Undercloak: Part Twenty

by queenB

"Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
-- What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North's as near as West.
More delicate than the historian's are the map-maker's colors."

Elizabeth Bishop, "The Map"

Jean Grey-Summers walks a Greenwich Village sidewalk, her sneakered feet carefully avoiding the cracks and seams etched in the concrete as she says quietly to herself, a large smile creeping across her face, "Step on a crack. Break your mother's back."

Though she's grown past the childhood superstition, this is a game she plays with herself when she thinks to notice where she's going, when she actually has the peace of mind to watch her own footfalls... an occurrence that is becoming rarer and rarer. Perhaps her conversation with Betsy stirred up her own feelings of spontaneity and "carpe diem," or perhaps all the stress has finally made her snap. She's not sure which, but she almost giggles as she thinks how much easier this game was to play when she was a child with smaller feet.

As she plods along, no doubt garnering a few stares from passersbys as she conquers a complicated web pattern in the cement sidewalk, she thinks how fixed people think they are. How they hold so tightly to their beliefs and morals that when something comes along to shake their understanding to the core, either they completely deny the occurrence or it destroys them entirely. Being a telepath, she has never had that luxury. The world is much more naked to her, more brilliant and alive. She must be as moldable as it is or she will become lost upon it's tides and surges, it's passions and failings.

Sometimes she thinks Logan is one of those rigid people, his code of honor holding him fast to his perceived duty. But she knows him better, knows the beast that resides not so deeply in his heart. He is a man of passion and it is his code of honor that often keeps him sane. Without his "honor" and "duty" he would be no better than a predator like Sabretooth. He knows that about himself and Jean can't help but admire his fortitude. She only wishes he'd find a better way to combine the urges of his heart and the logic of his mind. She wishes he would be more flexible with a few more shades of gray and not so many blacks and whites. Still, in all the time she's known him, he always seems to surprise her.

As she reaches her destination, Jean pulls open the heavy door of the cafe as she surveys the restaurant floor for Logan. She finds him sitting with his back to her in a large, vinyl-seated booth. As she approaches him, she notices he is staring distractedly into space, a hand clutching a mug of black coffee. She grins as she pauses next to the table.

"This seat taken?"

He doesn't bother to look up at her and stares straight ahead with unblinking eyes. "Nope. Saved it special for ya, Red."

Jean slides into the booth and picks up a menu as she flashes a smile at him. "What looks good?"

She looks across the table at Wolverine as he traces a warped crack on the table's vinyl top with his finger and sits rigidly in his seat. Jean has only seen him like this a few times since she's known him. His defenses are drawn up so tight, she's surprised he's even engaging her in any form of conversation. To make matters worse, she's got him at a disadvantage. She has a bone to pick with him and he knows it.

He looks up from the table and avoids eye contact with her as he asks, "Where's Scott?"

Jean watches him intently as she gets more situated in her seat. After a few moments of silence, he finally looks directly at her. Now that she has his attention, she rewards his response with an answer. "He's parking the car. He'll be here in a few minutes."

Glancing at a clock hanging over the cash register, Logan says gruffly, "Looks like we're going to make an afternoon of it, then."

Picking up her menu again, she agrees casually, "Sure looks like it."

The menu doesn't offer a wide selection. Typical diner fare. She decides against the tuna melt and then the chicken salad. You never can tell how exuberant they're going to get with the mayonnaise. She takes her time, knowing she has at least twenty minutes before Scott arrives. Over the years, he's gotten better at taking a hint, especially now that they share a permanent psychic rapport. So she waits for Logan to speak next, knowing that he is expecting either a tirade or a lecture from her. She wants the upper hand in this conversation and the best way to gain it is let him set himself up.

Logan lifts his cup of coffee back to his lips and takes a sip before he says, "So you're not heading back to Westchester?"

Dropping a finger to the menu, she looks up to answer his question. "No. It's too long of a drive. It seems silly to keep going back and forth all day."

"So why is Scott here? I thought he'd be giving ya a ride back."

Looking back at the menu, she decides on the chef salad. She then folds it closed and places it on the table in front of her. "So did I. But he's here now. He's coming with us tonight."

"What? Why? Why didn't ya just invite the whole team so we could go in guns blaring?!"

Just as he is about to continue scolding Jean, their waitress walks up to the table. "You ready to order?"

Jean smiles and says, "No. Not yet. We're waiting for one more. But I'd love it if you got me a diet soda while we waited."

Without another word, the waitress scribbles on her order pad and slips away to get Jean's beverage. Jean rests her arms on the table top and says, "Logan, please. This is Scott we're talking about. Besides, I think we could use a cooler head tonight."

Logan sets his cup back down and it clinks audibly against the saucer. "Are ya sayin' I'm not?"

Folding her arms over her chest and staring intently at him, she says calmly, "That's exactly what I'm saying."

He looks away from her again, steadying his gaze on a family of three at the next table over. Jean directs a glance at the couple with a small child seated in a booster seat. The toddler kicks his feet happily as his mother retrieves a dropped spoon from the floor. Looking back at Logan, she realizes that he doesn't even notice them as he says quietly, "Jeannie, ya know I'll do what needs to be done."

She props her elbows on the table and lets her head fall between her hands. "It's your perception of what needs to be done that bothers me."

Turning back to look at her, he says with a suddenly tired and worn expression on his face, "Ya know I'm not going to let her fall into the clutches of some evil sorcerer-type. I'll do everything I can to make sure that girl stays true to herself."

She drops her hands and says matter-of-factly, being more blunt that she's managed to be with him on the subject, finally collecting her thoughts from their morning argument, "All conjecture aside. That's not your call to make. You're being awfully self-centered about this."

He growls under his breath, weighing his words with an obvious amount of self-control as he says quietly, "No. It's called bein' a friend."

"No. It's not! It's..." Jean stops abruptly as the waitress sets down a diet cola in front of her. She's always hated how wait- staff have a certain way of sneaking up when you least expect it, how they always seem to manage to ask how everything is when your mouth is full of food and you can hardly tell them the service is crap and the food tastes like almond-encrusted cardboard. This once, however, she is thankful for the interruption as she checks her anger and smiles up at the waitress before she retreats from the table with a nod.

Jean raises a hand to her forehead for a few seconds before continuing in a much calmer tone of voice. "Listen, I spent a lot of time with Betsy today. I know where she's coming from."

Folding his hands in front of him, Logan says bluntly, "I hate to tell ya this, Jeannie. But one morning over tea and crumpets does not make ya understand a person. I've known Betts for a long time. We've laughed together. Hell, even cried together. I think it's safe to say I know her better than ya."

Releasing a deep sigh, Jean understands that Logan really believes where he is coming from, that he really wants to help Betsy. The problem is he's failed to find out what she wants in this situation and it's her job to let him see that clearly. So she forges ahead, giving him a little space as she says, "That may be true. But I think I understand what she wants, at least in this situation. Logan, I was inside her mind. I saw all of her fears and desires up close. The sorts of things she isn't going to tell anyone because she doesn't know how to put them into words or she doesn't even know that those feelings are there. Hear me out on this, please?"

Jean feels Logan's eyes on her for a few tense moments before he finally shrugs his shoulders and says quietly as he relaxes into his seat, "All right. Go on."

She takes a deep breath before she begins, making sure to place each word tactfully yet forcefully. "This is her own fight. She's convinced that she's going to make the right decisions when she needs to. She knows we'll be there to support her if need be. And the trust she's extended to us today is a big step for her. Her first instinct is to go it completely alone, to face her fate on her own. But she understands that she can't do that. Her fate is as intertwined into other's lives and dreams as it is to her own. So she's letting us in this far and no further. To step over that line would be a breach of trust. We can't do that to her."

Looking through her with a glare that could slice through tempered steel, he says quietly and unflinchingly. "So you're saying I'm supposed to just stand there twiddling my thumbs while they turn her into some shadow-wearin' monster?"

Jean holds her ground. "If that's what she wants, yes."

Still not breaking his gaze, he responds. "I can't do that. I owe her too much to let that happen."

She groans under her breath and grits her teeth. She had hoped to win over Logan with a rational argument without having to resort to any ugliness. Instead she decides it's time to bring out her big gun and force him to see the truth of the matter, as ugly as it is. "But don't you see? It's your fault she's in this mess to begin with. You got her into it. The least you can do is let her get out of it in the manner she chooses."

He accepts her comment with a stoic face, obviously having weighed this matter many times in his head. She watches him look down at the table once as he collects his thoughts. Finally, he looks back up at her and addresses her in a simplistic tone, almost as if he were talking to a child. "Jeannie, that's exactly why I need to stand up for her. It's my duty. I got her into this and I'm not going to let them tear her to bits over something that is all my fault."

She shakes off his patronizing tone as best she can. "Look at you."

Narrowing his eyes, he asks, "What?"

Folding her arms once again over her chest, she continues as she narrows her eyes as well, meeting his sharp gaze, "Here you are with your 'my fault' and 'my duty.' What about her? What about what she wants? If you were really a friend, you'd respect that."

"I respect that girl more than you'll ever know. I respect her so much I'm not sure if I can let her go... even if she asks me to. She doesn't deserve it. For once she deserves some peace in this life."

She shakes her head and places a palm on the table as she leans in closer to Logan. "Listen. When Betsy decided to become an X-Man, she knew the risks involved. She wasn't coerced. She wasn't forced. She chose to become an X-Man of her own free will. She saw the ugliest part of the job first, do you remember? She witnessed the death of all those Morlocks through your eyes. She knows what's at stake every time she suits up and goes out there. If she wanted peace, she would have gone back to England long ago and lived a quiet life. She wants to do some good in this world and if that means giving up a part of herself, she'll do it. Because she's a hero, Logan. You should know that about her by now."

Across the table, it finally appears that Jean's words are hitting their mark. Logan sits quietly, the anger fading from his face. Jean decides to drive her point home even farther and finally put an end to their argument as she pointedly says, "Stop drowning in your guilt. It won't make anything any better."

Jean watches him withdraw inside himself, indicating that he has finally taken her words to heart. She picks up her soda as she watches Scott enter through the cafe door and says casually, "And that's all I've got to say."

She takes a sip of her drink as Scott slides into the seat next to her. After giving her a quick but sincere kiss on the cheek, he looks from Logan back to Jean as he asks somewhat awkwardly, "So what have you two been up to?"

Putting down her soda and handing him a menu with a big smile, Jean says, "Oh nothing. Just a little chit-chat while we waited for you, sweetie."

She watches Scott look once again at Logan who is obviously not in the best of moods. "I see."

Squeezing his arm playfully, Jean says, "Don't worry. We're still on speaking terms... I think."

She looks over to Logan as he surveys both of them. After a few moments, a half-grin forms on his lips as tries his best to put Scott at ease. "Don't worry, Cyke. For once this woman of yours actually makes a bit of sense."

A chuckle escapes Scott's lips as he opens the menu and says, "And to think I missed it, it's such a rare occurrence."

Mouth agape, Jean cries, "Scott! You're supposed to be on my side."

Sharing a laugh with Logan and ignoring Jean's mock plea, Scott then wraps an arm around Jean as he asks, "So what's good? I'm starving."

Jean lets her head fall to her husband's shoulder, glad that he is here with them, glad that he will remain with them for the rest of the evening. He has a way of setting things right, of making the world feel a little more fair and real. As she glances over the menu to Logan's almost pleasant visage, she thinks that for once luck might be on their side, for once this chapter in the X-Men's lives might have a happy ending.

[next part]

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