Psi War: Umbra | Quentin & Jean
Sep. 21st, 2017 04:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin tries to get uncomfortably close to Jean, but then changes his mind out of the blue.
The street outside the Claremont clinic was almost empty, which was a little unusual for a pleasant, late September afternoon. Not that the clinic saw that much traffic compared to New York City's other hospitals, but it was almost as if people were going out of their way to avoid this place.
Of course, "almost as if" was misleading. It was exactly as if. The pink-haired telepath who stood just outside the front doors was the cause. There was business to attend to, and he couldn't have anyone interrupting him. The sick would just have to seek treatment elsewhere.
Though even without Quentin's intervention, it seemed calm inside. Not a busy day. A trio of nurses or techs or something he didn't care about were laughing at something on a computer monitor, and they paid no attention to him as he strode past them to the red-haired doctor standing at the other end of the hall.
Jean was finishing up on a set of charts when a strange feeling washed over her before a familiar mind brushed past hers. She glanced up, seeing a shock of pink hair.
"Quentin?" she said, closing the file as she closed the distance between them.
"What are you doing here?"
He leaned forward, ostensibly to examine the charts she held, although his face was awful close to hers. He'd always had a problem with boundaries. "Can't I come visit?" he asked saccharinely. "I thought we were friends, Doc."
Jean blinked at how close he was, stepping back to peer at him. "You've never been here before," she said.
"And you've been more curt on the journals lately. I was concerned something was wrong."
"Your concern is touching, and you know how I like to be touched." He laughed softly at his own wit. "You're working yourself to death. That thing a few weeks ago with the mutant death emerald? And that guy who almost killed himself downstairs just last week? You need a break, girl. We should go on a vacation."
Jean glanced around, furrowing her brows. "Can you please speak a little more quietly? I don't want my coworkers to overhear," she said. It was bad enough that she came back battered and bruised. She came back that way more times than she would've liked. Of course they'd probably start to suspect something.
"And it's okay. I like to work. It's rewarding and...distracting." That way she didn't have to think about all of the things he just talked about. Especially the latter. Especially since she could barely sleep.
She tilted her head. "Was there something you needed?" Him being there was really a surprise, and she couldn't get over the slight feeling of unease.
Quentin waved a hand dismissively. #They can't hear#, he sent telepathically. "Come on, why don't you take a break, we'll grab a drink and just, you know, chill a bit."
Jean squinted a bit. She then made a face. "Sorry, we're short staffed and I need to catch up on some of the paperwork I didn't get to finish while I was out. Raincheck?" she said.
"You're killin' me, Jean. Fine. How about I help you out, then? You could always use my hands."
Jean smiled. "You'd need a medical degree for the help we need. But we can talk later, when I get off, okay?" she said. He seemed really clingy all of a sudden. It was very strange. She needed to ask some of the others if they thought Quentin was acting weird when she got back. Maybe he'd had a break up she didn't know about or something.
He opened his mouth to reply, probably to make some lewd comment about her use of "get off," but he snapped his head to the side before he made a sound, like a dog catching the scent of a nearby threat. He stared into the distance, his expression blank. His fingers twitched.
Taking a step back, Jean tilted her head. "Quentin?" she said curiously.
"Are you okay?"
None of this felt right.
It was another moment before he replied. He looked back at her and cocked his head to the side as if he didn't recognize her. Then he blinked and shook his head. "It's fine. I have to go." He didn't so much as wait for a response before he turned heel and stomped off. The trio of nurses all groaned at once as he passed, raising their hands to their heads to soothe their sudden migraines.
Jean stared after Quentin, watching him make his way down the hall. She reached out for her phone, but her supervisor rounded the corner.
"There you are. Can you help me with a consult?" he said.
She turned, blinking.
"I--sure. I'll be right there."
The street outside the Claremont clinic was almost empty, which was a little unusual for a pleasant, late September afternoon. Not that the clinic saw that much traffic compared to New York City's other hospitals, but it was almost as if people were going out of their way to avoid this place.
Of course, "almost as if" was misleading. It was exactly as if. The pink-haired telepath who stood just outside the front doors was the cause. There was business to attend to, and he couldn't have anyone interrupting him. The sick would just have to seek treatment elsewhere.
Though even without Quentin's intervention, it seemed calm inside. Not a busy day. A trio of nurses or techs or something he didn't care about were laughing at something on a computer monitor, and they paid no attention to him as he strode past them to the red-haired doctor standing at the other end of the hall.
Jean was finishing up on a set of charts when a strange feeling washed over her before a familiar mind brushed past hers. She glanced up, seeing a shock of pink hair.
"Quentin?" she said, closing the file as she closed the distance between them.
"What are you doing here?"
He leaned forward, ostensibly to examine the charts she held, although his face was awful close to hers. He'd always had a problem with boundaries. "Can't I come visit?" he asked saccharinely. "I thought we were friends, Doc."
Jean blinked at how close he was, stepping back to peer at him. "You've never been here before," she said.
"And you've been more curt on the journals lately. I was concerned something was wrong."
"Your concern is touching, and you know how I like to be touched." He laughed softly at his own wit. "You're working yourself to death. That thing a few weeks ago with the mutant death emerald? And that guy who almost killed himself downstairs just last week? You need a break, girl. We should go on a vacation."
Jean glanced around, furrowing her brows. "Can you please speak a little more quietly? I don't want my coworkers to overhear," she said. It was bad enough that she came back battered and bruised. She came back that way more times than she would've liked. Of course they'd probably start to suspect something.
"And it's okay. I like to work. It's rewarding and...distracting." That way she didn't have to think about all of the things he just talked about. Especially the latter. Especially since she could barely sleep.
She tilted her head. "Was there something you needed?" Him being there was really a surprise, and she couldn't get over the slight feeling of unease.
Quentin waved a hand dismissively. #They can't hear#, he sent telepathically. "Come on, why don't you take a break, we'll grab a drink and just, you know, chill a bit."
Jean squinted a bit. She then made a face. "Sorry, we're short staffed and I need to catch up on some of the paperwork I didn't get to finish while I was out. Raincheck?" she said.
"You're killin' me, Jean. Fine. How about I help you out, then? You could always use my hands."
Jean smiled. "You'd need a medical degree for the help we need. But we can talk later, when I get off, okay?" she said. He seemed really clingy all of a sudden. It was very strange. She needed to ask some of the others if they thought Quentin was acting weird when she got back. Maybe he'd had a break up she didn't know about or something.
He opened his mouth to reply, probably to make some lewd comment about her use of "get off," but he snapped his head to the side before he made a sound, like a dog catching the scent of a nearby threat. He stared into the distance, his expression blank. His fingers twitched.
Taking a step back, Jean tilted her head. "Quentin?" she said curiously.
"Are you okay?"
None of this felt right.
It was another moment before he replied. He looked back at her and cocked his head to the side as if he didn't recognize her. Then he blinked and shook his head. "It's fine. I have to go." He didn't so much as wait for a response before he turned heel and stomped off. The trio of nurses all groaned at once as he passed, raising their hands to their heads to soothe their sudden migraines.
Jean stared after Quentin, watching him make his way down the hall. She reached out for her phone, but her supervisor rounded the corner.
"There you are. Can you help me with a consult?" he said.
She turned, blinking.
"I--sure. I'll be right there."
