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xp_logs Gabe and Jean tour a holiday market and then discuss recent events.
For all his stated cynicism about Christmas, religion and holiday warmth, Gabriel had a soft spot for certain seasonal traditions. In all the years that he'd been in New York, he hated the cold and the darkness that winter brought. When he'd lived in the city, the lights and the decor at least brought some brightness to break through the dreariness.
And so it had been his idea to bring Jean to Union Square's holiday market, where they could feel somewhat anonymous amongst the gawking tourists and eager locals searching for quirky holiday gifts. They wouldn't have to talk necessarily, and there'd be enough to distract her from contemplating the nature of reality about which she'd just learned. It had also been Gabriel's idea, given his limited tolerance for crowds, to fill thermoses with hot beverages -- boozy hot cocoa for her and hot buttered rum for him. Now, as they perused silver jewelry (made in Brooklyn, of course), he was dismayed to find he was low on libations.
"How much shopping do you have left in you?" He said, looking up from a ring he was considering buying for Felicia as a gag gift.
Jean was in the middle of staring at people as they made their way through the crowd. She wore a black peacoat with green satin lined hood, a gold weaved cable knit beanie, and gold weaved cable knit gloves. It was nice to see families and couples out shopping, buskers playing holiday tunes, and vendors selling their wares. She could smell someone honey roasting nuts two stalls over. The excited chatter, both outside and inside created a buzz in her head. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but for now she was happy for the distraction.
It took Jean a moment to realize Gabe was talking to her and she glanced up. "Hmm?" she said. "Oh, I could go for a bit longer. I like window shopping."
"Ah." Gabriel considered this. "I — hypothetically," he ventured, "if I were to suggest a stop for refreshments, how would you feel about that?" He shook his empty thermos. "Hypothetically."
Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. "I would be up for that. Hypothetically. If you let me try some of your hot buttered rum. Hypothetically. I kept smelling it earlier."
"I'm ... the well is dry," he admitted. Gabriel knew had been drinking too quickly, but far be it from him to justify himself. It was the holidays. "But I know a place that's kind of out of the way where we can get refills, as it were, if you're up for it."
Taking one last look at the hustle and bustle, Jean nodded. "Sure," she said with a smile. "It'll be nice to be able to feel my fingers again."
"Great." Gabriel smiled back. "We can come back to all of this," he said, trying not to show his disdain as a coughing child brushed against him, parents apparently nowhere in sight. "Come on."
***
Seventh Season had been built during the city's speakeasy craze, when you couldn't throw a stone in parts of downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn without stumbling upon craft cocktails being made in a building with some bizarre front or other. The original owners of the bar had miscalculated, though putting the bar in a part of Gramercy that was hardly a nightlife destination and that was populated more with older residents who wouldn't buy. But the cocktail director sensed an opportunity in catering to the service industry folks who kept the East Village's restaurants going, and over the years, it had developed into a scene-y basement hangout for bartenders, waiters and performers looking to get away from the downtown hype.
Gabriel had come to know the bar in that incarnation. He didn't usually bring mansion friends here, but he knew the drinks would be good, and that he and Jean would be left alone, in case the other woman wanted to talk. The bartender, a former roommate of his, had already dropped off two hot buttered rums and offered to refill their thermoses when they finally departed.
"So." He swirled his drink with the cinnamon stick provided. "Here we are."
Jean felt a quiet sense of comfort here. People were around to enjoy a drink, rather than show off to charm someone else and take them home over the blaring music du jour and low lights that were tinted in some pastel easter color that looked like it belonged somewhere more like out of a sci fi movie than a bar.
She slipped off her hat and gloves, clenching her fingers in and out to get rid of the aching tingle as the sensation returned.
"Are we going for 'here' as in existential or literal?" she said. She took a sip of the rum, taking a moment to feel the burn as it went down.
"Because that's taken a whole different meaning lately."
Gabriel shrugged. "I'm not sure what to say," he said before taking a sip of his own drink. "I mean, I took you out in case you wanted to talk about it. But I don't — you don't have to talk about it, you know?" His fingers were cold — his hands were always cold — and he drummed them on the table to try to get the blood flowing.
"It's kind of an elephant in the room, isn't it? Hard not to ignore," Jean said. She took another drink, this one more of a guzzle, letting out a cough.
Glancing over at him, she was quiet for a couple of moments before finally speaking. "Did you know her? The other one? Or...even the other other one?"
Gabriel, too, was quiet, as he considered how to answer her. He felt a pang for a cigarette that he wished he could indulge. "I was around before," he finally said, since he knew she'd understand what he meant. "Not as long as some of the others, obviously. I mean, hello," he gestured to his face with a smile, "look at me."
"But yeah," he said, looking down at his hands, which were clasping the glass more tightly than he'd realized. "I knew her. And if the other other one is..." He looked up, not willing to so much as say the phrase Dark Phoenix allowed. "It's weird to talk about it," he said, interrupting his train of thought. "I mean, you know, I can talk about it, I want to talk about it, I just don't know how much sense it'll make." He lifted the glass, then put it back down again. "I knew them both," he said, unable to help sounding a little plaintive.
Jean glanced up at him. "I've seen a lot of weird shit in the past few days. And I see it regularly in people's heads. Try me," she said, tilting her head. "Unless you need time. And I'm okay with that too."
“Oh, I don’t need time,” Gabriel said, practically surprised by the suggestion. “I’ve had plenty of time. But you’ve had like, days, so I was trying to be, you know, respectful.” He picked up the drink. “Tell me what you want to know. Don’t say everything.”
Jean laughed reflexively. "I'm going to need a lot more rum for this," she said, taking another long drink, which she finished off by making a face.
"I've already been through disbelief and despair. I figured I'd try the 'rip the bandaid off' approach next and dive right in," she said. She let out a breath.
"How did you meet?" she said. She squinted. "The good one, preferably. I'd like to work up to the bad one."
"Oh, that's a good story," Gabriel grinned. "We met when I tried to steal her wallet at a bar." He snorted at her expression. "I know. She stopped me in my tracks while I was reaching into her purse, then she immediately judged me — correctly, if we're being honest." He couldn't remember every detail of their conversation; there were other parts of that time in his life that he had replayed more frequently. But what was it she said? I bet you don't stay in one place or something upsettingly accurate.
Well, he smiled a little, the joke was on her in a way. "Then she gave me 100 bucks and her business card."
"Wow, you were brazen," she said with a light smirk, then slowly nodded.
"So she introduced you to the mansion?" she added, trying to take it all in.
Parts of it felt more like a story than real life, but she was more inclined to believe it by the punctuations of memories from her encounter with what Emma called the Phoenix. But they were a jumble, fleeting, only enough to get context clues.
She blinked a few times, folding her arms. "I don't know what to ask. I have so many questions and yet...when I try to think of one it feels selfish."
"It's not selfish," Gabriel reassured her. "I mean, it's natural to be curious. I would be. Ask what you want, and I'll find a way to tell you. But..." He looked at his hands for a moment, weighing how to phrase what he wanted to tell her. "All of that stuff that happened to us — it was important for us, obviously." God, he felt as if he were parroting a conversation with Charles to her. "But that doesn't mean... like, the world is what the world is now, you know? Your reality is real. And so you can be curious, but you have to remember that."
"I do," Jean nodded slowly. "I'm also still trying to cope with the fact that not only are there alternate realities, but an alternate version of me was in your world too. And....also destroyed it so....lots of feelings. I'm...just trying to understand. Like you said, you've had a few years. I mean---what was she like? Was she like me? Were they both like me? Did she...like her coffee the same way? Did she have trouble sleeping too? Who were her friends? Were they the same as mine? Did they die too?"
"Sure, she was like you," Gabriel shrugged. "Kind, warm. Generous with her time. Loyal." He took a healthy sip of his drink while she considered this. "Look, that Jean changed my life," he said as he set the glass down. Some of the warm drink sloshed over the edge and sloshed his hand. He winced and wiped it on his pants. "I wouldn't be here without her, in more ways than one." He studied her, weighing his next words carefully. "There's a moment," he said quietly, "that I'd be willing to share with you. The best of her, maybe, at least I think."
Jean studied the table. "I..." she drew out a ragged breath, a little nervous. "Okay."
"Okay," Gabriel said, trying to sound more comfortable than he was. He wondered if she knew what a big deal this was for him. He hadn't shared the corners of his mind with too many people; even Quentin, who'd seen more than most, had stumbled into unhappy memories by accident. And it wasn't as if he'd probed these recesses much himself.
He picked up the glass about half full and drained the rest of it. "Okay," he said again. "It's not going to be entirely... pleasant," he warned her. "It — well, it was right before things went to shit. And you need to remember, it's not you."
After watching Gabe finish the glass, Jean thought that was a capital idea and finished off hers too. "That's comforting," she mumbled, then let out a breath.
"Let's just...do the bandaid thing."
Gabriel nodded and closed his eyes, because he thought that might help him lower his guard and open his mind. Until their recent jaunt to the other universe, it had been a long while since he'd thought about the end of the world. But the zombies and the Nazis and the mansion collapsing had been in his thoughts lately, closer to the front of his mind than usual.
He did his best to reach out to her, a skill he'd never quite developed even in his time dating (were they ever dating, really?) a psi. Quentin had not seen this part of himself. The younger him, the him papering over the unease and nerves with quips and a restless energy. Two birds, clashing above him in the sky. His face leaner, his skin softer. Something in his hands, given by less familiar people, by faces he couldn't totally recall. His heart, pounding. Here goes nothing, he said. He didn't know then; there was so much he didn't know then. He'd lost by then, but he hadn't known it. He'd lose more, but he still thought he could win.
A blur, a blur, his heart quickening, his confidence risen, until suddenly, the world stopped, everything stopped, and a woman with Jean's face, a woman he knew he didn't know taunted him. Fly away, she said, and in that instant, as she hurled him backwards with a force he had not felt since, his heart sank. He thought everything had been lost. He was terrified, he was broken, he was —
And then Gabriel stopped again, the Jean he had known surfacing in his memories. You'll be okay, she told him, saving him from sudden death. A flood of gratitude at the time, one tempered now by pain that he could not hide from her, from a sorrow that lingered, would always linger.
The rush of thoughts and emotion coupled with the images made Jean fold her arms tightly against her stomach. For a split second it felt like walking over someone's grave. Suppressing a shudder, her eyes snapped open and she pulled herself out of his mind, trying to compose herself.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For letting me see."
She lowered her eyes. "I..I could tell she meant a lot. And I'm sorry she couldn't stay."
“Don’t be,” Gabriel said, not quite looking at her. “There isn’t - I’m here because she isn’t.” He waved down the bartender and pointed to their empty glasses. “You’re a lot of the things she was. And you’re a lot of things she wasn’t. And I’m a lot of things I wouldn’t have been if all that hadn’t happened. Which isn’t to say it didn’t fucking suck, because it did. But we can’t change any of what happened.”
Nodding a little, Jean let out a breath.
"I saw some things when Roma died. It felt like I touched something. And somehow I knew the world had ended and I knew there was a way to repair the parts that were still damaged but...it was all jumbled...so fast...It didn't quite feel real. I guess I'm just...trying to make sense of it all. I'm not going to lie. She kind of intimidates me. But it's nice to have better context."
"Not sure how much context I really gave you," Gabriel said. "But I guess it's something. I don't think you should be... intimidated by her. At the risk of sounding overly callous, you're here. She's not. That's just... how it shook out."
Jean didn't know what to say to that. So she instead stared at her hazy reflection in the glass. "I guess," she replied, then glanced up with a wry smile.
"Definitely not how I expected this year to end."
"Oh?" Gabriel said, as he looked to flag down the bartender for refills. "You didn't have 'the revelation of an alternate reality' in the pool? I suppose you'd been away for a while."
Tilting her head thoughtfully. "I had money on zombie dinosaurs, or....monster made of teapots or something. This is almost tame," Jean mused.
"Almost."
For all his stated cynicism about Christmas, religion and holiday warmth, Gabriel had a soft spot for certain seasonal traditions. In all the years that he'd been in New York, he hated the cold and the darkness that winter brought. When he'd lived in the city, the lights and the decor at least brought some brightness to break through the dreariness.
And so it had been his idea to bring Jean to Union Square's holiday market, where they could feel somewhat anonymous amongst the gawking tourists and eager locals searching for quirky holiday gifts. They wouldn't have to talk necessarily, and there'd be enough to distract her from contemplating the nature of reality about which she'd just learned. It had also been Gabriel's idea, given his limited tolerance for crowds, to fill thermoses with hot beverages -- boozy hot cocoa for her and hot buttered rum for him. Now, as they perused silver jewelry (made in Brooklyn, of course), he was dismayed to find he was low on libations.
"How much shopping do you have left in you?" He said, looking up from a ring he was considering buying for Felicia as a gag gift.
Jean was in the middle of staring at people as they made their way through the crowd. She wore a black peacoat with green satin lined hood, a gold weaved cable knit beanie, and gold weaved cable knit gloves. It was nice to see families and couples out shopping, buskers playing holiday tunes, and vendors selling their wares. She could smell someone honey roasting nuts two stalls over. The excited chatter, both outside and inside created a buzz in her head. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but for now she was happy for the distraction.
It took Jean a moment to realize Gabe was talking to her and she glanced up. "Hmm?" she said. "Oh, I could go for a bit longer. I like window shopping."
"Ah." Gabriel considered this. "I — hypothetically," he ventured, "if I were to suggest a stop for refreshments, how would you feel about that?" He shook his empty thermos. "Hypothetically."
Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. "I would be up for that. Hypothetically. If you let me try some of your hot buttered rum. Hypothetically. I kept smelling it earlier."
"I'm ... the well is dry," he admitted. Gabriel knew had been drinking too quickly, but far be it from him to justify himself. It was the holidays. "But I know a place that's kind of out of the way where we can get refills, as it were, if you're up for it."
Taking one last look at the hustle and bustle, Jean nodded. "Sure," she said with a smile. "It'll be nice to be able to feel my fingers again."
"Great." Gabriel smiled back. "We can come back to all of this," he said, trying not to show his disdain as a coughing child brushed against him, parents apparently nowhere in sight. "Come on."
***
Seventh Season had been built during the city's speakeasy craze, when you couldn't throw a stone in parts of downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn without stumbling upon craft cocktails being made in a building with some bizarre front or other. The original owners of the bar had miscalculated, though putting the bar in a part of Gramercy that was hardly a nightlife destination and that was populated more with older residents who wouldn't buy. But the cocktail director sensed an opportunity in catering to the service industry folks who kept the East Village's restaurants going, and over the years, it had developed into a scene-y basement hangout for bartenders, waiters and performers looking to get away from the downtown hype.
Gabriel had come to know the bar in that incarnation. He didn't usually bring mansion friends here, but he knew the drinks would be good, and that he and Jean would be left alone, in case the other woman wanted to talk. The bartender, a former roommate of his, had already dropped off two hot buttered rums and offered to refill their thermoses when they finally departed.
"So." He swirled his drink with the cinnamon stick provided. "Here we are."
Jean felt a quiet sense of comfort here. People were around to enjoy a drink, rather than show off to charm someone else and take them home over the blaring music du jour and low lights that were tinted in some pastel easter color that looked like it belonged somewhere more like out of a sci fi movie than a bar.
She slipped off her hat and gloves, clenching her fingers in and out to get rid of the aching tingle as the sensation returned.
"Are we going for 'here' as in existential or literal?" she said. She took a sip of the rum, taking a moment to feel the burn as it went down.
"Because that's taken a whole different meaning lately."
Gabriel shrugged. "I'm not sure what to say," he said before taking a sip of his own drink. "I mean, I took you out in case you wanted to talk about it. But I don't — you don't have to talk about it, you know?" His fingers were cold — his hands were always cold — and he drummed them on the table to try to get the blood flowing.
"It's kind of an elephant in the room, isn't it? Hard not to ignore," Jean said. She took another drink, this one more of a guzzle, letting out a cough.
Glancing over at him, she was quiet for a couple of moments before finally speaking. "Did you know her? The other one? Or...even the other other one?"
Gabriel, too, was quiet, as he considered how to answer her. He felt a pang for a cigarette that he wished he could indulge. "I was around before," he finally said, since he knew she'd understand what he meant. "Not as long as some of the others, obviously. I mean, hello," he gestured to his face with a smile, "look at me."
"But yeah," he said, looking down at his hands, which were clasping the glass more tightly than he'd realized. "I knew her. And if the other other one is..." He looked up, not willing to so much as say the phrase Dark Phoenix allowed. "It's weird to talk about it," he said, interrupting his train of thought. "I mean, you know, I can talk about it, I want to talk about it, I just don't know how much sense it'll make." He lifted the glass, then put it back down again. "I knew them both," he said, unable to help sounding a little plaintive.
Jean glanced up at him. "I've seen a lot of weird shit in the past few days. And I see it regularly in people's heads. Try me," she said, tilting her head. "Unless you need time. And I'm okay with that too."
“Oh, I don’t need time,” Gabriel said, practically surprised by the suggestion. “I’ve had plenty of time. But you’ve had like, days, so I was trying to be, you know, respectful.” He picked up the drink. “Tell me what you want to know. Don’t say everything.”
Jean laughed reflexively. "I'm going to need a lot more rum for this," she said, taking another long drink, which she finished off by making a face.
"I've already been through disbelief and despair. I figured I'd try the 'rip the bandaid off' approach next and dive right in," she said. She let out a breath.
"How did you meet?" she said. She squinted. "The good one, preferably. I'd like to work up to the bad one."
"Oh, that's a good story," Gabriel grinned. "We met when I tried to steal her wallet at a bar." He snorted at her expression. "I know. She stopped me in my tracks while I was reaching into her purse, then she immediately judged me — correctly, if we're being honest." He couldn't remember every detail of their conversation; there were other parts of that time in his life that he had replayed more frequently. But what was it she said? I bet you don't stay in one place or something upsettingly accurate.
Well, he smiled a little, the joke was on her in a way. "Then she gave me 100 bucks and her business card."
"Wow, you were brazen," she said with a light smirk, then slowly nodded.
"So she introduced you to the mansion?" she added, trying to take it all in.
Parts of it felt more like a story than real life, but she was more inclined to believe it by the punctuations of memories from her encounter with what Emma called the Phoenix. But they were a jumble, fleeting, only enough to get context clues.
She blinked a few times, folding her arms. "I don't know what to ask. I have so many questions and yet...when I try to think of one it feels selfish."
"It's not selfish," Gabriel reassured her. "I mean, it's natural to be curious. I would be. Ask what you want, and I'll find a way to tell you. But..." He looked at his hands for a moment, weighing how to phrase what he wanted to tell her. "All of that stuff that happened to us — it was important for us, obviously." God, he felt as if he were parroting a conversation with Charles to her. "But that doesn't mean... like, the world is what the world is now, you know? Your reality is real. And so you can be curious, but you have to remember that."
"I do," Jean nodded slowly. "I'm also still trying to cope with the fact that not only are there alternate realities, but an alternate version of me was in your world too. And....also destroyed it so....lots of feelings. I'm...just trying to understand. Like you said, you've had a few years. I mean---what was she like? Was she like me? Were they both like me? Did she...like her coffee the same way? Did she have trouble sleeping too? Who were her friends? Were they the same as mine? Did they die too?"
"Sure, she was like you," Gabriel shrugged. "Kind, warm. Generous with her time. Loyal." He took a healthy sip of his drink while she considered this. "Look, that Jean changed my life," he said as he set the glass down. Some of the warm drink sloshed over the edge and sloshed his hand. He winced and wiped it on his pants. "I wouldn't be here without her, in more ways than one." He studied her, weighing his next words carefully. "There's a moment," he said quietly, "that I'd be willing to share with you. The best of her, maybe, at least I think."
Jean studied the table. "I..." she drew out a ragged breath, a little nervous. "Okay."
"Okay," Gabriel said, trying to sound more comfortable than he was. He wondered if she knew what a big deal this was for him. He hadn't shared the corners of his mind with too many people; even Quentin, who'd seen more than most, had stumbled into unhappy memories by accident. And it wasn't as if he'd probed these recesses much himself.
He picked up the glass about half full and drained the rest of it. "Okay," he said again. "It's not going to be entirely... pleasant," he warned her. "It — well, it was right before things went to shit. And you need to remember, it's not you."
After watching Gabe finish the glass, Jean thought that was a capital idea and finished off hers too. "That's comforting," she mumbled, then let out a breath.
"Let's just...do the bandaid thing."
Gabriel nodded and closed his eyes, because he thought that might help him lower his guard and open his mind. Until their recent jaunt to the other universe, it had been a long while since he'd thought about the end of the world. But the zombies and the Nazis and the mansion collapsing had been in his thoughts lately, closer to the front of his mind than usual.
He did his best to reach out to her, a skill he'd never quite developed even in his time dating (were they ever dating, really?) a psi. Quentin had not seen this part of himself. The younger him, the him papering over the unease and nerves with quips and a restless energy. Two birds, clashing above him in the sky. His face leaner, his skin softer. Something in his hands, given by less familiar people, by faces he couldn't totally recall. His heart, pounding. Here goes nothing, he said. He didn't know then; there was so much he didn't know then. He'd lost by then, but he hadn't known it. He'd lose more, but he still thought he could win.
A blur, a blur, his heart quickening, his confidence risen, until suddenly, the world stopped, everything stopped, and a woman with Jean's face, a woman he knew he didn't know taunted him. Fly away, she said, and in that instant, as she hurled him backwards with a force he had not felt since, his heart sank. He thought everything had been lost. He was terrified, he was broken, he was —
And then Gabriel stopped again, the Jean he had known surfacing in his memories. You'll be okay, she told him, saving him from sudden death. A flood of gratitude at the time, one tempered now by pain that he could not hide from her, from a sorrow that lingered, would always linger.
The rush of thoughts and emotion coupled with the images made Jean fold her arms tightly against her stomach. For a split second it felt like walking over someone's grave. Suppressing a shudder, her eyes snapped open and she pulled herself out of his mind, trying to compose herself.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For letting me see."
She lowered her eyes. "I..I could tell she meant a lot. And I'm sorry she couldn't stay."
“Don’t be,” Gabriel said, not quite looking at her. “There isn’t - I’m here because she isn’t.” He waved down the bartender and pointed to their empty glasses. “You’re a lot of the things she was. And you’re a lot of things she wasn’t. And I’m a lot of things I wouldn’t have been if all that hadn’t happened. Which isn’t to say it didn’t fucking suck, because it did. But we can’t change any of what happened.”
Nodding a little, Jean let out a breath.
"I saw some things when Roma died. It felt like I touched something. And somehow I knew the world had ended and I knew there was a way to repair the parts that were still damaged but...it was all jumbled...so fast...It didn't quite feel real. I guess I'm just...trying to make sense of it all. I'm not going to lie. She kind of intimidates me. But it's nice to have better context."
"Not sure how much context I really gave you," Gabriel said. "But I guess it's something. I don't think you should be... intimidated by her. At the risk of sounding overly callous, you're here. She's not. That's just... how it shook out."
Jean didn't know what to say to that. So she instead stared at her hazy reflection in the glass. "I guess," she replied, then glanced up with a wry smile.
"Definitely not how I expected this year to end."
"Oh?" Gabriel said, as he looked to flag down the bartender for refills. "You didn't have 'the revelation of an alternate reality' in the pool? I suppose you'd been away for a while."
Tilting her head thoughtfully. "I had money on zombie dinosaurs, or....monster made of teapots or something. This is almost tame," Jean mused.
"Almost."
