...Just Shut Up!

February 16, 2015:

Scott and Jean's friendship has become so complicated, Scott finally mans up and kisses her.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

In many ways, Jean shared almost the same values as Scott. There was a time to teach, a time to listen, a time to be a hero, and a time to train. She spent most of the night doing just that. Her arms were bandaged still, often times needing an immediate change. She was going to sport some pretty gnarly scars but as she tells the ones who skin their knee? It'll just build character.

She's even tanned just enough to look as if she spent time in Cabo. Lingering under the sun with a few cocktails in a bikini, stretched out on a lawn chair in an epic vacation..

Stupid Negative Zone!

Either way, she was there, the backdrop scene an all too familiar dojo, an array of weapons lining the wall yet she takes to a punching bag filled with sand to her fists. There was no power involved really, just sheer will and determination to work off the heat that currently warps her bodies temperature.

It wouldn't take much hesitation for Scott to respond to Jean's request. Freshly showered, he walks into the Danger Room wearing a pair of sweatpants emblazoned with the X-Men insignia, along with a muscle shirt sporting the Nebraska Corn Huskers emblem. His hair is still damp from bathing, but more notable than anything is the fact that he is not wearing his ruby quartz glasses.

Brown eyes look around, enjoying the familiar parameters with his own two eyes, not tinted red. For that moment, his lips part, and an expression of wonder lingers, until a soft sigh of gratitude is let loose. "Wow," he nearly whispers. "I've never seen it this way."

*BLAM BLAM THUD CRACK!*

Scott turns toward the punching bag, his smile fading in lieu of concern. He kicks off his shoes before entering the dojo proper, and comes padding around toward Jean. "Hey."

It could be the only time that Jean wasn't paying attention; punching away at the bag, adding in kicks here and there, ducking and dodging, going through the motions of the exercise just cause. It wasn't until the soft voice rings in her ears, and the announcement that he was here that draws her to press herself against the bag to bring it to a still.

"Hey.." She murmurs, a little smile drawn upon her face, her hands lifting to wipe the sweat from her face, her chest heaving with exertion that could only come from a rigorous workout plan. "Sorry. I wanted to wait for you but I got a little bored. Spot me?"

"Yeah, well." Scott walks around to the other side of the punching bag, ready to spot Jean. "I got held up by a dimensionally displaced young man who was born in a test tube using our stolen DNA."

Looks like Scott had that little chat with Nate Grey.

"He did show me something," adds Scott. "The spiral of Earths. Kind of like a double helix, but with… a bunch of little blue planet Earths. Says it's how he jumps from dimension to dimension. I dunno, Jean. That's the kind of thing Hank and Charles are good at. Hurts my…"

He pauses when he actually looks at the woman he's spotting. When he sees the differences between her red hair, fair skin, and the green of her eyes. Not… the constant ruby tinting that he's used to.

"…hurts my head."

Jean gets back into position, her fingers flexing as she brings fists up towards her eye, reading to hone in upon the back yet she stops. "I.. I wanted to say something.." But she continues not to. Instead, she begins to wail upon the bag, her eyes glancing towards Scott every now and then, trying to keep herself from staring into his eyes for so long. She had eidetic memory; she would be able to keep the vision with him until the day she passes on.. however soon that would come to be.

"I." *THWAP* "Know." *THWAP*. Those were the only two punches she was willing to throw, for she takes a step back now, her hand lifting to pinch at the bridge of her nose, eyes shutting slightly just to take a breather and come to grips of what she wanted to say.

"Scott..just.. just listen to me. Okay? I don't know what I'm going to say or how I'm going to say it. Or how I wanted to work it out in my head but.." Her fingers splay in front of her face, shaking briefly. A gesture to shake her own throughts free from the tangled, woven web. "Just.. shut up for a minute."

Scott braces for the impact, surprise visible in his face. The man is typically difficult for most to read, telepaths notwithstanding, given the fact that the most critical tools of expression are always concealed. With the glasses gone it seems, in fact, that he's quite expressive. His eyes rise and go screwy, suggesting a mixture of concern, fear, and humor all tangled up together.

Humor and fear, though, they fade. As soon as it becomes clear that Jean is having such a difficult time speaking. "I —" he starts, then shoots his eyelids up when she tells him to shut up.

"… o… kay…?"

Upspeak. Terrible.

She moves away from the punching bag to favor her towel that she left near by, wiping away at her face and her neck, turning sideways away from him so that she couldn't see the expressions that she reads. "I.. with everything that I've found out since I've returned, it's.. making me think how certain things are possible and could be possible. /Would/ be possible." It was then that she glances towards him, then away yet again.

"Like how things /could/ be, how things should be. And I let that rule everything that I felt and.. it's just wrong because none of that. None of this is set in stone." The towel slung upon her shoulder, fingers pressed to lips as she stares off into the wooden floor of the dojo, the words still a struggle to find meaning. "To us and them, everything is different. So different that there still could be a change. I .. didn't really realize that until we went to the Negative Zone."

Scott shakes his head, interjecting, "Don't be silly, Jean. Of course, anything is possible."

He immediately goes quiet then, not wanting to interrupt her. He's so good at controlling the conversations that he sometimes forgets to stop and listen. So, that is white he does.

He stops, he listens.

Arms may be folded, but the stance doesn't match the long expression on his face, in his eyes. It's all a great deal to swallow, and then, in a weird way, there is nothing to swallow. He doesn't say another word, though, not yet. She hasn't asked him any questions. He stopped, he's listening, and frankly, right now that's all he finds that he can do.

She snaps her fingers and points to him, not out of ire, but he had the right idea. Anything was possible. She could count on him to point out the obvious to her, always has. "Right. Anything is possible."

"Like Nathaniel. Like Rachel. And for a while I thought that because of knowing about them and knowing just one of them, caused what I felt and.." She lets out a slight groan, turning to move just a little closer to the back so that her shoulder touches it, using her gift to keep it upright as she comfortably leans against it.

"It really wasn't them, Scott. Not at all. I just realized that always, I'm willing to go the extra mile and even die for.. you.." Her cheeks redden just a little, her face scrunching and her head shakes briefly as she backtracks. "I realized that.. it wasn't knowing them. Persay. It was.. something was always there, deep inside. For me."

She stands upright, unable to keep still, yet keeping a shoulder pressed so that she could roll her stance to face him. And his brown eyes. "Do you understand what I'm getting at? I don't…"

He was willing to die for her, too. Had it not been for Ben Grimm, Scott very well may have remained in the Negative Zone, spreading their atoms across the landscape whenever she finally went nuclear. When she told him to go, denial was in his soul. He listens, but only to a point; there have been so many things on his mind, Jean chief among them. Calvin once told him to tell her now he felt; instead, he went and had a fling with Betsy. Now, Nate is telling him the same, and the guy barely knows Scott.

Its the colors, the actual colors, the freedom of not being tied down to lenses of compressed, ruby quartz powder. If he's ever going to tell her how he feels, he doesn't want to look back and regret that he missed the opportunity to do it now, in full Technicolor splendor.

Scott's chest heaves one last time. Then, he rounds the punching bag and faces Jean, purposefully taking her cheeks in his hands. He only gives her a moment to look in his eyes, to say 'no', before he kisses her.

She wasn't scanning Scott, picking up on his emotions, or anything else that would give him away for what he was to do next. She was locked up tight, trapped in her own thoughts, figuring out the words to say that she actually cared about him more than just she would a leader, teammate, friend..

Who knew, that being and feeling like this was hard. That all of this time she spent dying for a cause, she didn't think to live for the one just right in front of her?

Once he takes her cheeks in his hands, he could possibly still feel the burn from last night. It wasn't as strong, didn't threaten to split her skin apart or tear him asunder. She just burned hot, feverish, and a touch too long could sting. But not in that way.

But there it was, the kiss that electrified the senses, which was hestantly returned and soon delved upon. Her own hands reach up just enough to grip at his sides, fingers curling into the beater just enough to tickle the ribcage. There wouldn't be a no in this instance, for eyes were closed as soon as he crossed the distance.

Afterwards, Scott opens his eyes, trying to find hers. "Jean, Christ, you're still hot to the touch." He's worried about her, always worried about her, even though Charles would chide him for it. Let her go, he would say. You can't save everybody, he would remind. But when it comes to Jean Grey, he disagrees.

Concern goes to the wayside when he finds her eyes and actually looks into them. Not shielded, not telepathically, just good old fashioned, eye to organic-eye contact. Tension drains from his frame, and he even goes so far as to sigh, before dropping his hands to hold her shoulders. "They're… amazing, Jean."

She finally breathes it out, leaning her head against the beanbag, her eyes still closed for just a moment to let /that/ sink in. Once she opens her eyes, she looks down towards her bandaged arms, her head slowly nodding. "It was even worse when we returned home. I slept in the shower with the water running cold." And yet, she put on that all too reassuring smile, still clutching onto his shirt to retain that closeness.

As they share the gaze one puts upon the other, her own eyes soon turn questioning. Her head tilts just a little, her fingers drawing away from his side to lightly touch just beneath his. "Your eyes? They're bedroomish. Dreamy. I've always wanted to see them this way." Part of her is glad she did, but wishes it was sometime sooner. Maybe then she would have had the courage to do so.. because she could read him now, no gift intended.

Theres no telling how long it will last, either her ailment or the opposite of his. Either way, Scott is going to remain thankful for what they have today. "Let's not talk about how long we have," he answers. "Instead let's just…" Let's just what? Scott himself isn't even sure. His fingers touch the edge of the bandaged area, though he's sensitive not to push or touch where there might be pain. Instead, he pulls her into an embrace, putting her weight against his frame rather than letting it rest against that punching bag, and holds her. For as long as he can.

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