Parenting is a Bitch

March 16, 2015:

Following Rachel's confession, Scott and Jean discuss the difficulties of being foster parents by way of reality/time-travel. Fortunately, it's not all brooding and angst.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

As soon as Calvin and Rachel have left, Scott turns away and walks back over to the console. The satellite image is drawn up once more, and with a heavy motion, he lowers himself into the chair. For a few moments, he simply stares at the image, before reaching up to detach the hood from his visor so that he might drop it and run gloved hands through his hair.

Jean watches, and waits at least until the door was closed before she settles a gaze upon Scott. Watching as he turns on the screen, and turning so that she could watch the satellite image as well. "It's.. a little beautiful, I have to admit." Her best attempted at making light of the situation, allowing him his space and moment before she joins him in sitting.

Though, her perch wasn't another chair, it was his leg.

"I wanted to scream at her, to yell at her. To dive deep into her mind to pry the thoughts and entire mission out of her head." She admits, a frown deepening. "Is this what it's going to be like.. for us? In the future?"

A little scoff is given at first. Therein lies one of the differences between Scott and Jean; all he can see is death and destruction.

When she finds a perch upon his leg, however, it helps. After all, it wasn't long ago that so many years of pent up emotion came out in the form of a kiss. The man wraps his arm around her waist, leaning in a bit.

"The world she comes from is very different. It's a battle of life or death. She showed me. Programmed a sim to recreate her X-Men's final moments before she was sent back in time.

Still. Scott looks up at Jean, frowning. "But you and I could have taken the project apart on our own, and you know it. Nobody needed to die."

She gently twists within his lap, one arm curling around his shoulder, his lean help providing her with that leverage as she curls her legs atop of his. "I believe you." She states faithfully, a slight frown drawn upon her features. "Yes. We could have taken the project apart. Together or alone, yes. The thing that angers me the most is that she dragged others into it without thought of telling us her intentions. No trust. That the burden was hers to carry and keep."

She shrugs her shoulders faintly. "And from a leadership standpoint, underminded your authority. As if to say, in the end, nothing else matters but what /she/ thinks is right. Not the grand design." She glances back towards the screen, her own hand lifting to rub at the back of her neck. "And yet, here I am ready to confess to you as well, I am a hypocrite. I may break your heart when I've only just received it."

There were many things to be angry about. Rachel's actions were a betrayal of trust, most of all. However, anything Scott may have said gets caught in the clutch. While Jean's nearness was comforting, her last words have him stiffening. Just a bit. Looking up at her, Scott asks, "How would you break my heart?"

Scott Summers: always putting Jean Grey upon a pedestal.

The question he poses actually causes her to think. Should she backtrack? Tell a little joke? There were so many ways for her to turn this discussion, one to light-hearted banter by saying to drank his last batch of coffee, to damaging one of his favorite scenarios in the danger room. But truth, she couldn't lie to Scott, and she wasn't going to attempt it now.

"I contacted Magneto for help in searching for the missing children. We have their location and the man responsible. And I'm going with him to get them back." There was a wince as she said those words, a rapid beat of her heart, but she holds true on his lap, the clutch tightening just a touch.

For a moment, it would seem as if the confession barely mattered. Compared to such death and destruction, how bad could it be? Magneto was a threat, to be sure, but he was once a dear friend to Charles Xavier. In fact, the two may very well consider themselves friends.

Well. Frienemies.

Scott frowns, adopting a long silence. "That… is… well, it's dangerous, Jean. But…" He shakes his head. "You have that kind of authority. You're a senior team member. We don't know how long Rachel was with the X-Men in her time; we don't know what protocols were in place, but I can almost promise you they aren't - uh, weren't - the same."

The news doesn't sit well with him, no; but in light of what is displayed upon that monitor, frankly, it pales in comparison.

The long silence unnerved her into looking down, her lips pressing into a thin line until he speaks. Her green eyes cut to the shade of red, her head tilting enough that the dance of red curls tickle her thighs. "I know I /have/ that kind of authority. But it's about the risk. No one really knows what Magneto has planned, and I have suspected that I could be walking into a trap. But I'm not going alone, Calvin will be there."

She draws in a deep breath, the conversation soon turned to Rachel yet again, her expression pained. "Should we have punished her for what she had done? And those that went with her? That is what troubles me the most about all of this."

Open mouth, close mouth. There is a brief moment where the curls are enough to distract Scott from the greater picture. However, he stays put and listens, even though one finger runs up and down her spine in an affectionate way.

"I don't know," he answers truthfully, echoing one of Jean's telepathic thoughts from earlier. "In the military, the entire platoon would be punished until those who were involved step up. There's… value to that. In more ways than one." He shakes his head. "I need time to think, though. This isn't the marine corps."

A hand strays up to play with Jean's hair. Beneath the visor, he squints; an odd expression somewhere between a smile and a frown shows up on his face. "Either she got her string of rash behavior from you, or I haven't done enough to earn everyone's trust. Either way, it won't just be Calvin at your side. I'm going, too."

Should she protest, Jean will find a finger coming up to press against her lips.

There was a sort of inner resolve about Jean that causes her not to flit nor press a giggle forth from his finger, but a half smile was given, and a slight shift of position that eases the tension within her muscles. "I'm well aware of that. And I don't want to beat a horse to death.. but.." Someone could have been killed. Though what type of punishment could they give? Grounding them from missions? The teams that they have are always up to ruckus, saving or otherwise.

But now comes the time to protest, one brow raised as she finally straightens her back enough. It was time to play the blame game. "Oh no no no. Don't you put that one on me! You /pretend/ to know what you're doing a lot but Scott. I know you." She teases him a little, both hands drawing out to press and pinch at his sides, a slight hitch in that brief bit of laughter draws down into a stare. "But.."

Then there's the finger pressed to her lips, which was kissed in return. How could she say no?

She leans away from his finger now, so her words could continue, untapped. "We're not going as X-Men."

It takes a lot not to jerk, laugh, or throw her off his lap and tackle her to the floor. Yes, Scott is very ticklish, but he fights it back, a little snort and a smirk following that jerk.

"Of course not," he answers, drawing the finger away. "Already got my incognito uniform ready. No X." Then, he smirks. "Someone's got to make sure you and Cal don't join the Brotherhood of 'Evil' Mutants."

Was that mockery? Maybe a little.

An eyebrow arches. "Now what's this about me 'pretending' to know a lot?" A quick motion and he's returning the damn favor, digging fingers into her side like a fucking overgrown teenager.

Jean grins, her little confession went better than expected. The rocking of his body causes her to grasp his shoulders to hold on tight, then with a quick release, her hands sink into her hair to fluff the curls out of her face. "Just wear jeans and a t-shirt, man. It's not all that serious." Okay, it was. But she loved to mess with him. "But I think that you're only going to make sure thatI don't die again. Which you know, is bound to happen. It did twice. Nearly a third time, perhaps this one would be the charm and I'll eventually quit.. if I manage to come back."

Insert brow waggle here.

She does give a little smirk, her eyes rolling, head shaking.. shoulders lifting into a slight shrug. Anything could happen in Santa Pisca. Scott himself may turn into a drug overlord.. wait..

"Well.." She was ready to answer, to fire off many instances where Scott turned up utterly clueless, until she was tickled, a sharp scream drawing from her lips as she tries to capture his hands, laughter immediately upon her lips as the wild motions of the tickle-attack causes her to nearly flail back and out of his lap.

Jeans and a t-shirt? "Is this a date or a mission?"

The remark about dying again draws a disapproving look. "Won't be a third time," he argues.

Unless of course someone cracks their head on a polished floor. "Whooah!" he calls out, before the two of them go tumbling to the floor in a heap of red hair, forced masculinity and spandex.

Three times, four. Probably five. Jean's the type that keeps on kicking, or.. some otherworldly cosmic force lets her keep ticking. No, forces her to keep ticking whether she likes it or not. But that was a story for another day..

For once they fall, the stump of the chair falls prey to a loud *CRACK*, hair goes one way.. man goes the other, chair to the side and a tangled mess of limb, spandex, hair and.. oh.. visor!

"Holy crap!" She blurts out, immediately tangling herself from the mess of person, her hand immediately pointing towards the chair as a hand lifts to smack against her mouth. They were truly back into their high school years now; her eyes widening as she glances towards Scott, and the door, and back to the chair.

"Hank's going to kill us! You did it! I didn't do it!"

After checking to make sure his visor is in place, Scott finds himself laughing. Not something one often gets to see! "What? No!" He tries to untangle himself, but it's a bit rough, and ouch. Yeah, he hit his hip. That's gonna bruise. "No way! Don't try some mind trick on me!" He vaults over, trying to pin Jean down. "Can't you just… I dunno, TK it back together!?"

It was a joyous sound to hear him laugh, one that she hasn't heard ever since this whole Centurion business had started. "Yes! Yes you did it!" She squeals out, scrambling a bit of ways away from him upon her hands and knees until she's captured and pinned down to the floor.

Her hand strikes out and digs upon the surface, trying to pull herself and /him/ towards the door. They looked rather silly, but they were having much needed fun. "I'm not mind tricking you!" But.. that was a good idea. "Wait.. wait.. Scott.." She stops trying to crawl. "I'll hold it together, and you weld it back on.. deal?" Then a pause. "Then I'm going to tell on you."

You know, they really ought to come up with a better fabric for these damn uniforms. Spandex is slippery! "Oof!" Scott loses her and falls to his own hands and knees, laughing some more.

"Deal!" he answers. "No, wait!" A rueful smirk forms. "Blame it on Remy."

Scrambling to his feet, Scott grabs the pieces of chair and positions them, then waits for Jean to get her shit together and hold the pieces in place.

"Come on, shuger." Is he… is he impersonating Rogue? Terribly, but yes. "Southern Belle ain't got all day."

"He totally did it!" Perfect person to blame it on. Shit just rolls of Remy like water.

Since she had gotten away, she turns and rolls upon her bottom, sitting upright to watch and wait until Scott has the chair in place, in which that all too familiar Xavier gesture is pressed, two fingers to her temple, her eyes narrowing in upon the point of crackage which is soon held together by an invisible force to keep it steady.

"Wee wee, mon'cherie!" Jean.. tries at least, to impersonate Remy. But, that possibly was the worst impersonation that anyone could have ever come up with. "Pepe le'pew zee chur!"
…It's a wonder that they've managed to remember to breathe all their lives..

A thing happens then that defines the pregnant pause, wherein Scott just stares at Jean.

"That was bad. Even by my standards."

The visor is brought online. Scott positions himself at an angle that will keep Jean safe, should he miss. He won't, but the Boy Scout mentality is hard to break. The setting is dialed down… down… down to a fine beam, before he aims carefully and fires.

The aim is spot on, but with all of the laughing, Scott has forgotten that his optic blasts operate on percussive force rather than heat energy. And so, the chair only manages to splinter into about seven different pieces, some of them held in telepathic grasp, others flying to strike the wall.

"……. shit."

Jean was holding it down. The chair, that was.. until he remarks on her impersonation. "What? It wasn't bad! That was the best god da.." She stops talking, focusing upon holding the chair upright, her lips pressed hard together as her face slowly begins to creep the color red. If anyone were to guess? They would think that she was holding her breath.. but no.. she was holding a laugh.

Until the chair was blasted to bits and an arm rest was left in it's place.. held up.. and slowly dropped to the ground.

She gasped.. the silence rocking the room, her eyes wide as she looks towards the splintered chair and then towards Scott, her hands lowering to press to the floor so that she could bring herself to a stand. She slowly moved to stand towards Scott, surveying the damage.

"Way.. to.. go. Jack ass. You're toast!" And then a hand lifts to smack him hard upon the back of his shoulder. With a tiny touch of TK to boot.

Scott rises slowly, scratching the back of his head. "Hmm."

Visor accident? Sure. That works.

"We can just - Oof!" He staggers forward a bit, before whirling around and grabbing Jean by the shoulders. "Now you're toast." Grinning, he walks her backward toward the door. He knows the quickest way to the crew quarters. Let someone else solve the mystery of the self-obliterating chair!

Jean breaks out into a laugh, her aim was really to knock him over but.. she knew better that it wouldn't work. That would take a few hours in the Danger Room after a good old fashioned spar that /almost/ looked as if they were enemies. Those were insane. But this? All fun.

She even starts to point, but she was caught within his grasp, her hands soon rising up to show that she gives up, a grin marking her features as she's marched backwards and out the door. "We'll see about that.." She remarks in kind, only stopping to reach over to flick the lights..

..off.

From the hallway beyond comes a voice.

"I am not a jack ass!"

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