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xp_logsThey talk about the incident.
Maya stretched in her X-men uniform, still trying to get that 'new leather' stiffness out of the fabric. It wasn't like she didn't wear motorcycle leathers often enough when she took her bike out, so it wasn't too different from that except for the layers of bullet-proof and 'other' proof that had been built into it.
Didn't mean she'd ever get used to being shot at, or that they wouldn't shoot her in the head. Sure, she could wear some kind of helmet, like Daft Punk, but she could just hear the kind of jokes Kyle would start making and nobody needed that level of sass in their life.
"Oh, hi," she said, glancing up as he entered the room.
"Maya," he replied, using her name sign as well. Now that it had been a few days and he had slept and healed and dealt with other things, Matt supposed he should talk to Maya, too. Especially since the world was presenting him an opportunity. "How're you holding up?"
Maya for her part had been avoiding Matt as much as was possible when you lived in the same house and were on the same para-military organization aka hero team. She hadn't wanted to have any conversations about what had possibly, maybe certainly but with no real 100% verification possible, happened. Bad enough that so many of the people she cared about had been more than physically damaged, but Garrison was gone as well.
She'd never really gotten a chance to show him that she was more than just talk.
"Do you want the sarcastic answer, or should I just say 'I'm fine' and we can not talk about it?" Maya replied, standing from the stretch she'd been holding and sitting down on the bench.
"Oh, good, you speak Murdock. Or I speak Lopez. Whichever," Matt wasn't bothered by her response, he would likely say he was fine even as he bled out. 'I'm fine' was code for 'all fucked up, thanks!' "We don't have to talk about it," because talking about emotions sucked balls, "but you should speak to someone. Was that your first time?"
“Yeah,” Maya drawled out, trying for nonchalance but not quite hitting it. “I usually have a team to get rid of the bodies but we were a bit pressed this time. You know how it is.”
"Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty," he agreed easily. "Look. I don't second guess what people do in the field, you have a split second to make a decision or just to act and you don't have time to calculate all the options and variables, so no judgment. But that doesn't mean you aren't affected. Hell, I'd be more worried if you weren't affected."
“I killed someone, that’s more than just dirty Matt, that’s pitch black.”
Maya looked away, not wanting to even see his response as she stood and headed toward the exit. She had no time for this conversation, not when it just made her even more upset.
She looked back once before she left, wanting to try and make her exit a little less like she was storming off from someone just trying to help.
“I know you want to help, but I can’t treat this like it’s okay, even if it was a mistake. It’s not okay, it won’t ever be.”
"No, it won't," Matt agreed, not trying to force her to stay, she was not nearly as fine as she was trying to pretend, "but it doesn't define you either."
“Doesn’t it?”
Maya couldn’t imagine anything that could define her more than the act of taking a life. She had intellectually known both Wade and her father had done so. But the visceral knowledge that she was responsible for taking away any choices that person might have made in the future?
That hit harder than she could have imagined
“Shouldn’t it?”
"We are a sum of all our experiences. Good and bad," Matt called to her, "We glorify the soldier that kills an enemy in battle, but yet murder is a crime and sin. Maybe I'm not that smart, but that seems like hypocrisy at its finest. You are more than one choice made in the heat of a fight, Maya. Grow from this. Atone in whatever way you need. But don't stay stuck in it."
“Isn’t that the reason X-men aren’t meant to kill people?”
She hadn’t been one long, even if she had been training with Gen-X this entire time and seen her fair share of deeply weird shit in her twenty years. But avoidance of hypocrisy seemed like it should be almost number one on the ‘list of things to give a shit about'.
Otherwise, what was the point of even being here?
“Shouldn’t someone be saying something other than ‘good job’ to me? At least give me pushups or something. Fuck.”
"Then do pushups," Matt stood, shoulders square and though he wasn't a hard man in a lot of ways, he certainly could pull it off. "You want to work? You want to atone through sweat?" he pointed to the gym mats near his feet, "Get started. I'll tell you when you're done."
Maya gave him a quizzical look, looking around the workout space before shrugging and dropping down into a push-up position, starting a count-off in her head as she did so.
“You’re gonna have to tap me when you think I’m done unless you want to get in my face.”
Maya was another month away before she’d healed enough to have the operation that would replace the cochlear implants that she’d lost. There’d been some advances in recent years so she was looking forward to what they could do for her.
Apparently being on the payroll of a rich old guy had its benefits. Who knew?
Dropping to the ground with her, Matt began, matching her pushup for pushup, close enough that she could probably smell the salt on his skin from sweat without enhanced senses. He could tell what she'd eaten last. When her arms gave out, then it would be enough. He wouldn't insult her by counting - or worse - making her stop at a certain number. She wouldn't feel it was enough, no matter how many it was.
Maya stretched in her X-men uniform, still trying to get that 'new leather' stiffness out of the fabric. It wasn't like she didn't wear motorcycle leathers often enough when she took her bike out, so it wasn't too different from that except for the layers of bullet-proof and 'other' proof that had been built into it.
Didn't mean she'd ever get used to being shot at, or that they wouldn't shoot her in the head. Sure, she could wear some kind of helmet, like Daft Punk, but she could just hear the kind of jokes Kyle would start making and nobody needed that level of sass in their life.
"Oh, hi," she said, glancing up as he entered the room.
"Maya," he replied, using her name sign as well. Now that it had been a few days and he had slept and healed and dealt with other things, Matt supposed he should talk to Maya, too. Especially since the world was presenting him an opportunity. "How're you holding up?"
Maya for her part had been avoiding Matt as much as was possible when you lived in the same house and were on the same para-military organization aka hero team. She hadn't wanted to have any conversations about what had possibly, maybe certainly but with no real 100% verification possible, happened. Bad enough that so many of the people she cared about had been more than physically damaged, but Garrison was gone as well.
She'd never really gotten a chance to show him that she was more than just talk.
"Do you want the sarcastic answer, or should I just say 'I'm fine' and we can not talk about it?" Maya replied, standing from the stretch she'd been holding and sitting down on the bench.
"Oh, good, you speak Murdock. Or I speak Lopez. Whichever," Matt wasn't bothered by her response, he would likely say he was fine even as he bled out. 'I'm fine' was code for 'all fucked up, thanks!' "We don't have to talk about it," because talking about emotions sucked balls, "but you should speak to someone. Was that your first time?"
“Yeah,” Maya drawled out, trying for nonchalance but not quite hitting it. “I usually have a team to get rid of the bodies but we were a bit pressed this time. You know how it is.”
"Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty," he agreed easily. "Look. I don't second guess what people do in the field, you have a split second to make a decision or just to act and you don't have time to calculate all the options and variables, so no judgment. But that doesn't mean you aren't affected. Hell, I'd be more worried if you weren't affected."
“I killed someone, that’s more than just dirty Matt, that’s pitch black.”
Maya looked away, not wanting to even see his response as she stood and headed toward the exit. She had no time for this conversation, not when it just made her even more upset.
She looked back once before she left, wanting to try and make her exit a little less like she was storming off from someone just trying to help.
“I know you want to help, but I can’t treat this like it’s okay, even if it was a mistake. It’s not okay, it won’t ever be.”
"No, it won't," Matt agreed, not trying to force her to stay, she was not nearly as fine as she was trying to pretend, "but it doesn't define you either."
“Doesn’t it?”
Maya couldn’t imagine anything that could define her more than the act of taking a life. She had intellectually known both Wade and her father had done so. But the visceral knowledge that she was responsible for taking away any choices that person might have made in the future?
That hit harder than she could have imagined
“Shouldn’t it?”
"We are a sum of all our experiences. Good and bad," Matt called to her, "We glorify the soldier that kills an enemy in battle, but yet murder is a crime and sin. Maybe I'm not that smart, but that seems like hypocrisy at its finest. You are more than one choice made in the heat of a fight, Maya. Grow from this. Atone in whatever way you need. But don't stay stuck in it."
“Isn’t that the reason X-men aren’t meant to kill people?”
She hadn’t been one long, even if she had been training with Gen-X this entire time and seen her fair share of deeply weird shit in her twenty years. But avoidance of hypocrisy seemed like it should be almost number one on the ‘list of things to give a shit about'.
Otherwise, what was the point of even being here?
“Shouldn’t someone be saying something other than ‘good job’ to me? At least give me pushups or something. Fuck.”
"Then do pushups," Matt stood, shoulders square and though he wasn't a hard man in a lot of ways, he certainly could pull it off. "You want to work? You want to atone through sweat?" he pointed to the gym mats near his feet, "Get started. I'll tell you when you're done."
Maya gave him a quizzical look, looking around the workout space before shrugging and dropping down into a push-up position, starting a count-off in her head as she did so.
“You’re gonna have to tap me when you think I’m done unless you want to get in my face.”
Maya was another month away before she’d healed enough to have the operation that would replace the cochlear implants that she’d lost. There’d been some advances in recent years so she was looking forward to what they could do for her.
Apparently being on the payroll of a rich old guy had its benefits. Who knew?
Dropping to the ground with her, Matt began, matching her pushup for pushup, close enough that she could probably smell the salt on his skin from sweat without enhanced senses. He could tell what she'd eaten last. When her arms gave out, then it would be enough. He wouldn't insult her by counting - or worse - making her stop at a certain number. She wouldn't feel it was enough, no matter how many it was.
