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xp_logsWhen Jean's friend can't go on vacation due to being sick, she finds someone else to go.
Jean winced as she paced the hallway in front of her suite. She'd gotten the call while she was on her way home and had never quite gotten to opening her front door.
"Oh God, Misty...I know I'm a doctor but you do not need to go into detail," she said with a cringe.
"I will never eat at that place...got it. It's okay...you can't really help food poisoning. I can figure something out for our weekend."
Kevin's whistling was The Four Seasons, absolutely in tune, and no less irritating for it. He was shedding his coat and hat as he was back from from the city. "Doc Grey." He said, as he passed her with a nod.
"Okay. Get some rest. We'll talk later, okay?" Jean said, then hung up.
"Hey, Kevin. How you've been?" She realized they hadn't really spoken a lot since his miraculous return from the dead.
That really happened a lot around here.
"I'm woke. Or working on being woke. I'm not sure." He stopped, tipping his hat to her. "What about you, Doc Grey?"
Jean blinked, then laughed. "Are you speaking in slang?" she asked curiously with a touch of amusement. She then shrugged.
"I was planning on going on a cruise for a girl's weekend. Then my friend ate some bad pork dumplings," she said.
"Ouch. Did that a couple of times in Korea and Vietnam. You can usually trust the street food but when it betrays you, it's awful." Kevin commiserated with her.
Jean nodded thoughtfully. "God, yes," she said. "I remember staying away from rainbow rolls for months."
She let out a sigh. "It'll be kind of pointless going by myself," she said, sitting in silence a moment before finally turning to him.
"So...I'm thinking...you're probably needing a vacation by now. After the whole...ordeal. And I don't want to go alone. Friend trip?" she said with a smile.
"You want to go to Atlantic City with me? Really?" Kevin said, taking a step back. "Really?"
Jean shrugged. "Why not? I'm guessing you're really good at blackjack. The package is non-refundable anyway. Though it does involve a spa," she said.
"Craps is my game, to be honest. I'm just... a little surprised. We haven't talked much since, you know-" He mimed a gun against his forehead. "But I'm in if you are."
Falling silent a moment, Jean nodded. "Yeah, well...I'm not going to lie...I had to sort out the whole "resurrection" business in my head. Especially after being around the last person that came back from the dead too. But...I think I've adjusted."
She stretched a little. "Okay. We were planning on leaving around 3 pm and driving there. Should give you time to pack, I hope?"
"I'm a guy. My suits are already on the rack." Kevin nodded. "I'll meet you at the car."
"But I still need time to pack and run some errands," Jean countered with a laugh and a salute as she headed toward her suite. "Meet you at 3 pm."
"3pm." He said.
***
He'd already stowed away his luggage when Jean arrived. Her car was considerably nicer than his, an Oldsmobile that was designed to look like it wasn't worth stealing. "So Doc, you want to take the first shift or should I?"
Jean tossed her suitcase into the trunk, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. "I can go first," she said, unlocking the doors. She smiled before climbing inside the car.
"Especially since we're playing my road trip playlist. We can play yours when you drive."
"My what?" Kevin said as he settled into the passenger's seat. "Was I supposed to have music?"
Starting up the car, Jean put on her seatbelt and let out a telling laugh. "Okay, well no. But if you have some you're welcome to put it on when you drive. Since its nice of you to offer."
"I... I know my phone will play music but I haven't put anything on it." Kevin said, a bit embarrassed. "I still think of it as physical media, I guess. So, um, I guess your music? Mine would probably be too old anyway."
Jean waved that thought away. "Psh. We both know I like jazz. If its anything like that I think it'll be fun," she said. Pulling out her phone, she opened an app and did a little typing.
"Tell you what...I'll let you borrow my phone. There's a Spotify app on here. Add whatever you want to a playlist. I just made one with your name on it," she said, offering it to him. On the app was a folder called 'Kevin's Road Trip Playlist.'
"I- thank you. I don't know if you'll like much of it. Just a warning." There was something unguarded about Kevin at the moment; a man normally so locked down and defensive trying to be more open.
Jean grinned softly. "I'll be the judge of that," she said. The moment wasn't left unnoticed, but Jean didn't comment on it. Pushing the button for the garage, Jean waited on the door to open as the garage door hummed and sputtered to life.
"So how long has it been since you've been on vacation?"
"Officially? 22 years." He gave her an embarrassed smile. "After all, I was 'retired' in the late 90s." He started to poke around on Jean's phone, seeing if the world knew about the Ink Spots still.
Jean paused. "That's awhile. Not even a little trip?" she said curiously. She shrugged. "I mean, I can't say much but....if I were on the run I'd probably be hiding out somewhere nice and tropical. Or snowy. I'm not picky."
"On the run isn't a vacation. My last vacation was at my house on the Chesapeake. I had... three months before I was assassinated." He added an Andrews Sisters song to the list. "I was ready to spend the rest of my life there."
"Touche," Jean said. "Sounds nice, though."
She started driving down the driveway. "Have you ever gone back to see if its still there?"
"My half-grandnephew owns it. I'm pretty happy about that. He's got a daughter. It's a place that deserves kids."
"Do they know you're alive?" Jean said.
"God no. Why would I do that to them?" Kevin said, a little more forceful than intended. "The last thing they need is the Agency knowing I'm alive and a potential threat."
Jean realized she'd touched a nerve and slowly nodded. "I was just curious. I'm sure it must be hard," she said, letting the silence fill in as the gate came upon them. With a push of a button it started to open, the X becoming split in two.
"Reasons you should have chosen someone else for this. I'm almost 90. Most of my family is dead, all my friends are dead. You don't need this, Red."
"But you do," Jean said, glancing over to him. "We both have things that seem to be weighing us down. And taking a break from that for three simple days sounds like a plan to me."
"Are they going to be simple? I mean... really? Why?" Sydney added a couple of songs. "Because the angry old man is going to make this better?"
"I have no idea," Jean said honestly. "I just saw someone who looked like they might have needed a vacation like me. If I read that I wrong, I can turn around and drop you off."
"You might want to a day in." He picked up the Four Freshman and added to the list. "You sure you want to listen to this?"
"If I need a break there's always the spa," Jean said. She turned on the radio and some light indie music started up.
"And I'm pretty sure. Unless you're into death metal and I wasn't aware of it. Kinda gives me a headache."
"What, like that Metallica or whatever? Not my thing." Kevin said, unintentionally dating himself. He actually had a better handle of music from the last ten years than he did from the 90s and 00s. Most of that time, he was in his sixties or rotting at the bottom of a lake. "Bobby Darin, on the other hand, is certainly my thing."
"I've heard of the name, but not the music," Jean said. "Metallica isn't bad, though. I was thinking more...Bullet for My Valentine or Rammstein." Her smile widened.
"I listen to a lot of music but I'm still always up for discovering new things."
"Sorry, this is going to be like going for a drive with your dad... wait, likely Granddad. I was a teenager during the war, after all." He said, continuing to drop in music. Unlike a lot of his peers, Kevin had listened to a wide range of music for his era. Plus, he was pretty sure opera wasn't going to be well received.
Jean laughed. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she said, popping a stick of gum into her mouth.
"Which war? One or two?" she said, perfectly casual. She'd been around the mansion enough to have accepted the possibility of people with enhanced longevity.
Kevin gave her a pained look. "Just how old do you think I am?" He shook his head. "Two. I was born in 1930, and enlisted in 1949, just before the conflict in Korea."
"I haven't memorized everyone's birthdays, sorry," Jean said. She knew Logan was older too but didn't have his birth year memorized either. She tilted her head.
"Sounds like you've been through quite a few wars."
"I worked for the CIA. We tended to find ways to start or stop wars as opposed to active participation. Ah!" He pressed a button and Elvis' 'Devil In Disguise' came on. "I'm not the biggest Elvis fan but when he hit, he hit. Also, did you know he offered to spy on the Beatles for the FBI?"
"I knew he was chummy with Nixon but not that part, no," Jean said with a grin. "I prefer the Beatles to Elvis, myself."
"I never really got the Beatles. Simple, a little silly at the start, and then just weird. Now the Rolling Stones. Them, I got."
"Lots of bands have their weird, experimental phase," Jean countered. "Granted I like their middle stuff. And the Stones too. It's good to be well rounded for when you're feeling like the walrus, coo coo ca-choo, or can't get no satisfaction." she smirked.
***
The room at the Borgata wasn't a suite, but it was well appointed. After checking in, they found themselves in Bobby Flay's Steak in the casino, Kevin happy to pick up the tab as a way to in part pay her back from fronting the entire package. They were finishing their coffee and waiting for the check when Kevin popped the question.
"Alright Doc, what's your game in the casino?"
Jean watched the mixture of wide-eyed tourists and over-confident gamblers as they shuffled past the restaurant. She took a sip of her Earl Grey tea.
"Roulette," she said, setting the cup down.
"And you? I'm sure you've got a nice bag of tricks yourself."
"That sounds like a flirt, Doc." He grinned at her. "But no, craps is my game. I lost a third of my pay in Korea learning that I was terrible at poker and blackjack. But, I can figure out the probability on dice."
Jean held up her hands. "I just call them like I see them," she said with a smirk.
"So you go with dice, I'll go with roulette, and we can see how much money we'll take home at the end of the night."
"You know that after extensive study, Albert Einstein concluded that the only reliable system to make money playing roulette was to steal chips while the croupier wasn't looking?" He gave her that quirky half-smile of his. "Join me at the craps table. It really is a two person game."
Jean winced. "Of all the names they had to have for the game and they pick 'craps,'" she said, cracking her knuckles.
"Alright, I'll give it a go. But you'll have to show me the ropes. It's been awhile since I've played."
"That's half the fun." Kevin escorted her over to one of the moderately priced Craps tables. He wasn't Worthington, who could gamble ten grand a throw. He converted five thousand into chips and stepped back as a sweaty man with a flat-top cut controlled the dice. "So, we're waiting for the dice at this point but we can bet on this schlub's throws. Personally, I like to wait and read the throws for a bit."
Quirking a brow, Jean rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand.
"And what does that tell you?"
"Even perfectly weighted dice and perfectly level tables play in their own ways. So you watch; see what numbers fall, especially off the wall at the edge or flush from the throw." He accepted the chips and passed half to Jean. It wasn't normally allowed between players, but they had assumed the pair were a couple. "He's rolled eights twice, with fives and threes showing both times. Which means easy fours, fives and nines are likely. But he's sitting on a hard ten, so I'd stay off."
Jean tried to follow, watching the man as he threw. "And what are we shooting for again?"
"When we have the dice? Sevens and elevens to start, soft sixes and eights otherwise. We want outcomes with the most potential ways to reach them."
"Hm," Jean said. "Okay. I'm getting some of this. So tens are bad?"
This is why she preferred roulette.
"Not necessarily. Twelves, twos and threes are all automatic outs. If he rolls a ten with a four and six, he's also out. If he rolls a natural seven or eleven, he's out. To win, he needs to roll a pair of fives, which is why it is called a Hard Ten."
The dice clattered against the back wall of the table and the man groaned as a three and four turned up. The croupier passed the dice over to Jean.
"OK, so put your bet on the Pass line and then throw both dice off the back of the table."
Jean slowly nodded. "Okay..." she said, starting off small with a bet of $50.
"Sevens or elevens," she repeated, shaking the dice in her hand. She let them rattle in her hand for a few moments before she tossed it at the wall, then waited for the dice to land. For this roll she wanted to do it naturally, no cheating. Even if she was a little tempted.
"Sevens!" The rakeman pulled the dice back while they stacked the chips for the winner. Kevin whispered in her ear. "Same again."
Jean gave no reaction, save for the slight nod of her head. "Do I go again?" she asked the rakeman. Chalk it up to beginner's luck.
Mostly.
"You're the shooter, ma'am." He said, using the rake to drop the dice in front of where she stood.
"Okay," Jean said. Reaching out, she picked up the dice again, letting them rattle in her hand for awhile. She bit her lip with nervous excitement.
"Come on...come on...." she said. Letting out a breath, she tossed the dice, watching them bounce against the wall. As they rolled, they seemed to keep tumbling, a second or two longer than they should have. But no one noticed. They were more preoccupied with the end result, which was....
"Six!" Called the rakeman. The pair of threes were showing. Kevin leaned past her to put his chips on to place. A safe, conservative bet that she'd make a six of any combination before hitting a seven. Several others opted for the hard six, and the stacks on the green of the table grew. The dice were once again deposited in front of Jean.
Jean eyed the table, playing up her nervousness again as she grabbed the dice. She gave them another shake, shake, shake...then let go, watching them bounce against the wall again. Her head tilted.
The five landed almost immediately but the other die spun for awhile on the edge before dropping for a one. There was a cheer by those who didn't work the hard way and the chips were stacked up. Kevin took his winnings as the dice again turned to Jean, her own winnings in front of her.
Jean smiled. "Okay, I could get used to this."
"Told you. It's all just probability and patience, really." Kevin said, stepping back to give her room to shoot again.
***
"So Texas Slim," Kevin said, leaning on the edge of the bar while Jean stacked both full chip holders in front of her before ordering a drink. "What do you think of dice now?"
Jean eyed her chips with a laugh. "Feeling a little guilty but it'll pass."
She held up a hand toward the bartender. "Amaretto sour, please."
"Guilty? Doctor Grey, what could you possibly feel guilty about?" Kevin said as the bartender left to fill their orders.
"I cheated," she said quietly with a shrug, "That's still wrong."
"The House cheats. That's the default on a casino." Kevin said, accepting a drink as the bartender reappeared. "But if you feel that way, there's a charity across the street you can donate to."
"When we're done maybe I will," she said with a smirk. "I guess I'm used to doing the right thing...most of the time." Emphasis on the former.
"But the world's become so grey I want to hold onto what I can."
"You know that doing the selfish thing isn't always doing the bad thing, right?" He took a sip. "You're allowed to look after yourself. Even do something for no other motive than it makes you feel good without being guilty about it. I know I'm the last person to try and justify selfish behaviour, but... Jean, occasionally you need to do what Jean wants and needs. Otherwise, you'll burn yourself out or burn yourself done. Neither is pleasant." Kevin tended to use nicknames for her, so his use of her first name was a note of sincerity. She might not agree, but this wasn't him and his usual bullshit talking to her.
Jean shrugged, swirling her drink stirrer around. "I know. But with Cecilia gone I'm the head doctor at the mansion and...those are big shoes to fill. Especially if we have another incident like with the Destines. It makes me want to quit Claremont, but I'm one of the few people who still advocate for the...unique people there. Most of the good doctors were scared away by protestors and they've gone to hiring anyone who will fill in, which is now mostly a bunch of racists. Only my nurses seem to be the ones sticking around.I haven't had a lot of time to look after myself when I'm looking after everyone else."
"Jesus. It amazes me how much you demand from yourself and yet, you still think you're not doing enough or doing it right." Kevin let out a long sigh. "I don't know how to help but... you need to carve out something for yourself, Jean. Otherwise, and I speak from experience, you'll breakdown at some point. You deserve a break."
Silent for a moment or two, Jean glanced up, watching as excited tourists and gamblers hurried past. She gave them a nod. "Why do you think I'm here?" she said with a smile.
"I'm working on it," she assured him. "Getting a workaholic to slow down is a gradual process. Do it too quickly and it's like derailing a train. We're used to frantic momentum. You have to find the right speed or..."
She finished off her drink, slamming it down on the table.
"I've been talking to my supervisor about reducing my workdays. That way I can still be there but can also have some time at the Medlab....and days off. But I can't just do it cold turkey. That's not who I am. I would be bored as hell, and unfulfilled."
"Hey, my job takes up most of my life. I get it. But I'm happy with that, and it suits me. You... there's other things you need and I'm glad you're taking steps."
Jean eyed him, her smile slowly fading. "There's 'other things that I need?'" she said, her eyes narrowing.
"What are you saying? That my job doesn't suit me? That I shouldn't be a doctor?"
"No, I'm saying just being a doctor isn't enough for you. You want more than prowling around the ER in your off hours because you can't fill your life with anything else. It's a compliment, Red. It means you're not an isolated, singularly focused and fundamentally broken person who can't conceive of anything beyond the job."
Letting out a breath, Jean rubbed her forehead as she slumped her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said, grabbing the sword-shaped stirrer from her glass and using it to trace lines into a napkin.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I guess I really did need this vacation. Been a long time coming." She nodded over to him.
"How about you?"
"While, I am one of those fundamentally broken people that can't conceive of anything but the job. But it is nice to take a couple of days off with a pretty girl." He smiled and took a sip, one of his more genuine gestures. "I'm training people again. The right way. I forgot how much I missed that."
"Oh? What do you train them in?" Jean said. She also smirked.
"And pretty girl makes me feel like a teenager. Can I at least get woman? Through Pretty Woman comes with the hooker connotations."
"Sorry, problem with age. Verbiage tends to drag. If I was ten years older, you'd likely be getting 'dame'." He said. "Tradecraft mostly. A little operational wisdom and philosophy. Occasionally the voice of experience. It's nice to feel like I'm properly back on the job."
"And even further back from that you'd get Madame. Which I kind of like," Jean said with a light grin. "Madame Grey."
She held up her hand for another drink. "So were you testing out X-Force before to see if you were the right fit?" she said, a note a familiarity in her voice.
"In my experience, Madame has a very different connotation." He waved for a refill as well. "No, I still had fifty feet of personal bullshit between me and the job. Last few months haven't been pleasant but they've punch through some of the crap I've been using as a personal defense against the world. Not that I'm not still twenty kinds of screwed up but... I feel better, no- more whole than I have in ages."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Ruin my fun. Society has turned many of the perfectly normal titles for women into slurs anyway," she said. She watched people as they passed in the mirror behind the bar, then glanced over to him with a smile.
"I'm glad, by the way. Glad you're more whole. Always sucks to feel like a part of you's missing. Like you don't belong anywhere."
"Nothing like facing your 90s to encourage you to grow up." He passed his empty glass to the bartender and accepted the new drink. "How about you, Red? What's the next step in trying to feel better?"
Jean grinned. "Don't grow up. It's a trap," she said, then shrugged. "Traumatic childhoods mean you get to grow up before your time. My goal this year is to reasonably regress."
She got her drink and immediately plucked out the cherry, finishing it off.
"You know, they have an arcade in here. Care to join?"
"Is that Pong? I remember that one." He joked, saluting her with his glass and motioning her to lead on..
Jean winced as she paced the hallway in front of her suite. She'd gotten the call while she was on her way home and had never quite gotten to opening her front door.
"Oh God, Misty...I know I'm a doctor but you do not need to go into detail," she said with a cringe.
"I will never eat at that place...got it. It's okay...you can't really help food poisoning. I can figure something out for our weekend."
Kevin's whistling was The Four Seasons, absolutely in tune, and no less irritating for it. He was shedding his coat and hat as he was back from from the city. "Doc Grey." He said, as he passed her with a nod.
"Okay. Get some rest. We'll talk later, okay?" Jean said, then hung up.
"Hey, Kevin. How you've been?" She realized they hadn't really spoken a lot since his miraculous return from the dead.
That really happened a lot around here.
"I'm woke. Or working on being woke. I'm not sure." He stopped, tipping his hat to her. "What about you, Doc Grey?"
Jean blinked, then laughed. "Are you speaking in slang?" she asked curiously with a touch of amusement. She then shrugged.
"I was planning on going on a cruise for a girl's weekend. Then my friend ate some bad pork dumplings," she said.
"Ouch. Did that a couple of times in Korea and Vietnam. You can usually trust the street food but when it betrays you, it's awful." Kevin commiserated with her.
Jean nodded thoughtfully. "God, yes," she said. "I remember staying away from rainbow rolls for months."
She let out a sigh. "It'll be kind of pointless going by myself," she said, sitting in silence a moment before finally turning to him.
"So...I'm thinking...you're probably needing a vacation by now. After the whole...ordeal. And I don't want to go alone. Friend trip?" she said with a smile.
"You want to go to Atlantic City with me? Really?" Kevin said, taking a step back. "Really?"
Jean shrugged. "Why not? I'm guessing you're really good at blackjack. The package is non-refundable anyway. Though it does involve a spa," she said.
"Craps is my game, to be honest. I'm just... a little surprised. We haven't talked much since, you know-" He mimed a gun against his forehead. "But I'm in if you are."
Falling silent a moment, Jean nodded. "Yeah, well...I'm not going to lie...I had to sort out the whole "resurrection" business in my head. Especially after being around the last person that came back from the dead too. But...I think I've adjusted."
She stretched a little. "Okay. We were planning on leaving around 3 pm and driving there. Should give you time to pack, I hope?"
"I'm a guy. My suits are already on the rack." Kevin nodded. "I'll meet you at the car."
"But I still need time to pack and run some errands," Jean countered with a laugh and a salute as she headed toward her suite. "Meet you at 3 pm."
"3pm." He said.
***
He'd already stowed away his luggage when Jean arrived. Her car was considerably nicer than his, an Oldsmobile that was designed to look like it wasn't worth stealing. "So Doc, you want to take the first shift or should I?"
Jean tossed her suitcase into the trunk, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. "I can go first," she said, unlocking the doors. She smiled before climbing inside the car.
"Especially since we're playing my road trip playlist. We can play yours when you drive."
"My what?" Kevin said as he settled into the passenger's seat. "Was I supposed to have music?"
Starting up the car, Jean put on her seatbelt and let out a telling laugh. "Okay, well no. But if you have some you're welcome to put it on when you drive. Since its nice of you to offer."
"I... I know my phone will play music but I haven't put anything on it." Kevin said, a bit embarrassed. "I still think of it as physical media, I guess. So, um, I guess your music? Mine would probably be too old anyway."
Jean waved that thought away. "Psh. We both know I like jazz. If its anything like that I think it'll be fun," she said. Pulling out her phone, she opened an app and did a little typing.
"Tell you what...I'll let you borrow my phone. There's a Spotify app on here. Add whatever you want to a playlist. I just made one with your name on it," she said, offering it to him. On the app was a folder called 'Kevin's Road Trip Playlist.'
"I- thank you. I don't know if you'll like much of it. Just a warning." There was something unguarded about Kevin at the moment; a man normally so locked down and defensive trying to be more open.
Jean grinned softly. "I'll be the judge of that," she said. The moment wasn't left unnoticed, but Jean didn't comment on it. Pushing the button for the garage, Jean waited on the door to open as the garage door hummed and sputtered to life.
"So how long has it been since you've been on vacation?"
"Officially? 22 years." He gave her an embarrassed smile. "After all, I was 'retired' in the late 90s." He started to poke around on Jean's phone, seeing if the world knew about the Ink Spots still.
Jean paused. "That's awhile. Not even a little trip?" she said curiously. She shrugged. "I mean, I can't say much but....if I were on the run I'd probably be hiding out somewhere nice and tropical. Or snowy. I'm not picky."
"On the run isn't a vacation. My last vacation was at my house on the Chesapeake. I had... three months before I was assassinated." He added an Andrews Sisters song to the list. "I was ready to spend the rest of my life there."
"Touche," Jean said. "Sounds nice, though."
She started driving down the driveway. "Have you ever gone back to see if its still there?"
"My half-grandnephew owns it. I'm pretty happy about that. He's got a daughter. It's a place that deserves kids."
"Do they know you're alive?" Jean said.
"God no. Why would I do that to them?" Kevin said, a little more forceful than intended. "The last thing they need is the Agency knowing I'm alive and a potential threat."
Jean realized she'd touched a nerve and slowly nodded. "I was just curious. I'm sure it must be hard," she said, letting the silence fill in as the gate came upon them. With a push of a button it started to open, the X becoming split in two.
"Reasons you should have chosen someone else for this. I'm almost 90. Most of my family is dead, all my friends are dead. You don't need this, Red."
"But you do," Jean said, glancing over to him. "We both have things that seem to be weighing us down. And taking a break from that for three simple days sounds like a plan to me."
"Are they going to be simple? I mean... really? Why?" Sydney added a couple of songs. "Because the angry old man is going to make this better?"
"I have no idea," Jean said honestly. "I just saw someone who looked like they might have needed a vacation like me. If I read that I wrong, I can turn around and drop you off."
"You might want to a day in." He picked up the Four Freshman and added to the list. "You sure you want to listen to this?"
"If I need a break there's always the spa," Jean said. She turned on the radio and some light indie music started up.
"And I'm pretty sure. Unless you're into death metal and I wasn't aware of it. Kinda gives me a headache."
"What, like that Metallica or whatever? Not my thing." Kevin said, unintentionally dating himself. He actually had a better handle of music from the last ten years than he did from the 90s and 00s. Most of that time, he was in his sixties or rotting at the bottom of a lake. "Bobby Darin, on the other hand, is certainly my thing."
"I've heard of the name, but not the music," Jean said. "Metallica isn't bad, though. I was thinking more...Bullet for My Valentine or Rammstein." Her smile widened.
"I listen to a lot of music but I'm still always up for discovering new things."
"Sorry, this is going to be like going for a drive with your dad... wait, likely Granddad. I was a teenager during the war, after all." He said, continuing to drop in music. Unlike a lot of his peers, Kevin had listened to a wide range of music for his era. Plus, he was pretty sure opera wasn't going to be well received.
Jean laughed. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she said, popping a stick of gum into her mouth.
"Which war? One or two?" she said, perfectly casual. She'd been around the mansion enough to have accepted the possibility of people with enhanced longevity.
Kevin gave her a pained look. "Just how old do you think I am?" He shook his head. "Two. I was born in 1930, and enlisted in 1949, just before the conflict in Korea."
"I haven't memorized everyone's birthdays, sorry," Jean said. She knew Logan was older too but didn't have his birth year memorized either. She tilted her head.
"Sounds like you've been through quite a few wars."
"I worked for the CIA. We tended to find ways to start or stop wars as opposed to active participation. Ah!" He pressed a button and Elvis' 'Devil In Disguise' came on. "I'm not the biggest Elvis fan but when he hit, he hit. Also, did you know he offered to spy on the Beatles for the FBI?"
"I knew he was chummy with Nixon but not that part, no," Jean said with a grin. "I prefer the Beatles to Elvis, myself."
"I never really got the Beatles. Simple, a little silly at the start, and then just weird. Now the Rolling Stones. Them, I got."
"Lots of bands have their weird, experimental phase," Jean countered. "Granted I like their middle stuff. And the Stones too. It's good to be well rounded for when you're feeling like the walrus, coo coo ca-choo, or can't get no satisfaction." she smirked.
***
The room at the Borgata wasn't a suite, but it was well appointed. After checking in, they found themselves in Bobby Flay's Steak in the casino, Kevin happy to pick up the tab as a way to in part pay her back from fronting the entire package. They were finishing their coffee and waiting for the check when Kevin popped the question.
"Alright Doc, what's your game in the casino?"
Jean watched the mixture of wide-eyed tourists and over-confident gamblers as they shuffled past the restaurant. She took a sip of her Earl Grey tea.
"Roulette," she said, setting the cup down.
"And you? I'm sure you've got a nice bag of tricks yourself."
"That sounds like a flirt, Doc." He grinned at her. "But no, craps is my game. I lost a third of my pay in Korea learning that I was terrible at poker and blackjack. But, I can figure out the probability on dice."
Jean held up her hands. "I just call them like I see them," she said with a smirk.
"So you go with dice, I'll go with roulette, and we can see how much money we'll take home at the end of the night."
"You know that after extensive study, Albert Einstein concluded that the only reliable system to make money playing roulette was to steal chips while the croupier wasn't looking?" He gave her that quirky half-smile of his. "Join me at the craps table. It really is a two person game."
Jean winced. "Of all the names they had to have for the game and they pick 'craps,'" she said, cracking her knuckles.
"Alright, I'll give it a go. But you'll have to show me the ropes. It's been awhile since I've played."
"That's half the fun." Kevin escorted her over to one of the moderately priced Craps tables. He wasn't Worthington, who could gamble ten grand a throw. He converted five thousand into chips and stepped back as a sweaty man with a flat-top cut controlled the dice. "So, we're waiting for the dice at this point but we can bet on this schlub's throws. Personally, I like to wait and read the throws for a bit."
Quirking a brow, Jean rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand.
"And what does that tell you?"
"Even perfectly weighted dice and perfectly level tables play in their own ways. So you watch; see what numbers fall, especially off the wall at the edge or flush from the throw." He accepted the chips and passed half to Jean. It wasn't normally allowed between players, but they had assumed the pair were a couple. "He's rolled eights twice, with fives and threes showing both times. Which means easy fours, fives and nines are likely. But he's sitting on a hard ten, so I'd stay off."
Jean tried to follow, watching the man as he threw. "And what are we shooting for again?"
"When we have the dice? Sevens and elevens to start, soft sixes and eights otherwise. We want outcomes with the most potential ways to reach them."
"Hm," Jean said. "Okay. I'm getting some of this. So tens are bad?"
This is why she preferred roulette.
"Not necessarily. Twelves, twos and threes are all automatic outs. If he rolls a ten with a four and six, he's also out. If he rolls a natural seven or eleven, he's out. To win, he needs to roll a pair of fives, which is why it is called a Hard Ten."
The dice clattered against the back wall of the table and the man groaned as a three and four turned up. The croupier passed the dice over to Jean.
"OK, so put your bet on the Pass line and then throw both dice off the back of the table."
Jean slowly nodded. "Okay..." she said, starting off small with a bet of $50.
"Sevens or elevens," she repeated, shaking the dice in her hand. She let them rattle in her hand for a few moments before she tossed it at the wall, then waited for the dice to land. For this roll she wanted to do it naturally, no cheating. Even if she was a little tempted.
"Sevens!" The rakeman pulled the dice back while they stacked the chips for the winner. Kevin whispered in her ear. "Same again."
Jean gave no reaction, save for the slight nod of her head. "Do I go again?" she asked the rakeman. Chalk it up to beginner's luck.
Mostly.
"You're the shooter, ma'am." He said, using the rake to drop the dice in front of where she stood.
"Okay," Jean said. Reaching out, she picked up the dice again, letting them rattle in her hand for awhile. She bit her lip with nervous excitement.
"Come on...come on...." she said. Letting out a breath, she tossed the dice, watching them bounce against the wall. As they rolled, they seemed to keep tumbling, a second or two longer than they should have. But no one noticed. They were more preoccupied with the end result, which was....
"Six!" Called the rakeman. The pair of threes were showing. Kevin leaned past her to put his chips on to place. A safe, conservative bet that she'd make a six of any combination before hitting a seven. Several others opted for the hard six, and the stacks on the green of the table grew. The dice were once again deposited in front of Jean.
Jean eyed the table, playing up her nervousness again as she grabbed the dice. She gave them another shake, shake, shake...then let go, watching them bounce against the wall again. Her head tilted.
The five landed almost immediately but the other die spun for awhile on the edge before dropping for a one. There was a cheer by those who didn't work the hard way and the chips were stacked up. Kevin took his winnings as the dice again turned to Jean, her own winnings in front of her.
Jean smiled. "Okay, I could get used to this."
"Told you. It's all just probability and patience, really." Kevin said, stepping back to give her room to shoot again.
***
"So Texas Slim," Kevin said, leaning on the edge of the bar while Jean stacked both full chip holders in front of her before ordering a drink. "What do you think of dice now?"
Jean eyed her chips with a laugh. "Feeling a little guilty but it'll pass."
She held up a hand toward the bartender. "Amaretto sour, please."
"Guilty? Doctor Grey, what could you possibly feel guilty about?" Kevin said as the bartender left to fill their orders.
"I cheated," she said quietly with a shrug, "That's still wrong."
"The House cheats. That's the default on a casino." Kevin said, accepting a drink as the bartender reappeared. "But if you feel that way, there's a charity across the street you can donate to."
"When we're done maybe I will," she said with a smirk. "I guess I'm used to doing the right thing...most of the time." Emphasis on the former.
"But the world's become so grey I want to hold onto what I can."
"You know that doing the selfish thing isn't always doing the bad thing, right?" He took a sip. "You're allowed to look after yourself. Even do something for no other motive than it makes you feel good without being guilty about it. I know I'm the last person to try and justify selfish behaviour, but... Jean, occasionally you need to do what Jean wants and needs. Otherwise, you'll burn yourself out or burn yourself done. Neither is pleasant." Kevin tended to use nicknames for her, so his use of her first name was a note of sincerity. She might not agree, but this wasn't him and his usual bullshit talking to her.
Jean shrugged, swirling her drink stirrer around. "I know. But with Cecilia gone I'm the head doctor at the mansion and...those are big shoes to fill. Especially if we have another incident like with the Destines. It makes me want to quit Claremont, but I'm one of the few people who still advocate for the...unique people there. Most of the good doctors were scared away by protestors and they've gone to hiring anyone who will fill in, which is now mostly a bunch of racists. Only my nurses seem to be the ones sticking around.I haven't had a lot of time to look after myself when I'm looking after everyone else."
"Jesus. It amazes me how much you demand from yourself and yet, you still think you're not doing enough or doing it right." Kevin let out a long sigh. "I don't know how to help but... you need to carve out something for yourself, Jean. Otherwise, and I speak from experience, you'll breakdown at some point. You deserve a break."
Silent for a moment or two, Jean glanced up, watching as excited tourists and gamblers hurried past. She gave them a nod. "Why do you think I'm here?" she said with a smile.
"I'm working on it," she assured him. "Getting a workaholic to slow down is a gradual process. Do it too quickly and it's like derailing a train. We're used to frantic momentum. You have to find the right speed or..."
She finished off her drink, slamming it down on the table.
"I've been talking to my supervisor about reducing my workdays. That way I can still be there but can also have some time at the Medlab....and days off. But I can't just do it cold turkey. That's not who I am. I would be bored as hell, and unfulfilled."
"Hey, my job takes up most of my life. I get it. But I'm happy with that, and it suits me. You... there's other things you need and I'm glad you're taking steps."
Jean eyed him, her smile slowly fading. "There's 'other things that I need?'" she said, her eyes narrowing.
"What are you saying? That my job doesn't suit me? That I shouldn't be a doctor?"
"No, I'm saying just being a doctor isn't enough for you. You want more than prowling around the ER in your off hours because you can't fill your life with anything else. It's a compliment, Red. It means you're not an isolated, singularly focused and fundamentally broken person who can't conceive of anything beyond the job."
Letting out a breath, Jean rubbed her forehead as she slumped her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said, grabbing the sword-shaped stirrer from her glass and using it to trace lines into a napkin.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I guess I really did need this vacation. Been a long time coming." She nodded over to him.
"How about you?"
"While, I am one of those fundamentally broken people that can't conceive of anything but the job. But it is nice to take a couple of days off with a pretty girl." He smiled and took a sip, one of his more genuine gestures. "I'm training people again. The right way. I forgot how much I missed that."
"Oh? What do you train them in?" Jean said. She also smirked.
"And pretty girl makes me feel like a teenager. Can I at least get woman? Through Pretty Woman comes with the hooker connotations."
"Sorry, problem with age. Verbiage tends to drag. If I was ten years older, you'd likely be getting 'dame'." He said. "Tradecraft mostly. A little operational wisdom and philosophy. Occasionally the voice of experience. It's nice to feel like I'm properly back on the job."
"And even further back from that you'd get Madame. Which I kind of like," Jean said with a light grin. "Madame Grey."
She held up her hand for another drink. "So were you testing out X-Force before to see if you were the right fit?" she said, a note a familiarity in her voice.
"In my experience, Madame has a very different connotation." He waved for a refill as well. "No, I still had fifty feet of personal bullshit between me and the job. Last few months haven't been pleasant but they've punch through some of the crap I've been using as a personal defense against the world. Not that I'm not still twenty kinds of screwed up but... I feel better, no- more whole than I have in ages."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Ruin my fun. Society has turned many of the perfectly normal titles for women into slurs anyway," she said. She watched people as they passed in the mirror behind the bar, then glanced over to him with a smile.
"I'm glad, by the way. Glad you're more whole. Always sucks to feel like a part of you's missing. Like you don't belong anywhere."
"Nothing like facing your 90s to encourage you to grow up." He passed his empty glass to the bartender and accepted the new drink. "How about you, Red? What's the next step in trying to feel better?"
Jean grinned. "Don't grow up. It's a trap," she said, then shrugged. "Traumatic childhoods mean you get to grow up before your time. My goal this year is to reasonably regress."
She got her drink and immediately plucked out the cherry, finishing it off.
"You know, they have an arcade in here. Care to join?"
"Is that Pong? I remember that one." He joked, saluting her with his glass and motioning her to lead on..
