1963-07-28 - Thine Minds Eye
Summary: Erik gets just what he's asked for.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
jean moira erik logan 

It's been a day since the aformentioned incident. Scorpions attacked Harlem for whatever reason that was unknown to most of those who were in attendance. Jean made out with the worst of it, a broken arm and a few little snips to the skin that bled but were patched up with little bandaids. Nothing too serious, that. Though the mental trauma lingered and slowly faded by sleeping for a whole day, she was actually up and about, though within the confines of her room, reluctant to go out and even into the halls.

So food was delivered. That was all well and fine by her. Her left hand was bandaged and wrapped around to hug her body, still bruised, even as she sits at the desk in the corner of her room with a pad of paper and a pencil to just.. randomly draw. It possibly was a tree. Maybe it was the wind. Whatever it was it was formless and shapeless, etched in black with a white background. She didn't know what she was doing. Really didn't. But it was calming.


Logan had been on his own thinking a bit. When your grown son that you never had suddenly shows up, reveals that he has powers like yours and was trained by some of the same people, that he had suffered and fallen from grace without your guidance - and you thought he'd died in the womb - well…it didn't exactly lead to peace of mind. He'd gone fishing for a day or two, coming back now and heading up to check on Jean.

"Jeannie? I just wanted to…see how you were doin'?" he says, not wanting to intrude. He knew she had been struggling lately.


The sound of a tray being carried on one hand while the other smoothly operates her crutch can be heard coming down the hall. Moira's balanced everything just so — lunch was brought to Jean but that was hours ago and the redhead missed dinner. So, here comes Moira, the tray full of what was made for the students tonight and just a slightly larger than normal cut of chocolate cake. Even if Jean doesn't hear her, she can probably feel the woman's mind, ever protective, loving, worried… Moira's thoughts were never far from that depth of care for these students she showed even before she understood why. She knocks at the door but a few moments after Logan…"Jean? I've got some dinner for you…if you're up for it… It's Moira…"


The chair scrapes back as she turns to give a look towards Logan, a little insufferable smile drawing upon her lips as she gives a shake of her head. "I'm okay." She didn't offer up much more after that. It was clear she wanted to say something to him about his son, the whole 'I told you so' ringing in her ears but not finding their way to the surface. She just goes right back to drawing, but once she hears the knock upon the door, she pushes the chair back and stands with a tiny little wince, moving past the Wolverine towards the door to tug it right open.

Was she up for it? Not really. But she knew that Moira probably would come in either way and stay until she eats. Even if it was two days later. "Sure." She puts on a smile then, taking a step back to allow her entry. In a way, she was glad that they both were here.. it distracted her from her own thoughts.


Logan takes a chair and straddles it, nodding to Moira as she makes her way in. "You don't look so okay," he says, nodding towards the injuries. "I'm keepin' all calm on the outside, but ya can probably feel that I'd like to rip open the guts o' the body responsible," he says. "Unless'n it was you yerself on accident."

He lets his nostrils flare as he takes in the smell o' the food, "Gettin' a might peckish myself, you better eat up, Jean, or I'll steal it out from under ya," he teases.


Opening the door wasn't all that easy, Moira balancing her elbow against her crutch to get the knob turned, but then she pushes it open with her hip and carries the tray in without managing to spill a thing. While Moira is no telepath, or even really an empath, she did have a mother's instincts and she can read the hesitation on the air. A worried frown crosses her lips, "Well, I…I won't stay long. I promise. I don't want to bother but… I wanted to bring up food. You both can share, if nothing else. Good evening, Logan." She didn't ask how Jean was doing — not yet, but once she's set the tray down on the desk she does give the woman's body a quick once over with a doctor's trained eyes, not a mother. "…I know this will sound annoying, but keeping the arm elevated and flat, above your heart, will ensure the swelling isn't so bad. Does it hurt much?" Doctor's questions — sometimes being clinical and distance was easier to answer than the emotional stuff. It's a good start.


"I don't want to feel that.. so stoppit." Jean's voice was terse, a little bit stern, but she eases up a touch with a little sigh. "I'm sorry. That was mean." She takes a little step back as Moira enters, wanting to reach out and take the tray but she doesn't. She thought it would be rude if she does, but she gestures towards Logan to take what he will of the food and she'd have the rest. She doesn't eat much either way. "You can have some. I don't mind."

With all of that said, she finally sits back down upon her chair, turning it to face the doorway of the room with a little bit of a tilt and a lean until she's properly settled. "You're not being a bother Dr. MacTaggart.. I actually have missed you." She smiles a little, then looks down towards her arm. "I.. it does hurt a little. I mean, I'm not taking anything for it so it hurts when I try to sleep. So I try not to at least." She huffs just a touch, wanting to tell them what happened. But, she just couldn't. She's scared a lot of people and she felt horrible.


Logan nods to Moira, "Heya, Doc," he says. He works to tamp down his emotions - he bleeds psychically a lot and it tends to get Jean agitated.

He does reach over and break of a bit of cake with his fingers, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly. He doesn't mind skipping to dessert. He lets the doc do the questioning for the moment. "Thanks, darlin'," he says as he finishes his bit of cake.


The breaking off of the chocolate cake by Logan gets an arch of Moira's brow and a slightly amused grin, "I see where priorities lay, Logan." Moira slightly deadpans, clearly more teasing than anything. She's not HIS mom, he won't get a lecture about dessert before dinner. But then she's looking over to Jean and that worry does deepen just a bit. Moira knows to keep it more curbed in, however. The extensive time around Charles — which she now remembers — has taught her to carefully dampen and wall some of her reactions. "I've missed you too. I…I'm back a bit more, and moved in officially. Will be teaching here and Columbia in the fall. So, I am not going anywhere, if you ever wish to talk…and I understand not taking the pain medication in the day but, perhaps to sleep? I can get you one or two pills. It will help. Your body… well, your body *needs* rest in order to actually allow it to recover, you know? That is biology."


There comes a light rapping upon the door. When Erik is permitted entry, he seems surprised to see so many in the confines of Jean Grey's room. Ice blue eyes move from person to person, and a slight smile forms on the edge of his mouth. "I must have mistaken the time. Am I late to the party?"


Okay, now that was kind of funny. There was a little bit of a stupid grin as Logan gets to the cake first. While she intended to eat that cake herself, she didn't mind sharing -too- much. Ah well! There must be more in the cafeteria.

There was a little blank stare as she watches Moira, her brows lowering, her mouth opening and snapping shut as she just comes out with what she was thinking. "So everything worked out with the Professor?" Moira would know! "Everyones paring off now. It's a little bit adorable." And oddly enough, it makes her feel better. But she does shake her head a little bit, but then again.. she was thinking. "I could. Yes. I mean.. I just have had so much before that.. it's just a scary feeling. Being drowsy and numb. Like.. you want to think about something and it comes but you can't make sense about it." Her free hand wiggles around her head, and soon her hand gestures towards the door which soon pries itself open just a touch so that Erik could enter.

As soon as he does, Jean's brows lift, standing upright, then back down again as.. well, she didn't expect this visit. But he was welcome. "You missed a whole cake." Jean says with a smile. "There's only that little bit left." Meaning, if he wanted some, he could have it!



Logan doesn't get into other people's love lives. That stuff would be going around and he kept his mouth shut because it just wasn't his business. Wasn't his fault he could smell it on people, didn't mean he had to point it out. He also never really had much trouble with painkillers, given that they almost never worked for him. But, then, he healed and got better way faster, so it never really came up.

"Hey, if I could find a way to give ya my healin' fer a bit, I would, darlin'. Too bad it ain't really transferrable. Prob'ly some mutant out there could do it, though."



The entrance of Magneto gets a slightly softer smile and a tilt of her head in greeting, "Erik, good evening…Goodness, I'd have brought the whole rest of the cake if I knew." Moira states with a small chuckle. She then looks back over to Jean and, if the girl doesn't protest, she limps over to the chair closest to her. She won't box the girl in, but she does want to SIT and sit *nearer* to her than where she was hovering. She folds down neatly into that seat, free hand now coming out to gently rest on Jean's knee. A silent brush of support. A hand to hold, if she wants, or ignore if she prefers. "…I..I would not say that everything worked out, but we are working *on* it… Pairing off is a bit much to state." Moira mutters with a bit of a smirk, though there is a hint of warmth up her cheeks. "… And, as for the drugs, I know. That's why I'd only suggest one for sleep, but maybe not even then. I trust you to be a mature adult woman who knows her body well enough to know when the pain outweighs the discomfort of being in such a state."


"Oh that's quite alright," Erik answers. "I treated myself this evening to a hamburger and 'French fries'. I do think that's enough for me today."

As he walks in, he looks toward the others. "Moira. Logan. I hope I am not being rude. I came to check on Jean." Jean, to whom he looks next, the softness of his expression fading in lieu of measured concern. "But, you're resting, which seems to be profitable."


"I know. It's really a nifty thing to have but.. I don't know if there's anyone else here that could actually heal someone else like that. Save for Dr. MacTaggart." She winces, then clarifies. "I mean she's a doctor. And she heals. I think." But as Moira draws closer, taking the chair near to her, Jean watches her blankly. It was clear that she shut off her own emotions so that she didn't have to worry about them, and yet.. she still felt others on a smaller scale just so that she could learn to try to sort them out.

"It is somewhat pairing off." She states, matter of factly. "Maybe it's the ages. The older residents of the institute have that sort of 'clock'.." Jean lifts her hand to make the quote mark.. "..and they find their suitable mates. Like biology." But she does reach for Moira's hand, giving it a slight bit of a squeeze. "Okay. I'll think about it."

Though, as she finally settles upon Erik, leaning back just a little as he steps closer, her eyes dart towards the left and then back to him once again. "I.. are you all here to check on my state of mind?" That question was directed towards Erik, even though she included the rest of them. Were they scared of her? "I.. didn't do this to myself. It was a riot in Harlem. I just left the mansion to get some air and to wander for once. I turned down the wrong street and they were protesting. I thought it was okay to just, sneak past them. But.. I don't know what those things were. They were made of silver in the shape of scorpions. And they attacked us."


Logan considers, "In that case, I'm prob'ly in trouble,l given that I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest one here," he says, although he doesn't look much past his mid-thirties. "Silver scorpions, huh? Used t'be you just had to deal with guns and knives, now folks got suits o' armor and are throwing fireballs and making damned robots. It's like goin' to the matinee, only you don't get a bucket o' popcorn, you get a bucket o' blood," he snarls.

"An' yeah, we're all here to check on ya, body and mind, Jeannie. That's what happens when folks care about ya."


Well, Moira is blushing even more as Jean mentions clocks and the like. She was married once, was at that stage in her life. She clears her throat, looking slightly awkwardly down to the floor as she states simply, "We are work colleagues. It wouldn't be proper." And yet, well… It probably doesn't take Jean to see how very short that is going to last. She squeezes Jean's hand back, though, as conversation turns more serious. "And yes, I had several years of medical school before I fully went into genetics. I'm not officially that sort of doctor but… I have a good understanding. Especially of the basics. And helping your body get the rest it needs is… vital to proper healing. I know that. Besides, Logan is right… no matter how this happened, it was a trauma and we all worry. So… damned well better take the fact that you are loved, alright?" Moira cracks a smile as she says that mockingly fierce statement. AGGRESSIVE LOVE.


With each day, Erik finds himself no longer capable of judging the proverbial books by their covers. His attention seems fixed upon Logan for a long moment; the man may have a rugged nature about him, but he clearly has a heart, which is something Erik hasn't expected.

"Your mind is a powerful, unique organ, Jean Grey," Erik answers. "For many of us, our mutations affect parts of us that aren't as directly linked to this." He taps his temple. "Cognitive functions. But for you… well, you have a unique gift, and with it, unique challenges." The young lady earns a smile. "We will always be looking out for you, because we want to see you flourish."

Turning away, Erik reaches into his pocket and produces a leather pouch. From it, there comes a finely crafted tobacco pipe, and a smaller pouch filled with sweetened leaves. "Would you mind?" he asks those gathered, before settling his attention upon Moira.

"You know, I don't believe there are any prohibitions against fraternization in the bylaws."


Paranoia aside, Jean slowly nods as she looks down to the hand that she holds, squeezing it tightly. "I know. I know.." She knew that they cared, it was just.. odd in the way that they did it. Being locked away was what she was used to, just not -this-. "The world is a strange place." She comments. "I've never seen it like this before. We flew. Like high in the sky, way above the clouds the other day." She smiles a little as she looks up towards them all. "I actually liked flying. I wish that was something I could do."

She frowns a little, nodding towards Moira. She wasn't going to bug her about Charles any further. At least not in front of the men. But she does take her words to heart, though the aggressive love actually made her cringe.

Looking to Erik now, her gaze becomes a little bit more serious. She understood him, for if he said this to her a couple of weeks ago she wouldn't heeded his words. The fraternization comment gets him a little grin as well as a nod for his smoke, but that serious tone draws over her again.

"Help me?" She asks, shocked that she even said it. "With everything. Just.. help me? I.. I can't do all of this alone and what happened can't happen again. I know that now. I can't stand to see everyone and anyone hurt and.. I can't stand being the one who does it." Her bottom lip trembles slightly, turning her gaze away from them all. But she still keeps ahold of that hand. "I really just want everyone to be okay."

'I am everything, and they are nothing. Lean on me, for I am infallible.'

Jean looks up, frightened for just a touch, but a little smile, awkward as it was, is given. "Please?"


Logan looks at Jean with obvious concern, scooting his chair a bit closer, "Hey, darlin', we're here. Everybody wants to help, I can promise you that. An', if they don't, I'll take 'em out back and whip their ass until they do," he says.

"We'll find whoever attacked ya, too," he says. "Did anybody get any bits o' the scorpion things? Maybe I can pick up somethin' off of 'em," he says.


Perhaps Moira's realized that love is a bit too much, or she's just content to let the men move on discussing more practical things to be done to help with Jean's safety. Moira is often here as an emotional safety net. It's other's who are there for the physical safety net — let's face it, Moira couldn't bruise a stiff breeze. Even if she did learn to well shoot a gun back in the very young days of the X-Men. That was years ago now. Erik's fraternization comment, however, does earn him a gentle little swat with the back of her hand. "Not helping." She mutters to him, though there is a hint of a tease behind her voice.

Then she's turning more serious, listening to Logan's words…"Scorpion…if I can get more of a description on them, I can also see what they might be related to or their origins. I have full access to everything at Columbia. It could be interesting research."


Jean's room, her call. Erik quirks a grin at her, then begins packing the pipe. The tobacco smells sweet, with a hint of cherry and oak in the drifting aromas.

Moira's swat causes him to smirk her way, before replacing the tobacco with a set of matches. One strike and a flame, and the bowl comes to life; at the same time, the metal clasp to Jean's window undoes itself, and the window rises to provide ventilation.

"I think…" He steps aside and adopts a position leaning up against Jean's dresser. "… the only way we can, is if you tell us, try to talk with us about what is going on. About what it's like."


Tight smiles were gone out towards the three, her eyes lift towards Logan. Recalling that event was easy enough. She could never forget something like that. "I.. I think Jubilee ran off with one? I'm not too sure. Maybe she has one?" Yes, that woman was there. And she did her best to get everyone out of the area.

She leans back into her chair now, her hand wiping away at her cheeks as she draws in a breath. They were talking about analysing it, Jean was focused on Erik for the moment as she gives him a clear nod.. this was going to be a doozy.

"I can show you.."

Before the offer was accepted, there was a focus. A sweltering focus that was felt around the room like a tug and a pull of their breaths. It was a light tug and pull, one that also reacts with a tiny bit of pressure behind the eyes. And that's when their vision goes dark.. (that's if she wasn't resisted or blocked out)..

They would see how she imagines it. How she sees it. Each and every one of them where they stand were like flickers of flame. A fire light. Flame that was soon captured by way of color from red to cool tones of blue. And if she had them as they see it? They would know that their minds are captured.

They would also feel a crawling upon their brains, a tickle within the inner ear that nearly increases as it goes along, then fades to nothing. The start of praticing her telekinesis, they would mind. And how the tickling and the pressure of the brain was like a muscle that was constantly excercised and with practice? Hardly ever felt. And then the headaches after wards.. the wetness upon their nose.. it was blood but not really. It wasn't real..

And the voices. To them it sounds like a loud dance hall with no music. Just the random thoughts of almost everyone within the immediate area. Some of the voices sound familiar and run all together at once. Fifteen conversations in total, all blasting and blaring with no reprieve. And the emotions.

Where do they start? Who does it start from? Where does it end.. where does it..

…And there was a figure there. In the shape of Jean but Not Jean. A bright white that often times shift colors depending on the mood. An effigy of sorts, one that seemingly turns and smiles. But the smile was threatening, wide, clenched teeth and nearly baring fangs.. the hand that reaches out nearly seems to grow at least five times it's side before the voice.. Jean's voice but not Jean's voice..


And with a startling snap, Jean pulls away. Drawing those images from everyones mind in a single breath.


When they emerge from Jean's transfer of her experience, from that rushing collage of sensation, emotion, pain, fear, and hallucination, Logan is…bloodied. He's thrown himself across the room, crashing into the wall and laying on his side. His claws are out, his face slashed with grooves from where he tried to cut the brain out of his head in a split second of madness.

Only his overwhelming desire not to harm them had kept the others safe, as he'd thrown himself away as if he were a live grenade, finally starting to come to his senses with gasping, shuddering breaths, covering his face with his hands, bloodied claws crisscrossing before his face.


That was not what Moira expected at all. She's had Charles show her things before, but it was never like that. Never uncontrolled, so overwhelming, so much that the girl was constantly fighting, the whispers and then the scream in that odd voice that sounds like Jean but isn't. Nothing was like that. Moira's heart completely breaks for the girl. Coming out of it, though, is a perfect example of the dramatic difference between her and Logan. He is bloodied with violence, barely having pulled himself away. Moira, on the other hand, is poised, quiet and elegant. Just like a slightly bent willow, her head having dropped to the side, her hand instinctively tightening on Jean's leg. All she did was droop and love. That's what her body does instinctively when her mind is elsewhere. Coming back, though, she takes in a deep, shaking breath, "Oh…Jean…I am…so sorry…" It's takin gher a moment to blink back to reality. That's when she notices the man. "Logan!" And she's moving to scramble to her feet, to limp to his side even if it's a mess without her crutch…"Take a breath, Logan…"


Snapping out of that was hard, in so much that her nose immediately bled which causes her to reach up and pinch it off. Wild, green eyes search the room after, finally taking in a breath at the mess that Logan was, her eyes widening as she snaps out of her chair to follow Moira, easing herself to the ground near his head as she tries to reach out and touch him, lightly grasping a hand against his wrist to try to tug his hands from his face.

"James! I.. I'm so sorry! I shou.. shouldn't have done that!"


"STAY BACK!" he says sharply, scrambling and kicking for a moment to get away from the women, "It…it ain't…I…I ain't…safe…" he says.

He breathes heavily and closes his eyes as his hands relax and the claws sink back into the housings in his forearms. The cuts on his face, deep gouges though they are, start to heal, stitching themselves together, leaving the stain of the blood spilled behind on his face.

"It's not…it ain't yer fault, darlin'. I'm okay, doc, it's…I'm…" he shudders for a moment. "Just…things inside me that I gotta…keep inside," he says. "That's all."


Moira trusts the man to know himself, even as he lays there bleeding, she stops her stumbling steps and leans against the bed, breathing a touch raggedly now. She doesn't interfere further, letting the two (who are clearly close) patch up with each other as she keeps a protective, watchful gaze across them gently. "It…it's alright, Jean… you didn't know. And… we asked. We… we cannot ever understand, but it is a start… Everyone just needs to breathe now. Everything will be fine…"


In the darkest recesses of Erik's mind, there are two strong, quiet thoughts; the metal pins within Moira's leg, and the remarkable ore that covers Logan's skeleton. He must not lash out, lose control of his powers, and cause Moira's leg more injury and pain than has already been caused. Not now, like before.

He can feel the metal moving; he knows, deep within, what Logan is doing. All he needs to do is reach out with his mind, create the appropriate magnetic field, stop the man from trying to claw out his own brain. It would be so easy…

But there is something else. Something deep within the mind of Magneto that hearkens to his younger self. The face of a man, the face of his mother, the sound of blood. The destruction of a room, the twisting of metal gates. 'Arbeit Macht Frei' twisted into something unrecognizable. It was all so easy.

A vision, of the coin in his pocket, passing forward and through the head of the man who killed his mother. A thing that has not come to pass, but will, whether in this timeline or another. Magneto's first kill, the thrill of it something that draws the attention of that brilliant, white beast.

When the vision is withdrawn, Erik feels numb. As if a part of him he'd worked very hard to conceal was drawn to the surface, like poison drawn from a wound. His eyes, harsh as they are, turn to Logan. Yes, they are safe… for if the man makes a move to harm them, he would not be able to. Magneto would see to that.

But then, his eyes shift toward Jean. He looks at her with a sense of pity and wonder, but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he loosens his grip on the pipe, then walks quietly toward the door. There, out in the hall, he will remain, until he's quite certain that Logan isn't set to maul anyone but himself. The window, however, remains open. Fresh air would be good for everyone.


Jean immediately draws back, keeping that one hand in the air as her bottom lip trembles, drawing herself back further upon her knees until she feels her back press against the bed. They were all tired. All worn. Haggered and mentally fried.. her head even lowered a little as she finally sniffs and wipes away at her own nose yet again.

"It's okay Logan.." She murmurs quietly. "M.. maybe we.. we all just need our own space right now.." Which quietly meant, they needed to take a walk. Fresh air. Something. At least Jean knows she'd be going for more cake. In fact the -entire- cake. This was oddly depressing, yet refreshing in a sense.. "Please?"

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