(no subject)
A lazy Sunday afternoon--a little too lazy, in fact, allowing Zenith too much time to think. On the realization that despite staring at the TV, she can remember none of the last half hour of the movie playing, she attracts her purse from across the room to her hand and digs out cellphone and much, much handled business card. She mutes the TV and bites her lip to overcome a brief hesitation before she dials the number.
It's three and a half rings before anyone picks up. Elaine has started early in the kitchen this afternoon, and John was absorbed in the Sunday edition of the New York Times -- but the cordless phone is near at hand from a recent chat, and he picks it up off the desk in the study to prop it against his ear. "Hello?"
"Hi? Mr. Grey?" Zenith spares the hand not holding the phone to knuckle her eyes. "It's Zenith--I mean Zoe. Are you busy?"
There is the crinkle of pages as the Times is folded and set aside. John leans back in his chair, phone balanced in the crook of his neck as he wipes his hands on his pants. "Good afternoon, Zoe," he answers, all avuncular warmth. "What's on your mind?"
A slight pause as Zenith stalls by making her eyes focus on the TV long enough to read the time and date on a promo for a show coming next week. "Well, I mean, I guess the obvious. Only I didn't know who to call other than my sister, and she's my /little/ sister. I hate to put too much on her, you know?" Zenith takes a deep breath. "Shit. That's a lie. I--used my powers again. In public. And I can't do--all this--again. I just can't."
John is quiet for a long moment, in which he removes his reading glasses carefully and sets them down to balance on the smooth wooden surface of his desk, and then rubs his eyes. "It's all right, Zoe," he says, soft and coaxing as he continues, "tell me what happened."
Deep breath. "I went to visit the guy. Which was stupid, Chris even warned me. But I just wanted--I don't know why I did it. I tried to go when no one was there, but his psycho sister trapped me and was beating me up, and I couldn't just stand there--" Zenith pauses to wrestle her voice under control. When she speaks again, she's back to forcibly calm inflections. "They were joking--God, I hope joking--her and Leah about /killing/ me. I just couldn't--"
"Of course you couldn't just stand there," John says, voice warm, calm, smoothing. "You had to act to defend yourself. Basic survival instinct."
Zenith lets out a long, ragged mixture of a breath and a laugh of relief. "It's not like I even knocked them out or anything, this time. I was scared as fuck--um, sorry--but I didn't hurt anyone this time." Another ragged laugh. "That progress, right?" She leans into her knees, head resting her in her free hand, and idly watches as her hair slips down with the new position.
John blinks owlishly at the profanity, but since she can't see him, he can pretend he's unfazed. "That's definitely progress, my dear. Don't knock it," he advises somberly.
"Thanks," Zenith says softly and then is silent for a few moments. "I keep expecting them to come after me. Them or someone else. Or the police to show up at my door--" Voice getting thin and high again. Zenith presses her lips closed against it, laces her fingers through her hair. "I mean, it's been a couple days. If they were going to have be arrested, they would have done it already, right?"
"From what you've told me, I don't imagine the sister in question would be inclined to report you to the police, as you were defending yourself from bodily harm," John points out, gentle and reasonable as he leans back in his office chair.
A good point. Zenith tone is momentarily more hopeful. "Yeah? Yeah. I guess you're right." Then it darkens again. "There weren't any other witnesses. She and the other chick could say I attacked first. Who'd believe me, especially after last time?" Nervous energy abruptly turns into pacing and Zenith pushes herself off the couch. "I hate this. They make out like I'm the bad guy, and she's the one that just f--reaking /attacked/ me, out of the blue!"
Quietly, John Grey asks, "Out of the blue?"
Zenith collapses a little in her manner, pacing trailing off, but stays standing. "Well. Not really. I mean, I did that to her brother. But you don't expect--you don't expect normal people to just up and punch you, you know? And I /tried/ to leave when she came in."
"I'm proud of you for not hurting her, Zoe," John says softly.
Now follows longest period of silence of the conversation so far while Zenith psyches herself up for the possibility of an answer she doesn't really want to hear. "Do /you/ think I deserved it?" she asks when she's gathered her courage. "I mean, Chris was right. I /hurt/ someone. I mean, either way, I couldn't make myself just take it, but--"
"An eye for an eye, my dear?" John asks, quiet amusement threading through soft, reassuring tones. "Of course I don't think you deserved it."
A benefit of the phone--moisture around the eyes is easily wiped away and ignored. "Thanks. I just--have no clue what to think anymore, you know? Anybody else it's all tied up in the genetics, not really the real issue." A brief thoughtful pause as one worry being laid to rest gives another more freedom. "Is this what it's like, forever? Being outed? Being afraid of getting beat up and shit? Like, for your daughter--?"
"Not forever, Zoe. No." John's glance slides to the haphazardly-folded newspaper on his desk and he sighs. "That's why she fights, you know. It's not just about mutant rights. It's about /understanding/. Getting the message across."
"But people are still people," Zenith points out. "Makes you wonder if it will ever work, you know?"
"Zoe. Are you a registered voter?" John asks kindly.
Zenith frowns in puzzlement over the slight non sequitor but answers anyway. "Yeah. I voted in the last presidental election along with everyone else." Vague understanding starts to dawn. "Not really that many mutants to make that much difference, though. I mean, when the blue states couldn't even manage to defeat Lowe."
"You're a registered voter with a uterus, Ms. McMillan," John says cheerfully. "It will work."
That provokes a laugh that's finally a little more relaxed. "We'd have to raise a /lot/ of mutant babies to get a majority, but ok." Her audible laughter has stopped, but her lips are still quirked. "Thanks for listening."
"I was talking about women's suffrage, but whatever floats your boat," John says solemnly, though good humor bleeds back through as he adds, "And that's what I'm here for, my dear. You need to talk, you call dear old Uncle John."
Zenith laughs at herself in chagrin for her misinterpretation. "Thanks. That means a lot." Zenith straightens, brushing back her hair, and belatedly remembers to try to step outside the Zenith-centered tone of the conversation at least briefly. "I hope you have a good evening."
"Should be fun," John answers agreeably. "Pot roast. Grad students."
Zenith nods absently in acknowledgement, forgetting the medium of communication for the moment. "Have fun, then. Bye," she finishes, and then disconnects to flop down on the couch and think the new ideas over.