Jean and Hank have coffee early in the morning

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean was leaning against the ledge and staring out the window of her suite into the pre-dawn light, trying not to think about... well, a lot of things. Her nightmares were definitely up there on the list of things, as was the suitcase sitting open on the floor of her room with the letter she'd found that Thomas had apparently slipped into it without her knowing. The rest of the suitcase's contents were actually worth thinking about, since it was only about five days worth of clothing, all of it in a style that Jane had preferred but Jean did not feel suited her at all. But she wasn't thinking about that, either, since that would involve thinking about finding out what Scott had done with her clothes and things when she died and the logistics that would have to be involved with 'coming back to life'. So instead she simply stared and tried to just breathe.

Hank tapped gently on the door to the suite Jean had been assigned, now that she was back. She'd always been an early riser, and... well. He'd never known her to turn down coffee. If she wasn't awake, he'd leave it, and she could rewarm it in the microwave. "Jean?" he said softly, peeping around the door.

Both the tap and the call were too quite to intrude on her absorption with non-thinking, and Jean continued staring, unaware Hank was behind her.

Aha. She was awake. Apparently a million miles away, but awake. "Jean?" he said a little louder, slipping into the room. "I brought you coffee." Early morning coffee was something they'd shared often. It was a nice little bit of the old routine he could cling to, to try to make the world seem vaguely normal again.

This time she heard him, and turned, blinking. "Hank, hello. Thank you." She smiled faintly, still a little to out of it to manage much more.

"Are you all right?" He went over, offering her the slightly smaller mug, and taking a sip from his own.  "Did you get any sleep last night? I'm not sure I would have, under the circumstances."

She took the mug with a nod, then moved away from the window to settle down into an armchair. "Yes," she said, "I slept a little. Not the most restful nights I've had, but it was sleep." She took a sip of coffee, letting it warm her up.

"Good." He perched on the edge of the small couch, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently. It felt cool.... she must have been standing at that window for quite a while. "It must all feel very... the word I would use would have to be 'weird'," he offered, smiling at her. "Speaking as one who had his brain go all gooey and forgetty lately... and mine was only for a few weeks."

"Weird, I would say, is indeed the appropriate term," Jean agreed. "As a doctor I'd say it's even a technical term in this case."

Hank nodded. "So... how are you feeling, besides weird?" he said softly. "I, for one, am very glad to see you. I did actual cartwheels, even. Down in the gym, where nobody would see and think I was crazy, but I did them."

She smiled at that. "And I'm still very glad to see you, too," she said. "Other than weird... I don't know. It's an awful lot to take in all at once. I've barely made a dent in the medical files and I can already see how much I've missed in everybody's lives."

Hank nodded. "It must be hard," he said sympathetically. "The journals should help, though... there'll be a lot of reading, but it'll help you to catch up on everything."

Jean blinked, looking up from the coffee cup. "The journals?"

"The journal system... oh, of course. We were only just getting started when we lost you," Hank remembered. "You remember, we were setting up a public journal system for the students and teachers, and group journals as well for, say, general announcements and so on. To try to get everyone communicating."

She cast her mind back. This sounded familiar... "Yeees," she said slowly. "Vaguely. That..." a hand released the coffee cup to wav vaguely, "program thing you set up on the computer system? I kind of remember Kitty being all excited about it. It's still in use?"

"I think we have students who talk more on the journals than they do to real live people," Hank admitted, smiling. "And sometimes staff, too. It's certainly handy when I'm all holed up in the lab or something. I can see how everyone's doing right from my computer."

"I will have to check it out," Jean said, smiling at the image. She was not at all surprised to learn that there were times students or staff would hole up and talk to the computerized versions of a diary/bulliten board over real people. She understood them all too well for that. "I think I remember my account information."

"Good. And... well, I doubt you'll get through two year's worth of everything, but it'll give you an idea." He smiled, reaching out to give her hand a gentle squeeze. "We have a lot of new students, and reading their journals might help you to get to know them more quickly. Mine, I fear, has been mostly neglected." He remembered his last post and smiled suddenly. "You missed my birthday," he added, with mock reproach.

"Yes, that's a good idea," Jean agreed. It was also far less scary than trying to meet everyone right away. The birthday comment caught her attention. "I did... Oh blast, you're right." She grinned. "You're a greedy guts and probably won't accept my return as your present, so I'll find you something later."

He laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek lightly. "You make a lovely birthday present," he said fondly. "I missed you terribly."

"I think you are definitely winning on the number of 'missed yous'," she said, laughing slightly. "Not, mind you, that I'm keeping count."

"Well, I've always been good at communicating my feelings." He smiled. "You know me... If I stop talking, you know I'm ill."

"That or we've taped your mouth shut again," Jean agreed, grinning.

"That doesn't work so well now that I have the fur." Hank gave her a soulful look. "I look funny if I'm all bald around the mouth." This was... bizarrely normal. Almost as if she hadn't been gone long at all.

Of course, when Jean wasn't thinking about it she didn't feel as though she had been gone long at all, anyway. She hadn't changed at all - everything and everyone else had. "A good point," Jean said. "But, since I'm quite sure we've all grown out of such childish pranks I'm sure it won't come up."

Hank laughed out loud. "My dear, darling Jean, still ever the optimist." He toasted her with his coffee. "The day may, I concede, come when we, staff and students alike at this school, behave with maturity, decorum, and prankless dignity. And that day will come when pigs fly and sing in the voices of Jimi Hendrix and Avril Lavigne."

Jean laughed outright. "I admit, it was a vain hope, but hey, so much else has changed it was always possible. Not terribly probably, but possible."

"All things are possible." He grinned at her. "But no, not yet. Hope does spring eternal, though, no matter how much I try to make people give up on making me behave like a grownup."

"Hope does, indeed, spring eternal," Jean agreed, smiling. "But I promise I'll give up on making you be a grown-up. I like you far too much as you are."

"Good." Hank returned the smile. "I do not, however, promise to stop making you have fun. Even if I have to draw little animal faces on every pair of rubber gloves in the Medlab again."

"Oh, now, Hank, be fair. That was traumatizing. And can you imagine what the children would say?"

Hank snickered. "That they're not surprised, probably." He sobered. "And many of them aren't children. We have a few college students, now, and we'll have more very soon. And they tend to demand to be treated like adults... whether their behaviour warrants that treatment or not. It's not as easy as it used to be."

"As I recall, we made a number of similar demands, oh so many years ago," Jean said. "There's just more of them now. Many, many more."

"Yes, but when we did it, they featured being allowed to drive by ourselves." Hank smiled ruefully. "Not absolute freedom to do any stupid thing that popped into our heads in the name of personal freedom."

"Yes, a very good point," Jean admitted. She leaned back in her chair, sipping at the coffee again. "Back in the good old days when men were real men, women were real women, and children behaved themselves?" The question was only half in jest. After all, she wasn't sure what the kids had been up to that would get Hank to speak so, comparatively, harshly.

Hank laughed. "And when we thought sneaking out for a beer was wild and cool," he said ruefully. "Or two, in my case, given my relative size." He grinned. "I was a wild man."

"Were?" Jean snickered. "If you're suggesting that you've given up your wild ways I will laugh at you. Although, speaking of our assorted adventures, how is Harry's doing, these days?"

"Good business, with us around." Hank grinned. "And yes, were. I no longer get drunk on beer and attempt to moon passing vehicles. I don't even think I CAN get drunk on beer anymore, not without risking a ruptured bladder."

"One of the risks of a heightened metabolism," Jean agreed. "And I think I missed the mooning incident. That must have been on one of your Boys' Nights."

"They were being highly offensive. It was entirely justified." Hank grinned impishly. "And I do think I recall somebody getting a little bit less refined after managing a whole beer all by herself. I never suspected you even KNEW that kind of language." He paused. "I'm making us sound very old, now, aren't I?"

Jean blushed and grinned, remembering. "You are indeed," she said. "You should stop that at once. I am far to young at heart to be twenty-nine."

Hank blinked, and then reached over to pat her hand gently. "Thirty-one, now," he reminded her. "On the up side, you hopped over the whole 'Big Three Oh' landmark..."

"Thirt...?" she started, but cut herself off as her smile faded. "Ah. Right." She tried again for a real smile, although it didn't look or feel quite right. "That's a good point," she said. "Won't have to worry about..."

He put his coffee down, leaning over to pull her into a gentle hug. "Better to lose two years than to lose all of them," he said softly. "And it's not as if you lost them, exactly."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know. I have memories from my time in Canada but... they almost feel like they happened to somebody else. I wasn't Jean; it wasn't real."

He rubbed her back gently. "I've always wondered... if I wasn't me, if I didn't know who I was... who would I be?" he mused softly. "It seems that now you know the answer to that question."

Jean half laughed, although there wasn't much humor behind it. "Only you, my dear Hank, would ever have made an thought problem out of the matter."

"I think a lot. It's a failing." He smiled, kissing the top of her head gently. "But at least you know now that you don't have a serial killer or career criminal lurking in the depths of your mind. Always useful to know."

"No, just a scared and lonely girl with no control over her life. Which, it turns out, was not even her life at all." It didn't sound as though Jean had even realized she was saying it out loud. At that, it didn't sound particularly like something Jean would say at all.

Hank hugged her gently. "We're social animals. Being alone is scary." He smoothed her sleep-tousled hair. "But you weren't out robbing any banks, were you? Dealing crack on street corners? Selling forged Lost Plays by Shakespeare?"

She chuckled. "No, none of that. Mainly waiting tables."

"See? An honest woman with no harm in her heart." He rocked her a little. "I admit, there can be better circumstances, but coming face to face with a might have been or two isn't all bad."

"Yeah, you have a point," she admitted. "Thank you. You always talk sense, Hank. I mean, when you're not spouting off about your latest subatomic particle or hyped on sugar, of course. All the rest of the time, though, you're very sensible."

"I practice when I'm alone. I watch cheesy tv-shows and attempt to reason with the characters." Hank smiled. "And I am a genius, after all. Even if I'm the kind of genius who has to be kept away from pixy-sticks for the safety of himself and others."

"Sure, that's what it is." Jean matched his smile before finishing off her coffee. "And by now you're probably running late for..." She waved her hand, indicating whatever it was that there might before Hank to be running late for. "Thank you for the coffee, though. And for... Oh, well, for everything."

"I'm shamefully late for my second cup of coffee," Hank agreed, finishing up the now cool first one. "And you're welcome, my dear. Anytime. Good sense and hugs available upon request, twenty-four hours a day." He looked at the small suitcase on the floor. "And I'm sure you remember where the Box Mountain containing more Xavier School sweats and t-shirts than any army could need is."

Jean collected on one of the on-request hugs. "That would be appreciated," she said, plucking at the pale yellow shirt she was wearing. "Whatever else I may be when I don't remember who I am, a fashionista is, apparently, not one of them." And it would be... reassuring to have an Xavier's School sweater to curl up in. They were very much a 'home' thing.

"If you like, I'll bring some up for you." Hank grinned, and sneakily tickled her side as he let go the hug. "A couple of sweaters four sizes too large, I presume?"

Laughing, Jean squirmed away from his fingers. "Yes, please. You do know me very well."

Hank laughed too. "That's what dear old friends are for, oh lovely collection to the redheaded medlab-harem. Knowing what we like and where our embarrassing photographs are hidden."

Jean stuck her tongue out in a most undignified manner. "Unfair," she said. "By now you've probably moved yours. I shall have to discover them all over again. Hmph. Go on, get. You certainly will need more coffee than just this to keep up with the kids all day."

"I'm going, I'm going." Hank made it out of the door, and then grinned, peeking back in. "If you want to borrow from my extensive collection of haircare products, feel free."

"I'm stealing your shampoo," she told him. "And you won't get it back unless there's a sweater in here before I finish my shower."