Jean & Quentin, backdated to December 6
Dec. 6th, 2018 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin's good mood leaves Jean feeling unrattled, even though he actually does have good news for once.
Quentin had memorized Jean's regular schedule at Claremont long ago, but today had taken the surprisingly tactful approach to confirm her shift was over and let her know he was outside the hospital rather than just barge in. He smiled when he saw her step out the front doors, and handed her one of the two cups of coffee he held. Once his hand was free, he reached into the pocket of his faux fur coat and withdrew a small silver flask, spinning off the top with his thumb and dexterously lifting the lid of the cup so he could pour himself a couple thumbs of the amber liquid. When he was satisfied with his pour, he offered the flask to her.
"Today we celebrate, Doc."
Jean was definitely not expecting a visit from Quentin at work. The last time he'd been there he was possessed by a psychic parasite. It hadn't gone well. This time, however, seemed like there was a chance for a better outcome. Quirking a brow, she took the flask and added a dash before handing it back to him. She really hoped it was just alcohol.
"What's the occasion?" she said carefully. Everything about this was a bit off. He was being very respectful...and he was smiling. From the way he carried himself it seemed like a weight had been lifted.
It wasn't that this was a bad thing. She just lived at the Xavier Mansion way too long to take things as they came.
He tucked the flask back into his pocket and then pulled up the collar of his coat to protect his face from the sting of the frigid winter wind. "So, I got blackmailed by my parents into attending a cousin's wedding. A groomsman was murdered right before the rehearsal dinner, but I figured out who did it, no big deal." He was grinning now. "But then the strangest thing happened the morning after the wedding. Have you ever woken up one day and felt all the stresses and harshness just vanish?"
Jean studied Quentin, trying to process everything he had thrown at her (murder?!) while holding the coffee in her hands to keep warm but not quite taking a sip yet. "Can't say that I have," she said. But then again that was her. She paused.
"Okay, what's going on? Not that I'm not happy you're happy but...Those sentences don't normally come after one another. And you're a little too happy. And polite. It's throwing me off."
Please don't be possessed again.
His grin widened. #Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am myself again.#
Jean unconsciously shot him a disapproving look for reading her mind before suddenly blinking.
"Wait. It's back. What? How? When?" she said.
"Hey, don't blame me for hearing what you're thinking," he castigated her, though his tone remained light and his grin did not waver. "There could be telepaths all over and you don't know. Gotta lock that shit up. That guy definitely should," he said, indicating a passerby who was inadvertently broadcasting rather uncharitable thoughts about the young woman down the street ringing the Salvation Army bell.
Quentin sipped from his drink when he turned back to her, smacking his lips when he swallowed as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. "But back to your questions: my teep is back. I don't know how, though Henry has his theories. And since the morning after Henry and I . . . well, a girl doesn't kiss and tell, but you get the idea."
Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. She had a theory but kept it to herself. It was probably one he didn't want to hear.
"Or, you could not read people's minds like a nice person. Victim blaming is not good," Jean said with a touch of playfulness. It was still a bad thing but she was happy for him to have his powers again. She knew how much they meant to him.
"How long have you had them back?"
#Just since the day after the wedding#, he replied. A muscle atrophied from disuse, he had to exercise it to bring it back to health, and he could start light with maintaining a telepathic conversation. It was an exertion on his part, each word like flexing an exhausted limb, but his grin never wavered under the strain. #I've spent most of my time trying to get my filters up. They were never good, and they haven't improved, not gonna lie.#
"Right," Jean said in remembrance, then motioned for him to walk with her. "Sorry, I forgot. Does anyone else know?"
He matched her pace exactly, stepping with each foot just as she did, despite being considerably shorter than her. #Oh, it's not a secret,# he said as he took another drink. #I told the office. Between that and Worthington's freakout, maybe it'll get me on cases again to relieve some of the pressure.#
"Do you feel comfortable yet to do that?"Jean said, taking a sip of her coffee.
"I would probably recommend taking it slow at first, especially since you just got your powers back."
#I appreciate the concern Jean,# he said, his mental voice twinged with a hint of wry that matched his grin, but it lacked the venom that often accompanied any expressions of emotion. #But I'm not blasting through psychic fortifications or manipulating anyone into incriminating themselves. I can handle it for now. But, uh . . .# Now his voice faltered, and he rubbed his forehead with a gloved hand before taking another drink, hoping the caffeine and alcohol combination would quell the rising pain of overexertion he felt. "Do you think we could start again? Your teaching, I mean," he verbally asked.
Jean was still trying to adjust to this lighter, happier Quentin. But she knew she wanted to be there for him since it was another big (re)adjustment in his life.
"Of course," she said.
"You're the best. So, let me tell you about this murder. We found his body in a barrel of wine that I'd drunk from. Can you believe it?"
Quentin had memorized Jean's regular schedule at Claremont long ago, but today had taken the surprisingly tactful approach to confirm her shift was over and let her know he was outside the hospital rather than just barge in. He smiled when he saw her step out the front doors, and handed her one of the two cups of coffee he held. Once his hand was free, he reached into the pocket of his faux fur coat and withdrew a small silver flask, spinning off the top with his thumb and dexterously lifting the lid of the cup so he could pour himself a couple thumbs of the amber liquid. When he was satisfied with his pour, he offered the flask to her.
"Today we celebrate, Doc."
Jean was definitely not expecting a visit from Quentin at work. The last time he'd been there he was possessed by a psychic parasite. It hadn't gone well. This time, however, seemed like there was a chance for a better outcome. Quirking a brow, she took the flask and added a dash before handing it back to him. She really hoped it was just alcohol.
"What's the occasion?" she said carefully. Everything about this was a bit off. He was being very respectful...and he was smiling. From the way he carried himself it seemed like a weight had been lifted.
It wasn't that this was a bad thing. She just lived at the Xavier Mansion way too long to take things as they came.
He tucked the flask back into his pocket and then pulled up the collar of his coat to protect his face from the sting of the frigid winter wind. "So, I got blackmailed by my parents into attending a cousin's wedding. A groomsman was murdered right before the rehearsal dinner, but I figured out who did it, no big deal." He was grinning now. "But then the strangest thing happened the morning after the wedding. Have you ever woken up one day and felt all the stresses and harshness just vanish?"
Jean studied Quentin, trying to process everything he had thrown at her (murder?!) while holding the coffee in her hands to keep warm but not quite taking a sip yet. "Can't say that I have," she said. But then again that was her. She paused.
"Okay, what's going on? Not that I'm not happy you're happy but...Those sentences don't normally come after one another. And you're a little too happy. And polite. It's throwing me off."
Please don't be possessed again.
His grin widened. #Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am myself again.#
Jean unconsciously shot him a disapproving look for reading her mind before suddenly blinking.
"Wait. It's back. What? How? When?" she said.
"Hey, don't blame me for hearing what you're thinking," he castigated her, though his tone remained light and his grin did not waver. "There could be telepaths all over and you don't know. Gotta lock that shit up. That guy definitely should," he said, indicating a passerby who was inadvertently broadcasting rather uncharitable thoughts about the young woman down the street ringing the Salvation Army bell.
Quentin sipped from his drink when he turned back to her, smacking his lips when he swallowed as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. "But back to your questions: my teep is back. I don't know how, though Henry has his theories. And since the morning after Henry and I . . . well, a girl doesn't kiss and tell, but you get the idea."
Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. She had a theory but kept it to herself. It was probably one he didn't want to hear.
"Or, you could not read people's minds like a nice person. Victim blaming is not good," Jean said with a touch of playfulness. It was still a bad thing but she was happy for him to have his powers again. She knew how much they meant to him.
"How long have you had them back?"
#Just since the day after the wedding#, he replied. A muscle atrophied from disuse, he had to exercise it to bring it back to health, and he could start light with maintaining a telepathic conversation. It was an exertion on his part, each word like flexing an exhausted limb, but his grin never wavered under the strain. #I've spent most of my time trying to get my filters up. They were never good, and they haven't improved, not gonna lie.#
"Right," Jean said in remembrance, then motioned for him to walk with her. "Sorry, I forgot. Does anyone else know?"
He matched her pace exactly, stepping with each foot just as she did, despite being considerably shorter than her. #Oh, it's not a secret,# he said as he took another drink. #I told the office. Between that and Worthington's freakout, maybe it'll get me on cases again to relieve some of the pressure.#
"Do you feel comfortable yet to do that?"Jean said, taking a sip of her coffee.
"I would probably recommend taking it slow at first, especially since you just got your powers back."
#I appreciate the concern Jean,# he said, his mental voice twinged with a hint of wry that matched his grin, but it lacked the venom that often accompanied any expressions of emotion. #But I'm not blasting through psychic fortifications or manipulating anyone into incriminating themselves. I can handle it for now. But, uh . . .# Now his voice faltered, and he rubbed his forehead with a gloved hand before taking another drink, hoping the caffeine and alcohol combination would quell the rising pain of overexertion he felt. "Do you think we could start again? Your teaching, I mean," he verbally asked.
Jean was still trying to adjust to this lighter, happier Quentin. But she knew she wanted to be there for him since it was another big (re)adjustment in his life.
"Of course," she said.
"You're the best. So, let me tell you about this murder. We found his body in a barrel of wine that I'd drunk from. Can you believe it?"
