Not that kind of Hummer!
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<> Vehicle Storage - LvB2
A utilitarian and echoing room, looking much like the sort of underground parking garage found beneath any garden variety small condominium complex. If, of course, any set of condo-owners ever had a fleet like this to play with, and a hidden tunnel series leading from a circled-X egress hatch in the far wall... Gone are the tame school SUVs and the classic lines of the Professor's Rolls Royce that you'll find in the above-ground garage. This place is the domain of the gearheads. Sleek sportscars and speedy motorcycles abound, what looks like a military-grade Humvee lurks in one corner, all showing signs of modifications and tweaks, some to the point where the identity of the original model is indistinguishable. The automotive equipment arranged in one section is almost painfully organized, reeking of Scott Summers as gearhead-in-chief.
[Exits : [E]gress [T]unnel, and [H]allway ]
Scott is currently hidden underneath the hood of the Humvee. Music comes from a boom box nearby and Scott bobs his head to the music. Thinking that he is alone, he can unwind just a little. This Magneto situation had him concerned, but he firmly believed that Xavier knew what he was doing. It was just like he told Alex not too long ago. Even if he did have a problem with it, there was nothing he could do. Afterall, it was Xavier's house, he could have anyone he wanted in here.
And fortunately, there is no longer a Magneto in the house. The psionic clouds of restrained crankiness that had been colouring the mansion's mindscape from Jean's direction for the past few days have lifted, and Jean herself is just returning from a drive through the countryside. The rumble of an engine amplified by tunnel walls sounds a minute or so ahead of the appearance of a little Aston Martin roadster, a redhead at the wheel and her windows down. U2 from her speakers joins the sounds of the boom box.
Scott hears the roar of Jean's car, and pokes his head out from underneath the hood of the Humvee. Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he inadvertantly leaves a black smudge where his was. He reaches over and turns off his boom box, and waits for Jean to get out of her car. His expression remains a blank, unsure of how he should feel with her around. He shakes his head to himself slightly before greeting her. "Jean. Hi.."
Jean seems to have no hesitations of the sort, flashing Scott a grin before squeaking the car into the parking space next to the Humvee and cutting the engine. The door opens, and long legs first stretch and then climb out, followd by the rest of her in short order. Further stretching coaxes pops and crackles from her spine, and a sigh of pleasure at easing tension. "Hey Scott," she replies, the grin flashing out again as she catches sight of the grease smudge. "Making sure dear old Dr. Lensherr didn't mess with -this- Humvee while he was leaving?"
Scott smiles faintly. "I was just changing the oil, actually." He puts his wrench back into it's place and wipes his hands with a rag. "As far as Lensherr is concerend, good riddance." He leans against the front of the Humvee, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Where were you coming from? If you don't mind me asking." On the outside, he was the same cool, level-headed Scott that everyone knows and loves..well tolerates. Inside though, his emotions were a jumble. Jean held a power over him that no other woman will ever have. And we're not talking about telepathy here.
"I really need to have a talk with Charles," Jean agrees, lips thinned and expression wry. "I know we can't exactly go turning away people who are missing forty years of their life, but we've gotten a bit -too- welcoming of random terrorists walking in." Charles, for Jean. 'The Professor' for Scott. Comfort levels are interesting things. But Jean doesn't get into it beyond that, eyes flicking briefly to Scott and looking briefly guilty as she picks up on the inner turmoil, before she decides to stick to surface impressions and turns her mind away. All the better to take a seat on the bumper of the Humvee and peer at Scott curiously. "How are you finding having your brother here?"
Scott hmms. "Alex is a handful. He's undiciplined, he never listens, and he always challenges my authority." Scott tried to look stern as he spoke, but a smile crept onto his face. "It's great. Being that school is out, I've had a lot of time on my hands, and I've been trying to spend a lot of it with Alex. Of course, I told him that if I caught him in the danger room again with some sort of supervision, I was going to skin him alive. I hope he listens."
"If not, the medbay is always open," Jean assures, firmly deadpan. She blinks once, waits a beat for effect, and then gives Scott a grin and a light laugh, more than a little relieved. "I'm glad you're enjoying seeing him again. He's so different from you, I was wondering how you'd take to each other, after this long apart."
Scott nods. "I know. We have to get to know each other again. And we're both making the effort. In fact, he wants to introduce me to his new girlfriend." A brow raises over the sunglasses. "Which, of course, worries me slightly. Since he's been here I've noticed him hanging around several students. I just hope he doesn't get hurt, you know?" In short, his brother was a skirt chaser of the highest caliber. A trait that Scott didn't like, but Alex was still young and he was sure that he'd calm down eventually.
"Well, if he does, he'll learn from it," Jean, attractive enough to catch the attention of many a skirt-chaser, seems rather calm about the possibility. "And if he hurts any of -them-, well, he'll have a pack of women with mutant powers chasing him across the lawn at high speed. The kid'll be all right," she predicts, looking up at Scott again and finally noticing the oil smudge as more than just a subconscious observation. She mimes a swipe at her own forehead to try and draw his attention to it.
Scott's brow furrows at her movements, then he catches the meaning and wipes his forehead with the rag, removing the oil smudge. "Thanks." He regards her for a moment before speaking. "So. How are you doing?" The expression on his face indicates this is more than just a casual question.
Jean's answer is short, but with a weight of wry amusement packed into it. "Busy," says Jean, running a hand through her hair after first checking it for oil spots. "Logan locked me out on the patio the other day, to get me to take a break for lunch. Smirked at me through the door the entire time, no less."
Scott crosses his arms over his chest. His jaw clenches slightly, but that's the only sign of his irritation at hear Logan's name. "Really. That sounds like something he would do. But he is right, though. You need a break. Maybe a vacation now that things have quieted down a little?"
"'Quieted down' will be when X-ID and MRA are buried in an unconsecrated grave," Jean replies, jaw set either at the spectre of mutant registration in front of her, or at Scott's inevitable reaction to Logan. "But... Storm was talking about vacations too. I think I'll have to take one eventually."
Scott says, "Jean, you know as well as I do that could take years. And you're already showing signs of stress as it is. I think Storm is right. Perhaps we all should take a break." He begins re-arranging his tools as he talks. Everything in it's place, you know. "I know I could use one." He murmurs under his breath.
"Scott," says Jean, in the gently firm tone that states she appreciates the concern, but will, as always, go her own way, "I didn't specialize in general surgery because I'm afraid of stress. I'll be fine. And I don't think it'll take years at this point," she assures, switching to something brisk and giving a quick bob of her chin. "X-ID is the most blatent and direct contravention of constitutional freedoms we've seen. It's the straw that'll break the MRA camel's back."
Scott says, "You're preaching to the converted here. We just have to ride this thing out and see where it goes. You know I'm all for normal constitutional rights for mutants. We're all tired of hiding at this point." His head lowers slightly. "I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I even sometimes wonder if it's worth it."
"Not that weird," Jean assures, her own expression gone pensive for a moment. "Being outed... you learn to live with it."
Scott shrugs but doesn't comment. He turns and closes the hood of the Humvee, then turns around to look at Jean. "Well, I'm sure you have things you need to be doing." He looks down at himself. Dirty white t-shirt, faded blue jeans. He smiles faintly. "And I need a shower." He moves towards the exit, but pauses. He turns around to face her. "Jean. You want to have dinner sometime? It's been a very long time since we just, as Alex would say, hung out."
"Friday night," is Jean's answer, immediate on the heels of the question, for all she's let him move away in silence. "Harry's Bar."
Scott smiles. "Alright. Friday night. Harry's bar. I'll be there." Inclining his head to her slightly, he then moves on towards the hallway.
Scott is changing oil. Jean arrives. Scott is stoic on the outside, with a gooey conflicted center. They talk. Scott asks Jean if he could maybe see her some time. Jean plans to take him out and get him drunk. It'll be good for him. Really.