Jean Grey is (anatombomb) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-08-02 20:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, emma frost (616), jean grey (616) |
WHO: Emma Frost and Jean Grey
WHERE: Roof of the X-Mansion
WHEN: Last night
WHAT: Sniping, rivalry, and some honesty. It’s a mess, don’t read it.
WARNINGS: Some discussion of canon-related deaths, emotional infidelity, and the ending of a relationship
STATUS: Closed/Complete
Being sent back to 1953 had done wonders for Emma’s irregular sleep patterns. It was funny what a week of being at the mercy of the elements and surrounded mostly by strangers could do. Returning to the mansion, Emma first had showered and then slept for half a day. She’d found herself in a better mood in the days that followed, even if she did have a lot on her mind and a to do list the length of her arm. With school lingering on the horizon, she had lessons to plan and with all the interpersonal drama she couldn’t escape, she certainly had people to work on. It was comforting, in a way. Better, she thought, to focus on everything else around her than on how she felt. There was, however, enough bleed through from the problems she ignored that Emma felt stressed. And she found herself coping most easily by indulging in little vices she’d thought she’d abandoned years ago. She drank more now than she probably should have, though she didn’t think she was at a point of concern quite yet. And she smoked occasionally, which she hadn’t really done with any regularity since her days in the Hellfire Club. Still, she did it, finding odd moments to sneak away from nosy twenty-somethings and old rivals. The roof was one of the better places to go; there were few flyers around and Emma wasn’t beyond using her powers to make sure those few couldn’t see her when she was there. So, feeling like she needed air, Emma snuck up to the roof with a book in hand in which she could jot down some plans. There were few good things about Texas, but one was the clear night sky. Stars could be seen from her spot on the roof that she’d never have been able to view through the haze of a larger city’s light pollution. Emma lit up her cigarette and inhaled, leaning against a ledge and looking up. There weren’t a lot of places to be alone in the mansion, despite the fact that it wasn’t anywhere near full to capacity. In some ways, simply having both Scott and Charles in the building meant that Jean never quite felt alone, and that she had to continue keeping up appearances, which was, honestly, exhausting. That was why she’d waited until Scott had drifted off to sleep to head for the kitchen and pick up a bottle of wine. She had gone from there up to the roof to sit quietly and think about Logan, and was enjoying the peace and quiet until she heard someone else arrive. Rather than call out, she checked who it was with her mind, then pulled away, inwardly cringing. She was annoyed for a moment, but then decided it didn’t matter. Not really. She had no desire to commiserate with Emma, and really just wanted to grieve for a man she felt very deeply about in peace, and saw no reason to even alert the blonde that she was there, at the far end of the roof from her. If only that peace would continue, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t if Emma were there. Emma and Jean were in the middle of something not unlike a telepathic cold war. They stuck to their separate corners and had more or less dug in with silent passive aggression, as though each was daring the other to make the first direct move. Emma was mostly behaving, only really being petty by throwing psychic static Jean’s way when things weren’t otherwise exploding and she remembered to. In fact, she had gone so far to try to ignore Jean that she didn’t notice her presence on the roof immediately. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Emma murmured quietly to herself, turning and leaning on the roof’s ledge with her elbows. A small cloud of smoke hung around her and she felt herself sour, because if Jean had everything else in this miserable little world, couldn’t Emma just be allowed the peace of the roof? Emma warred with herself on whether she should pester Jean, half tempted to say something smart and half tempted to leave it be. If she thought about it, she could easily piece together the fact that Logan had disappeared and now Jean was up here sulking. If that wasn’t indicative of a problem, Emma wasn’t sure what was. She chuckled quietly to herself and kept up her psychic barriers so that she was more or less a dead zone for the moment. It was quiet enough that Jean caught Emma’s chuckle, and she closed her eyes. It would have been nice if she’d been able to just have this moment to herself, and as much as she didn’t want to rise to the bait, Jean finally shook her head and lifted her hand to rub her forehead at the headache she already felt forming. “Whatever it is you want to say, just say it,” she said at last. “Hm?” Emma turned her head slightly in Jean’s direction, a veil of innocence on her face. “I was laughing about a joke Erik told me last week, darling. You know, not everything’s about you.” There was a small bit of her that enjoyed this sort of game, a part she typically didn’t nurture for fear of it growing out of control. But for a second, Emma let herself indulge. Very little about this world made sense and Emma knew that if it wasn’t hilarious, then it was probably sad. She preferred to laugh at ridiculous things when she could. She flashed Jean a little smile, fully aware of the fact that she was pushing it. Jean rolled her eyes and lifted the bottle beside her, taking another long drink. She hadn’t bothered to bring a glass up, and she was regretting having even opened her mouth to speak to the blonde. But - she was there first, and she had grown up in the damn house, so she certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to leave. The redhead ignored whatever seemingly innocent smirk Emma was shooting her, and instead kept her eyes stubbornly on the grounds below. “How nice.” Jean's frustration was easy to pick up on and it seemed to amuse Emma to no end. Perhaps she just liked knowing she wasn't the only one that was miserable in this space, even if it was a petty thing to revel in. And then there were the problems between them that both seemed to proud to bring up. The spectre of Scott Summers hung between them, an unspoken sore spot that was just waiting to be picked on. They had their unresolved issues from the affair that had changed everything for all three of them, and plenty of new and even more complicated issues that came from the strangeness of this world. Emma inspected Jean, half a grin on her face. "Straight from the bottle? Really?" she asked, no real meanness in her tone, but the potential for it obvious. “Well at least we know there’s nothing wrong with your eyes,” came the lazy reply. Jean wasn’t in the mood to deal with Emma, obviously, and despite knowing that Scott was happy Emma was around - and that hurt, too, particularly since Jean knew that she should be past this by now - she honestly wished that Emma hadn’t returned to their lives. In fact, it would have been easier if she’d never arrived in Tumbleweed the previous fall, either. Determined to ignore Emma, Jean took another drink from the bottle - a longer one this time - and after she lowered it, she set it down, drew her legs up under her chin, and shifted her gaze up to the sky. There wasn’t a single reason why she was in a bad mood, but she had been so for months, even before everything with the Phoenix, and she honestly couldn’t pinpoint where it started. She knew, too, that Scott wasn’t happy, and Jean was at a loss as to what to do to fix anything at all. Emma sighed quietly when the realization that Jean wasn't up for any sort of game hit. She turned away and shook her head and smoked quietly for a moment. It seemed a point of pride to stay here until she was done, because no one, especially not sainted Jean Grey was going to push her out of any space. "It's a shame about Logan," Emma said, sober but not quite sad. Not for the first time that day, Emma remembered that she was surrounded by ghosts. Back home, Logan was dead, Scott was dead, Charles was dead, and Jean had been dead for a long time. She wondered if she was next. "I've always been fond of him," she said, looking out at the dark night sky. She worried over Laura, too, but wasn't going to admit that to Jean. Heaven forbid anyone think she cared about people that weren't Emma Frost. It seemed that Emma wasn’t going to leave her alone, but what she’d said next was actually a little surprising. For several minutes, Jean didn’t respond, but her thoughts were on Logan, and on the others who had come to depend on him. She kept her own feelings tightly locked away and instead shifted her thoughts to the others. They were the ones who mattered. “...It’ll be hardest on Laura. She’ll probably want to stay in his house. I’m going out there tomorrow to make sure she’s stocked on groceries,” Jean said quietly. If she didn’t look at Emma, she could pretend she was talking to someone else, right? “It’ll be hard on the others, too. Rogue, who has Erik to lean on, and Megan, especially with Regan disappearing recently, but I’m sure Betsy and Warren will take care of her.” Emma smirked at the sky, noticing how Jean wasn't going to mention how the loss of Logan was going to impact her. It was a move that Emma would make, albeit a bit clumsier than how Emma would go about it. “They’ll all be alright,” Emma said with the sort of certainty that might have been annoying to someone who was hurting. “Laura’s lost him before. She’s strong enough to handle it. Rogue and Megan have support systems.” “I’m aware,” she said shortly, just barely refraining from shaking her head. She had nearly thought that they would have an actual conversation, very briefly, but apparently not. “I know that they’ll be alright. Fine, even.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the ledge she sat against. “And it’s possible he’ll come back. That seems to be happening more, lately. Sometimes they even remember being here. Emma looked over at Jean as she snapped, brow raising. For a moment, she considered letting it slide. But, then, because there was no real reason not to she asked, “Will you be fine?” She wanted to snap again, and she wanted to tell Emma that it was none of her business - because it really wasn’t. Finally, though, she bit back a sigh. “Would it really matter? I have to be.” Emma seemed surprised by that, taking a moment to think it over. Jean had been all depressed feelings and dishonesty since Emma had arrived so such honesty was almost refreshing. “Why?” she asked, honestly curious to Jean’s answer. This time, the sigh was audible. “For Scott. For Charles. For Violet and Kira and the younger Rogue and everyone else.” Even for Emma, but she wasn’t going to get into that. “Stability is important, and not being fine disrupts that. We’ve had more than enough problems in the past, and likely will in the future, that it’s better to just be fine so I can help those who really need it.” “Oh God,” Emma sighed, “You sound like Scott.” She chuckled at that, turning away and giving herself a moment to let that sink in. Emma didn't really understand Jean and Scott and didn't get why they were together. “That's a stupid reason,” Emma said, matter-of-fact. “If you need to feel strong for some silly pride reason, fine. But because Charles and Scott need stability? Hell with Charles and Scott.” She didn't sound upset or mad, just blunt, and she waved her cigarette in the air before her. “Things haven’t been easy between them. When Charles first arrived, Scott nearly left. I talked him into staying, and sometimes they get along, but when they don’t...it hurts Scott. More than he’ll admit. And Charles is hurting and depressed and refuses to talk to anyone about it.” In fact, half the time it seemed as though he refused to be a part of the “family” at all, and Jean was still hurt by that. “If I can make things easier for them by being okay, then it’s worth it in the end.” Even if she was secretly heartbroken. “So you run yourself ragged for two stubborn fools who are miserable anyway. Good plan,” Emma said. She scoffed. “You shouldn't have stopped Scott from leaving. You're both so afraid of change.” She looked Jean up and down. “I suppose it makes sense for you, at least.” “I’m not running ragged,” she retorted, finally side-eyeing Emma balefully. She honestly didn’t feel so completely run down as all that. “We’ve gone away since, a couple of times, so that’s really a non-issue now.” Her eyes narrowed at the comment about change, before she looked away again. “Do you honestly think I like living my life in small pieces at a time while the rest of you move on without me?” “You're all miserable,” Emma said with a certainty that wasn't going to be changed by Jean’s insistence otherwise. “And no, I don't. It's a terrible situation to be in. But it's not easy for the rest of us either.” Emma preferred this, actually talking about things instead of pretending them away. This was better than getting lunch where they made passive aggressive swipes at each other. This was better than Jean pretending she cared about Emma’s emotions. “Everyone’s dying back home. Children. X-Men.” She shook her head. “It isn't as though we’re all lounging on beachfront property sunning ourselves and being glad you're dead.” “I know it’s not easy for you all. But I don’t know what to do about it. The instant I woke up in Tumbleweed, Scott was outside the quarantine room ready to welcome me back, and I never had a moment to consider anything else.” That was how it had been every time she’d been resurrected, actually. He was always quick to bring her back into their relationship, and then, their marriage, and it was a part of why she’d so often been rooted in the past and unable to adjust to what had happened while she was gone. “And I know they’re dying. And here we’re all alive. I honestly don’t know how to help those who are hurting about things back there. If you know the secret to helping them, feel free to share it.” Emma couldn't help but laugh quietly. “You know,” she said, “I think I read a romance novel like that once. In which the handsome hero with smoldering eyes just was there so our heroine figured, it’s convenient so why not?” Her tone was as dry as a desert. “Truly, the stuff of legends.” Emma blew out a little cloud of smoke because if there was anything more pathetic than having a rival cry to you about the man you both loved, Emma wasn't sure what it was. “You stop thinking you can help. There is no cure for these things. They just are. We chose this life, that’s the cost. We live with these things heavy on our shoulders. You know what else? You stop living in the bloody past. And you are there for them in ways that matter.” Considering those were the very type of novels Jean read, she didn’t doubt that - but calling Scott’s eyes smoldering was just a little too close to being literal. Jean frowned, staring up at the sky again as she thought that over for a few minutes. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d agree that most of them had chosen their lives, but they did have burdens. Every last one of them did. At the comment about her living in the past, she rolled her eyes a little, but didn’t respond because honestly? Emma was right, and Jean didn’t want to admit it. She also didn’t know how to break out of that loop, and sometimes she didn’t want to. Her husband was there, her daughter was there, and the man she thought of as a father was there. She had almost everyone, but she didn’t really know how to adjust to being here completely. She was trying. “I think most of us are there.” “And I suspect that's why everyone is miserable,” Emma said, once again a frankness to her tone that implied she'd given plenty of thought to these things. “Change is inevitable. And it isn't always a bad thing. Instead of clinging to what you know, you all could do with something new.” She paused, thoughtful. “I take it back,” she said after a moment. “I don't understand why you'd be afraid of it. You have little to lose and everything to gain, why not embrace something new?” “You say that as if there are a lot of other options. I’m not afraid of change, Emma. Just what do you think is new here?” Utterly annoyed because dammit, she was right, Jean picked up the wine, half on the verge of just throwing it at Emma. Instead, she took another drink, then set it down again, halfway between the two of them. It was a peace offering, a gesture of goodwill, or possibly just Jean’s attempt to throw Emma off. But whatever it might be, it was there, if Emma wanted. “I need something stronger than wine these days,” Emma said, a bit of a smirk on her face. If she was going to have this conversation, she suspected drinking wasn't a great idea. But acknowledging the offering was Emma’s way of respecting Jean’s offering. “And I don't know, Jean,” she pressed forward. “I sure as hell don't think moving back into the mansion and doing things like they've always been done is going to change anything.” She hesitated only a second before pushing it, possibly too far, “Or picking up a relationship where it left off when it wasn't working before.” Maybe Jean would attack or snap. Emma could handle it, either way. Jean shrugged, but left the bottle where it was. She shook her head at Emma’s words about moving back into the mansion, because honestly, it was too late to go back on that decision. And despite everything, it was her home. When she continued, implying that Jean probably shouldn’t have gone back to Scott, her eyes narrowed slowly. It wasn’t as though it had been her fault that Scott had been having a mental affair with Emma back then. Finally, she replied quietly. “I love him.” Him and Logan, Gods help her. “And he loves me.” Her and Emma, damn him. “It may be hard, but eventually it’ll get better.” It had to, didn’t it? “And yet here you are, drinking on the roof over the loss of a different man. Would you be crying if you were here alone? Is your heart broken?” Emma said, getting straight to the point. Worst case scenario, she could diamond up if Jean threw her off the roof. But she suspected that wouldn't happen. “Doesn't that tell you something? Something important?” This was dangerous territory, because as much as she cared about Logan, she wasn’t nearly at the point where she would ever admit as much to the rival for her husband’s heart. She and Emma had never been friends, and she was the last person Jean would talk to about how she felt about the man that had been sent back. “Logan is - was - my friend, Emma. I’d be doing the same if it were Warren or Rogue or anyone else that I cared about. When Violet’s brother went back, it was genuinely heartbreaking, for most of us.” Jean shook her head, then looked over at Emma, eyes narrowed. “Right now, all this tells me is that you’re reading too much into the situation.” Besides, Logan was gone. “Sure you would. Sure I am,” Emma said. She didn't believe Jean for a second and she couldn't help but find the parallels between Scott and Jean amusing. She turned away and stubbed out the last bit of her cigarette on the ledge. Her eyes were still narrowed as she watched the blonde, before tearing her gaze away again. “Why are you even talking to me? Particularly about this. Why do you care?” Not that she didn’t for a moment think that Emma wasn’t trying to serve herself in some way. She wanted to ask if Emma thought that she could have Scott if she came between them again, but Jean really did want to believe the blonde was above that. Somehow. “Masochism, clearly,” Emma said, an unimpressed look on her face. It was easier to be glib than honest, and so she didn't get into it any further. She glanced over at Emma, studying her profile for a long moment, then wrapped her arms around herself. “No, be honest. I hardly doubt you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart for my benefit, trying to talk me into leaving Scott. Is that your goal? Come between us again so that he can go running back to you?” Her words, though hard, weren’t actually asked with any malice. Not yet, at least. She just hated not knowing why. Emma was silent for an even longer moment, thinking. Her face was a cool, emotionless mask. There were a lot of things wrong about Emma, but she'd always considered it a strength that she was honest when it counted, when people could get close enough that she'd let them see her. Sure, she was cold and mean. But she was upfront about it. She didn't hide who she was. So she sighed and turned so her back was to the world. She looked at Jean. “You think he wouldn't be in my bed if I didn't want it?” Emma asked with a raised brow. “You think it wouldn't be easy to slip into this Betty and Veronica pissing contest nonsense you seem so hellbent on?” She scoffed. “He's dead. He dies horribly. Gasping. Pathetic. It's awful.” Her face didn't betray her emotions, even though she still felt it and didn't think she'd ever get the image of him out of her head. “This isn't about winning Scott because no matter what happens, he's going to die. This is about making sure he's happy before that happens.” Finally, she looked away. “I'm not an idiot. I know he loves you. He always will. He needs you to be okay. Together or apart.” She sighed. “So no, as I said before, not everything is about you. And I'll add, not everything is about fucking Scott, either.” She had to look away when Emma talked about how Scott died. She had known about that for months, ever since Scott had told her, long before anyone from home had shown up and told the whole world. She hated thinking about it, and she hated Rachel having to know about it. “And what do you think will make him happy? Me leaving him?” Because Jean wasn’t so sure she could do that even if Logan did come back. She needed Scott almost as much as he needed her, and she loved him too much to give him up...unless he honestly wanted her to. “And what is it you want? Why are you here?” Emma had lots of opinions on things, but she didn't think it wise to share them all with Jean. “You don't want to know what I think,” she said, as honest as anything else she'd said tonight. She was starting to feel drained by this conversation. “And I don't especially think you care about what I want or why.” “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the answer to those questions.” She honestly did, actually, though the answer frightened her in a way. “But it’s your choice, of course.” Emma couldn't help but chuckle quietly. “You already know the answer to that first question. But you're so used to everyone fawning over you and handing you things, you can't even be bothered to puzzle it out. You're not an idiot, and I'm not holding you hand. You have to grow up eventually, Betty.” Emma straightened her back and craned her neck from side to side. “I'm going to bed,” she said, starting to head toward the exit, grace in her movements. It seemed important that Jean not know how exhausting Emma found this conversation. Pride was probably a fault Emma needed to get past, but that wasn't going to happen tonight. “You’re the socialite who had an inheritance, and I’m the one who’s fawned over and handed things?” Jean shook her head, looking back out again. Just before Emma was about to go inside - and there was a tiny, petty voice that was glad that Emma was leaving first - Jean called out. “Wait. If you, Scott, and I are Veronica, Archie, and Betty...who’s Jughead?” “I'm entitled. You're spoiled. There's a difference,” Emma called from over her shoulder. She actually laughed at Jean’s last question, not answering because it was too ridiculous. |