Quentin and Cecilia
Jul. 25th, 2019 11:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsCecilia shares ~some personal news~ with Quentin, and the two have a small but unlikely heart-to-heart.
Cecilia had made her decision. Now she just had to pull the trigger, and in order to do that, she felt she needed to tie up some loose ends or close the loop or whatever the appropriate cliche was for the situation she found herself in.
This was why she was approaching Quentin's suite, a place she'd never once ventured in the period that he'd been living at Xavier's. She hesitated in front of the door for a second then, realizing he could probably sense her outside anyway, she went ahead and knocked.
In the time he was without his telepathy, Quentin had become accustomed to actually getting up and answering the door himself rather than doing it from afar telekinetically. Months later, he had yet to break this habit. Thankfully, he was fully dressed when the door, though the wrinkled "Magneto Was Right" t-shirt and fleece shorts he wore suggested he was not expecting company today.
"Doc, hey." He leaned an arm against the door frame and rubbed his eyes with his other hand. "What's up?"
"Hi." Cecilia gave him a small smile. "I know it's early, but..." She shrugged. "Well, I got a copy of Jax's latest tests from my friend who took over the case. And he's doing a lot better. You might have — well, I don't know. It'll be a long road still, but you might it a lot shorter."
There was no change to Quentin's expression, save a brief upward tick of the sides of his mouth. That was as close to a smile most people got from him. "That's good. I mean, really, great. Is he talking yet, do you know?"
"I'm told he is," Cecilia nodded. "It's labored speech — like I said, the recovery from surgery's going to take a while. But he's responsive again, and the hospital's actually going to help him with rehab and recovery." She looked down at her feet for a second. "I think the outlook's good," she added as she looked back up. "I mean, I haven't seen him myself, but based on what I'm hearing."
Her gaze was like the same magnetic pole as his, and he looked away just as she returned her eyes to him. "Thank you. For telling me and for, you know, saving his life when those flatscans were ready to let him die. I . . . yeah. Uh, I don't know who's covering his medical bills, but I can help . . ."
"Don't worry about that." Cecilia waved a hand. "I was going to see if Charles would take care of it. Fits his mission. If not, I'll figure something out." She paused for a second, unsure how to proceed. "I just — I actually came here to thank you."
Surprising himself, Quentin stepped aside so Cecilia could actually come into his suite if she wanted, rather than continue this conversation publicly. "Uh, why thank me?" he asked, heading over to the kitchen to pour himself a vodka soda. "You're the one who made sure he's gonna walk again."
"Maybe," Cecilia acknowledged as she followed him in. "Well, yeah, okay, I did." She added after a second. "But I think the whole thing just made me realize — well, I decided I'm leaving the mansion." She grabbed a seat and watched him pour. "I sort of..." She paused, weighing whether to be completely up front with him.
"You know what it is?" She said, her tone changing abruptly. Without realizing it, she sat up a little straighter. "I'm a really good surgeon, and I think I needed this to realize how much better things would be if I were out there sewing people back together. And I have you to thank for that."
Quentin stopped as she spoke, his only visible reaction to her confession a brief raise of the eyebrow. When she was finished, he nodded and took out another glass, poured her a strong drink, and handed it to her. "At least one of us is seeing the light and leaving this shit hole to make a difference. Get out and don't come back, Doc." But his tone was light, kind. Which she had probably never heard from him before.
"That's the goal." Cecilia nodded in thanks as she took the glass, yet another in a string of surreal moments that had led to this conversation. "Of course, that's what I said last time too. But then the world sort of went to shit."
"Then better get the fuck out before that happens again. You gonna stay in New York or spread the good word somewhere else?"
"Sticking around the city. But I can't make that commute work, and honestly..." She shrugged, looking down at her glass. "This place is a crutch, you know? I never thought I'd get too comfortable in life, being who I am, what I am, but this was as close as it gets. It's too easy to feel... safe here. Sheltered. And I think it does the world a disservice." A beat as she looked back up, a little sheepish. "That sounds Polyanna, but you know what I mean."
Quentin smirked and shrugged. "I, for one, have long been an advocate of burning this place down. If I'd known it would help people, I'd've done it much sooner." Though he had no idea what he would do without this crutch. Could he walk without it? Maybe not. The fire would be pretty, at least. "Well, whenever you come up against another flatscan who'd rather see a mutant die than help, call me. Telepathy's getting stronger every day."
"I'll keep that in mind," Cecilia said, sounding surprisingly genuine given the history of her relationship with Quentin. She swirled her glass to make the ice cubes clink against it before she took a sip. "I'd say same to you, but I know there are like, 40 medical folks here, most of whom you prefer to me — which is fine," she added quickly. "So I won't expect a text the next time this place puts you in harm's way."
"Maybe you rose up a few spots on my ranking."
"i'll take it." Cecilia raised her glass to him, a small smile on her face. "And I guess I'd say the same. Cheers."
Cecilia had made her decision. Now she just had to pull the trigger, and in order to do that, she felt she needed to tie up some loose ends or close the loop or whatever the appropriate cliche was for the situation she found herself in.
This was why she was approaching Quentin's suite, a place she'd never once ventured in the period that he'd been living at Xavier's. She hesitated in front of the door for a second then, realizing he could probably sense her outside anyway, she went ahead and knocked.
In the time he was without his telepathy, Quentin had become accustomed to actually getting up and answering the door himself rather than doing it from afar telekinetically. Months later, he had yet to break this habit. Thankfully, he was fully dressed when the door, though the wrinkled "Magneto Was Right" t-shirt and fleece shorts he wore suggested he was not expecting company today.
"Doc, hey." He leaned an arm against the door frame and rubbed his eyes with his other hand. "What's up?"
"Hi." Cecilia gave him a small smile. "I know it's early, but..." She shrugged. "Well, I got a copy of Jax's latest tests from my friend who took over the case. And he's doing a lot better. You might have — well, I don't know. It'll be a long road still, but you might it a lot shorter."
There was no change to Quentin's expression, save a brief upward tick of the sides of his mouth. That was as close to a smile most people got from him. "That's good. I mean, really, great. Is he talking yet, do you know?"
"I'm told he is," Cecilia nodded. "It's labored speech — like I said, the recovery from surgery's going to take a while. But he's responsive again, and the hospital's actually going to help him with rehab and recovery." She looked down at her feet for a second. "I think the outlook's good," she added as she looked back up. "I mean, I haven't seen him myself, but based on what I'm hearing."
Her gaze was like the same magnetic pole as his, and he looked away just as she returned her eyes to him. "Thank you. For telling me and for, you know, saving his life when those flatscans were ready to let him die. I . . . yeah. Uh, I don't know who's covering his medical bills, but I can help . . ."
"Don't worry about that." Cecilia waved a hand. "I was going to see if Charles would take care of it. Fits his mission. If not, I'll figure something out." She paused for a second, unsure how to proceed. "I just — I actually came here to thank you."
Surprising himself, Quentin stepped aside so Cecilia could actually come into his suite if she wanted, rather than continue this conversation publicly. "Uh, why thank me?" he asked, heading over to the kitchen to pour himself a vodka soda. "You're the one who made sure he's gonna walk again."
"Maybe," Cecilia acknowledged as she followed him in. "Well, yeah, okay, I did." She added after a second. "But I think the whole thing just made me realize — well, I decided I'm leaving the mansion." She grabbed a seat and watched him pour. "I sort of..." She paused, weighing whether to be completely up front with him.
"You know what it is?" She said, her tone changing abruptly. Without realizing it, she sat up a little straighter. "I'm a really good surgeon, and I think I needed this to realize how much better things would be if I were out there sewing people back together. And I have you to thank for that."
Quentin stopped as she spoke, his only visible reaction to her confession a brief raise of the eyebrow. When she was finished, he nodded and took out another glass, poured her a strong drink, and handed it to her. "At least one of us is seeing the light and leaving this shit hole to make a difference. Get out and don't come back, Doc." But his tone was light, kind. Which she had probably never heard from him before.
"That's the goal." Cecilia nodded in thanks as she took the glass, yet another in a string of surreal moments that had led to this conversation. "Of course, that's what I said last time too. But then the world sort of went to shit."
"Then better get the fuck out before that happens again. You gonna stay in New York or spread the good word somewhere else?"
"Sticking around the city. But I can't make that commute work, and honestly..." She shrugged, looking down at her glass. "This place is a crutch, you know? I never thought I'd get too comfortable in life, being who I am, what I am, but this was as close as it gets. It's too easy to feel... safe here. Sheltered. And I think it does the world a disservice." A beat as she looked back up, a little sheepish. "That sounds Polyanna, but you know what I mean."
Quentin smirked and shrugged. "I, for one, have long been an advocate of burning this place down. If I'd known it would help people, I'd've done it much sooner." Though he had no idea what he would do without this crutch. Could he walk without it? Maybe not. The fire would be pretty, at least. "Well, whenever you come up against another flatscan who'd rather see a mutant die than help, call me. Telepathy's getting stronger every day."
"I'll keep that in mind," Cecilia said, sounding surprisingly genuine given the history of her relationship with Quentin. She swirled her glass to make the ice cubes clink against it before she took a sip. "I'd say same to you, but I know there are like, 40 medical folks here, most of whom you prefer to me — which is fine," she added quickly. "So I won't expect a text the next time this place puts you in harm's way."
"Maybe you rose up a few spots on my ranking."
"i'll take it." Cecilia raised her glass to him, a small smile on her face. "And I guess I'd say the same. Cheers."
