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=XS= Library - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Light from bay windows gleams off glossy plastic dust jackets snugged over an assortment of old books, while volumes less delicate peek out from high oak bookshelves in a multicolored array of bindings and sizes. Stretching twelve feet high, ladders on rolling tracks are needed for access to the highest shelves, bearing the oldest books. On lower shelves, the bright colours of paperbacks catch the eye, along with binders of academic journals. A few marble busts compete with the potted plants scattered here and there to rid the room of any qualities of stagnation and Victorian must, Long wooden tables serve as group work spaces, or even teaching space in a pinch, but the majority of the furniture consists of comfortable armchairs and overstuffed sofas, with coffee tables in position for tired feet or coffee cups. The darkness of the wood panelling and the rich green carpeting is relieved further by a plethora of reading lamps, lighting the room where the tall windows leave off. Around a corner narrowed by two offices, doors lead out of the genteel history of the library and into the cool future of the main computer lab.
WHUMP. Three physics textbooks thump against a study table, and cause heads to jerk up all around the library. College books, from the looks of them, covers speaking of the late 80s for their publishing date, still jam-packed with bookmarks and footnotes and little pieces of paper with Jean's handwriting scribbled on them. "Let's see how much I remember," she greets.
Sunday. Short workday this morning, and with as much chaos as he found at the school, his workout there was rather short. Now, he's just passing time, and avoiding the trip back to his apartment. Which signifies the end of the weekend, and the return back to work in the morning. He's found a table in the library, browsing more than reading, and he looks up at Jean's approach. "Hey Jean. Whatcha up to?"
"Refreshing my memory," Jean replies, giving Wesley a grimly determined smile over the stack of physics books as she pulls reading glasses from where they've been clipped to the neck of her sweater, and balances them carefully on her nose. "I ended up losing at cards the other night, and as a result, I'm stuck teaching the physics review sessions for exams over the break."
"Oh, so /that's/ how you decide these things," Wesley says, sticking a finger to hold his place in his book. "Good luck with that. So glad I'm done with studying for stuff."
"Tantalizing secrets of the Xavier staff revealed," Jean agrees, with a mysterious twiddle of her fingers at Wesley and a crooked smile. "But you've got that FDNY exam coming up in January, don't you?" she questions a beat later, cracking open the first of the physics texts and shaking it so that old notes, written in a seventeen year old's handwriting, flutter out to land on the table. "I thought there was a written mixed in with the physicals?"
"Eh, don't remind me," Wesley sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Hoping to put on maybe three pounds more before then. Would look better on the application, then. And yeah, there's something written too, but I mean, how hard can that part be? Probably like those driver's license ones you could take in your sleep."
"You mean you haven't even -looked-?" Jean wonders, eyes widening. A "Wesley!" of intellectual outrage escapes, before she tempers her tone for the library, and for the dirty looks and grumbles coming from students once again interrupted. "I'm not a firefighter, but I'd -imagine- there's probably a little more to running into burning buildings and then running out of them again besides luck and muscles."
Wesley has the decency to at least look sheepish. "Um...I'd planned to, uh, /sometime/ before then," he offers, squinting at her.
"And just when are they again?" Jean's glasses are really an unfortunate prop. Peering down at Wesley from over the top of them with full professorly force, she raises her eyebrows and waits. Physics, it seems, can wait too.
"Um, January 20th," Wesley says, the date firmly etched in his mind. Well, this is an awkwardness he'd hoped to be long past by now. "So...still...weeks away. Got loads of time," he mumbles weakly.
The Eyebrow seems unconvinced, as does the rest of Jean. "Wesley..." she murmurs.
Wesley carefully studies a curious pencil drawing on the tabletop. Quite good, actually, though the artistry of it escapes Wesley at the moment. He lets out a long sigh, finally daring a look back up at her. "Sheesh. More books. Can't get away from them, hmm."
Jean doesn't look all that fearsome when examined head-on. More exasperated, really, as the stare dissolves into a sigh, a shake of her head, and two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "Learning is a lifelong process, kiddo," she informs him, with a nod down at her textbooks.
"Yeah, that's /not/ what I wanted to hear right now," Wesley says, accompanied by a weak chuckle. "Mebbe I'll make Jubilee quiz me on it. Least the test is multiple choice. Think I'd die if I had to write an essay."
"You'll live," Jean assures with an unsympathetic grin. She flips through some of the fallen bits of academia, pausing to trace her finger across a few bored-student doodles from her own youthful pen. "God -- hard to believe I was younger than you are now, when I was doing this stuff. But I had my boyfriend help -me- study," she does consent to share, a memory from that strange and misty time before she was Dr. Grey, "So if you two can manage that without, um, getting distracted, it's a good way to go."
There's a certain redness to Wesley's cheeks and ears having nothing to do with the temperature in the library. He peers across the table at her notes, trying to wrap his mind around a Jean still in high school. Unsuccessfully. "I once spent an entire one of Storm's history classes deciding how to sign my initials," he admits, nodding toward one of the scribbles. "Don't tell her I told you, though."
Freshman university year is the source of the current notes from the overachieving young Jean Grey, as witnessed by a few self-important scribbles of 'Jean Grey, B.Sc., Harvard' at the bottom of one page. She eyes them wryly, and admits that "I've spent a few classes like that too -- so your secret is safe with me. Make any progress?" The papers are whisked out of sight beneath others.
Wesley shrugs, his finger tracing out a pattern with the sidebars of the 'F' extending from the final stroke of the 'W.' "'W's a hard letter to do much with," he comments. "Though at least I never had to worry about sharing my name with classmates. One year, we had four John's. You doing anything special for Christmas?" Ah, the tangents the youthful mind spins.
"Probably the usual," Jean shrugs a shoulder. "Presents here, late lunch and more presents in Annandale with mum and dad and the other Greys, and then the big feast back here in the evening. Will we see you?"
"Fer part of the break, probably," Wesley nods, setting his book aside. Not all that interesting anyways. Least not as much as bugging Jean. "Though up at my parents for some of the time. Think Jubilee's coming with too. Be a lot of fun. Schedule at work won't be quite as crazy after Christmas, so might be around a bit more then. S'always kinda surprising thinking about your family down there. Your /other/ life and all."
Jean seems amenable to being bugged. She shuffles through a few papers, organizing lecture notes and old miderms alike with a few fond little pats here and there as old memories resurface through the motions. "General you or a specific one?" she wonders, with a sidelong smile. "I think the Greys are probably a little more integrated with the school than most of the families we've got -- there since the beginning."
"Eh, some of both, I guess. But yeah, s'always interesting to see how kids' parents react," Wesley nods. "Geez, I remember when I was so afraid to tell mine and everything. Then they went and surprised me with being pretty cool about it. Seems like a really long time ago."
"Ancient," Jean agrees, eyes twinkling over her reading glasses. "Eons. But I have to say, given how some parents react, it's always nice when we meet ones like yours. I'd say 90% or more come around in time, but the last thing teenagers want to hear is that their father will -eventually- stop referring to them as demon spawn."
"Yeah, I'm really glad mine weren't. Always feel bad for the kids who get that. Sucks so bad," Wesley says, before his mind spins back to the matter always in the back of his brain. Well, one of the matters, "Speaking of ancient, you know even if I /pass/ this time around, I probably have to wait two to four //years// before I'd get a job. I'd be.../twenty-four/. Man."
An eraser sits amidst the forest of papers and books on the table, luscious and pink and perfect, pristine rubber just waiting to be applied to errant pencil strokes. It's a very surprised little eraser that finds itself lifted by unseen hands and then pinged straight at Wesley. It would shriek in startlement... if it had a mouth. Pity the silent screams of the traumatized eraser.
Heartless Dr. Grey, old crone of thirty six that she is, merely mock-glowers at Wesley in the wake of the violence. "Oh -shush-, you," she advises. "I was twenty eight by the time I finished my residency."
Wesley isn't expecting that, and it bounces off his chest and onto the floor. "Hey!" he protests, leaning over to retrieve it from the floor. "Sorry, did't mean anything by it. You...don't seem that old, so I forget. Just hard to admit the parents were right when they said there was life after high school, s'all."
Jean looks smugly pleased, leaning back in her seat and tossing her hair once. "Forty's the new thirty, they say," she replies. "I guess I'll find out for myself if that's true, in four years. But it's funny how parents seem to be more and more right the older you get." she reflects, holding out a hand for the eraser once it's retrieved "Although I still maintain my mother's campaign for more grandchildren is foolish and ill-advised. She's got three."
Wesley deposits it in her open hand, then leans back in his chair again. "Funny. Well, not the word /I/ was thinking of, but whatever. And yeah, you've got your hands full with /one/. Can't imagine another. How's the little guy anyways? Think I always seem to be around when he's napping or something."
In answer, Jean's expression goes distant, proving that telepathic mothers not only have the traditional maternal eyes in the back of their head, they've got 'eyes' that can see through walls. "Well, right now he seems to be playing with Pickles," she murmurs, blinking once at dazzling overheard child-thoughts of a world full of colour and life, and playful barking dogs with fluffy tails. "He's excited for the holidays -- this is the first year he can really understand about them, I think."
"Cute," is Wesley's evaluation. "Man, sorry, no offense, but I'm /soooo/ glad my mom can't do that." A few recent images, mostly surrounding Jubilee, come floating to mind, and he stuffs them back down.
"Trust me, when he gets a bit older, I won't want to," Jean replies with a grin, before a crack about puberty raises darker thoughts, and the quip dies unsaid on lips suddenly thinned and flattened. She drops her eyes to her papers, and finally flips through to a set of exercises in the textbook before picking up a pad of lined paper.
"Uh...something I said?" << Or thought >> blares in Wesley's mind as well. The images weren't /that/ bad. As Jubilee would no doubt fully attest.
"Hmm?" Jean blinks once, patently baffled at this intrusion of the outside world. "What? Oh, no, Wesley. -No-, just something I thought. Mopey old woman," she self identifies with a tap to her breastbone and a quickly-retrieved smile. "Ignoring a perfectly good excuse not to do some work. How are you and Jubilee?" Subject change, what?
Wesley blushes again, though it's accompanied by a grin. Yes, that particular subject can easily distract Wesley. "We're good. Well, least /I/ think so. Hope she'd say the same. Kinda hard to figure her out sometimes, but that's nothing new."
"If it helps, I'm sure she finds you equally baffling," Jean replies, smile still small and a little practised rather than spontaneous, but on its way back to normal. "I -know- Rogue is about just what Bobby wants."
"Yeah," Wesley admits. "Though for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I'm not all that complicated or anything." His mind drifts back to his roommate. "Yeah, they got it rough, on all kinds of fronts. Keep trying to get him to introduce her to his folks. He's kinda avoiding answering me."
"The Drakes... can be a bit impressive of a family. I think Bobby's scared of his mother's opinions," Jean murmurs, tone quiet and considering as she sketches out a sine curve and then taps it with the tip of her pencil. "And it's not like I can't see that. WASP matriarchs are terrifying."
"She's a piece of work, alright," Wesley rolls his eyes, his limited encounters and Bobby's tales coming to mind. "Hard to believe he turned out as easy going as he is. Eh, he an Ro' are good for each other, even with all their problems."
"Oh, that's a survival trait for WASP men," Jean murmurs, looking amused. "Absent-minded and/or easygoing can escape and hide in the den while their wife plots out dinner parties like she's going to war, while the more type-A men can go escape with others of their kind, a bunch of dogs, and some rifles to go terrorize pheasants. It's for the same reason, though." Guided tour through upper middle class society conducted, she settles back into her work with a small nod. "They are. Hopefully, they don't self-sabotage -- incidentally, don't let Jubilee do that."
"Do what? Dinner parties? I think the terrorizing pheasants is more likely," Wesley decides.
"Self-sabotage," Jean corrects with a dry look. "This whole latest thing between her and Rogue -- and by extension, you -- well, it's rooted in things that are pretty old."
"You heard about that, then," Wesley says quietly, glancing around to see if anyone nearby's taking interest in them. "Yeah...that's, well, one of those things I can't figure out. She got all upset that I didn't tell her about the Rogue thing, but I just didn't think it was a big deal. 'Cept I guess it was, cuz they're all fighting now and...yeah, a big mess. Can't ever get away from our drama, can you?" he says, looking back at her with a small shrug.
"I think I'd miss it if I did," Jean reflects with a soft snort, one corner of her mouth quirking. "Don't tell anyone I said that. But Jubilee's got some pretty deep-seated issues when it comes to being abandoned by people she cares about. Thanks to Drake and Mercy, those got extended over into worries about infidelity."
Wesley's mouth twists at the ex's name. "Geez, /that/?" He drops his head into hands propped up by elbows. "Forgotten all about that. Didn't really know anyone well back then. Don't really talk about him that much."
"Well, he never really went anywhere without his iPod, so it was a little hard to talk to him," Jean points out, smirking at a memory. "I remember that thing eventually ran afould of Hank in a bad mood..."
Wesley snickers. "Oh, he was pretty pissed about it. /That/ I remember." He grows quiet, any humor fleeing his face. "So she probably thinks I'm him all over again."
"Oh, I doubt -that-," Jean is quick to dismiss that idea... although she soon tempers it with "Not logically, anyways. But emotional memory is weird, sometimes. I mean, sometimes I--" But Jean stops short of sharing her own example, merely smiling and concluding with a simple "Just don't let her keep that impression, if she gets it," instead.
"/Girls/ are weird sometimes," Wesley substitutes. "And very frustrating, and more likely than not to drive me crazy someday. But she's worth it," he admits in conclusion. "Hate to think what it'd be like without her."
"Probably a lot more boring," is Jean's pronouncement, before she nods at her papers and, by extension, Wesley's studies. "But... on the topic of boring, I should probably actually get some work done. And -you- need to find out just what the FDNY will be testing you on, Mr. Flynn."
"Yes, ma'am," Wesley says, the sigh more because it's expected than wholehearted. "Maybe I'll use the computers to look some stuff up before heading back to the City. And maybe," he adds, "I'll eventually be grown up 'nuff to do what I'm supposed to without someone telling me. But thanks."
"I'm -still- waiting for that day," Jean quips, with a significant glance towards the door to Xavier's domain, but she soon signs Wesley a wave, and pulls up the physics book again. "Say hello to Bobby for me, will you? And good luck!"
"Will do," Wesley agrees, pushing off from his chair and wandering over toward the computer lab. "Have a good night."
In which Jean gives Wesley a smack upside the head to whip him into shape.