tossed the pancake up in the air and caught it.

"It took forever to learn. I remember trying to put a thread through a board for HOURS. I wanted to kill Charles," she said with a smirk, then slid the pancake onto a plate and added some butter on top.

"Do you want bacon and eggs too? Or is fifteen thousand pancakes enough?"

"Yes, please," Rachel said, all apparent hesitation at having someone else cook for her gone with the wind. "Oh but I can't even pick up a needle and thread, much less thread them. I can move tables and cars and washing machines, though." And smash them to smithereens. "And create huge shields." She did make good shields. "Anything else would be like trying to tip the ocean into a pipette." Not cool.

Jean poured another bit of batter onto the grill, then added a generous helping of chocolate chips. "Shields and destruction does have its uses," she mused.

"Especially in a fight. Admittedly, I do tend to be the...'throw things at the bad guy until they become unconscious' myself. I'm working on more finesse in battle. The finer control usually winds up being reserved for day to day stuff, like making pancakes," she said. A handful of chocolate chips were dumped into the bowl of batter to punctuate.

"Needs must," Rachel shrugged, her ‘day to day stuff’ having once been an ongoing war, which involved less pancakes and more buildings falling on sentinels. Unfortunately. A pancake war sounded so much more fun. She took a long drink from the carton, practically emptying it as she washed those thoughts down her gullet. “But since you are such a darling, you may call upon me any time you need help practicing skills of destruction. For I have many.”

The redhead tossed the carton in the bin and moved to stand by the stove, the smell alone warming her belly. “For now, though… Need any help with your awesome pancake making?”

Jean eyed her pan thoughtfully. "Given the amount of pancakes I'm about to be making that would be great. I was going to start employing those day-to-day telekinesis skills," she mused, then laughed.

"And yeah, I'd love the practice help. I could...try to show you the finer skills too as a trade? I'm currently tutoring Quentin Quire on Astral Plane 101 so I haven't gotten to teach telekinesis yet. I figured you were getting help from---," she said. She was quiet a moment, something flickering behind her eyes. She was going to suggest Haller but that probably wasn't the best idea.

"Sorry, nevermind," she said with a soft, apologetic smile as she got out a couple more pans from under the cabinet.

"What I am about to show you doesn't leave this room under penalty of death. Kapeesh?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" A perfectly executed salute followed, Rachel making no show that she was more than aware of whom Jean had had in mind. She washed her hands in the sink, but somehow missed the smear of powder on her cheek again.

Jean gave a simple nod. "Good. Because I really didn't want to get blood on my apron," she said nonchalantly before spooning another bit of pancake on the pan after spraying it down with canola oil.

"You still have a little--" she rubbed her own face in the effected area to demonstrate. "--soot, on your face, by the way."

Rachel rubbed at her face, and glanced down at the gunpowder on her fingers before chuckling. "So I do." She washed up again, slightly more thoroughly this time. "What do I do first, Captain?"

Motioning to the ingredients, Jean nodded to the milk and a small carton of vinegar. "First, put a 3/4 cup of milk and two tablespoons of vinegar in a bowl and let it sit for a few minutes....this sounds weird but it works," she said.

It did work, and Rachel’s stomach gave another rumble in protest at the treat her nose was receiving. Their tower of pancakes had grown dangerously high by now, both redheads having apparently put no limits to their stomach capacities. She popped a sliced strawberry into her mouth to placate her complaining insides.

“And now I have all your secrets,” she joked. “White vinegar, who would’ve thought?”

Spearing a bit of pancake, Jean eyed it contemplatively. She was so hungry she could probably just stuff the entire pancake in her mouth.

"I know, right? It's always something you least expect. But I guess it sort of works like with buttermilk pancakes, since buttermilk is generally bitter." She continued to eye the pancake, then finally shoved it in her mouth with a shudder of appreciation.

"So good," she managed to say, despite the mouthful. It was kind of impressive, really.

Rachel wasn’t going to judge though. She was in no place to, considering the strawberry and cream pancake roll she had made and stuffed her face with the moment Jean had declared the batter gone.

“Mmmphfsood” She echoed less successfully. “Mmms’the besht.”

Jean tried not to laugh, and it mostly came out muffled, not as impressive as before. She finally finished chewing, then went on to trying a chocolate chip one.

"I suppose if this doctor thing doesn't work out, I could get a job at IHOP."

“Just open one of those hipster cafes New York seems to be littered with,” Rachel said, drizzling honey onto a peppermint pancake as though health concerns were not a thing. She promptly folded it in half and ate it like a sandwich. “Then you get to use your TK in the kitchen. I’ll waitress! Haven’t done that in a while.”

Jean laughed. "I'm not sure how 'hipster cafe' is conducive to letting me use my TK but you're definitely hired on the waitress front though. TK would come in handy sometimes during my actual job, though. I use it so much that I have to really watch myself out in the open."

"Well, you get your own kitchen? If you only hire mutants then whatever goes, right?"

"Right," Jean mused, grabbing a piece of bacon.

"I'd probably gain 20 pounds from wanting to eat all the pancakes, though."

She took a bite of bacon. "That's probably why doctoring is better for me."

Rachel hopped up to grab the OJ from the fridge, washing the peppermint taste down before going for the chocolate chip. "Do you only practice here, though? Or do you have a job outside of the mansion?"

Jean nodded. "I work over at Claremont Medical Center in the city. I started in February. They specialize in mutant care, which I've been getting additional practice in."

"Huh," the younger woman frowned into her glass, one brow quirking upwards as she cocked her head to the side. "What is the difference between mutant care and normal person care?"

Taking a sip of milk, Jean rested her chin in her hand. "Sometimes certain mutations require special care. Like Rogue's, for example. She can't be touched without danger to her caregiver, so certain precautions need to be taken. Or someone like Molly Hayes, who's skin is impenetrable, which means blood transfusion or administration of an IV can be almost impossible. We try to ensure that the patient's needs are met for optimum recovery," she said, then let out a breath.

"It's....difficult, sometimes. Mainly because the public is afraid, so it makes it hard to get the funding we require to keep things going. The department has had serious cutbacks since M-Day."

The anti-mutant sentiment was probably the thing Rachel hated the most in the whole new world. First of all, it increased the possibility of the world she had grown up in becoming reality. Second of all, it really just, for the most obvious reasons, stank. Especially for those with physical mutations, and for those who wielded their powers like it was second nature. She made a mental note to check in with Kurt even as she wrinkled her nose at Jean and gulped down her juice.

"Balls," she said succinctly, not giving away the rest of her thoughts.

Jean quirked a brow, not really sure how to respond to that. "That means bad, right?"

Rachel grinned despite the topic. "Yes. Because I am still semi-English sometimes."

And Jean herself laughed. "Been awhile since I've heard the vernacular. I haven't been to Oxford to visit my parents in a few months. I kind of miss the rainy days," she said, studying her with a broader smile.

"What part of England did you live in? I never would've noticed without the accent."

"Muir Island, kind of off the Northern coast of Scotland," Rachel said, speaking without food in her mouth for the first time since their feast started "But we had a lot of English and internationals as well so I spoke more London-English than Scottish-English, ya 'ken?"

The bit of pancake Jean had just speared fell off back on to the plate, and Jean sat up a little more, suddenly very curious.

"You lived at Muir? I did too, when I was a teenager. It was the equivalent of high school," she said, laughing.

"Very small world. So you know Moira, then?"

"Vaguely," Rachel's smile was a bit tighter, but easily covered up with a mouthful of chocolate chip pancake. "But you and I probably didn't cross paths at Muir."

Jean nodded, and smiled back, finishing off the rest of her own pancake. "Probably not. I was only there during high school, so not too long," she said. But they had seemed to venture into uncomfortable territory judging by the way Rachel reacted. Not all experiences at Muir were pleasant, as Jean remembered from her interactions with David all those years ago.

"I think I'm going to pack up the rest of these to put in the fridge for everyone else. Do you want any more?"

"Nope, m'good, thanks," Rachel chirped waving a forkful of bacon at the other redhead. "They're so good, though."

Jean laughed. "Oh God, yes. I really wanted to eat this other pancake but I'm already so full that if I did I'd regret it. I think I'm already gonna regret it," she said.

"But that's what new years resolutions are for, right?"

"Mine this year is going to be 'eat more, sleep more and be happy' I think," Rachel nodded decisively, chocolate stained teeth flashing in a more genuine smile now that the potentially sticky topic had been left alone. She began collecting the dishes as Jean packed the leftovers up as offerings to the fridge deity. "Besides, if you want to burn off late night breakfast suppers, we could always go a few rounds in the gym or DR. Or run in the morning."

Jean nodded. "Yeah, I already do a lot of that for the X-Men...the DR sessions are brutal," she said, she said, then smirked, closing the fridge.

"So I guess I'm safe."

“Ooohh, cocky. I like it.” Rachel leaned against counter as the sink filled up with hot water. “Let’s have a brutal DR session then. I haven’t done combat training in a while.”

"You're on," Jean said with a light grin. She picked up what remained of her glass of milk and held it up for a toast.

"To 2016. May it be better than last year."

"Kind of setting a low bar there," Rachel joked, even if it probably was not very funny. Still, verdant eyes twinkled as she raised a saucer of syrup and held it up and echoed the toast. "May it be much better than last year."