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It has been nearly a week since Piotr left the institute in a bit of a panic. They had been unable to reach his family in Siberia, and he had made his apologies (and promises to return) before rushing off to make sure everything was okay.
He returned just yesterday, and it does not take mutant abilities to tell that everything was not okay.
Piotr is not *hiding* in the gym, precisely, but he has retreated there in an attempt to stop himself from thinking. Flat on his back on a bench, pressing a barbell full of a seemingly impossible amount of weight is… helping. But the fact that the big man is troubled is still quite plain.
*
The gym was where she needed to be instead of the library. Jean had a few scares of late and she was a little tired of being afraid and everyone needing to protect her. She was also tired of being afraid of herself and what she could do. This was her self revival moment. Where she was going to hold everything in and keep her chin held high in the face of good. But she also needed to practice. So she had a bag with her filled with items. A few plush balls to throw at the targets at the back of the gym, a few containers of water and a few sandwiches, towels and a book to read on her break.
Though, for some reason, she felt hesitant. Her brows scrunching as soon as she reaches out to touch the door, wanting to come back to the gym for another day but.. she doesn't. She pushes the door open to see the big brother of the campus there, lifting..
Could that be a thousand? "Woah.." She finally says, bag upon her shoulder as she slowly and very, very carefully approaches the rather huge mutant. "That's not safe."
*
It actually takes a moment for Piotr to realize he's being spoken to. Another sign that something is Not Right. He blinks once and very carefully shifts the bar onto the rack before craning his neck to see who it is. "Hmm? Oh. I should probably have spotter," he admits, his accent somehow even thicker than usual after the trip home. He actually looks a little sheepish. "You are probably right."
*
"Usually." Jean states, her brows lowering. "Usually right that is. But.. at least I've learned that when you come to the gym for weights like those. You need two people." She gestures towards the rack, putting her own bag down to center around to the head of the rack as she gestures. "I'll be your spotter for today. I'm delaying my own training for a little while." She assures him with a smile, both hands outstretched to hold onto the bars. And boy, does she look really silly.
*
That is… not what Piotr was expecting. He considers it for a moment before, fighting a smile, he drops back onto the bench and reaches for the bar. "That is very kind of you. I will not keep you long," he promises, giving her a serious look that might have been more effective if he wasn't, you know, upside-down. "Your training is important, too. I can return favor?"
*
Jean nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders. For she could tell something was bothering him, and the best way to go about this was pretending that she truly knew what in the world she was doing. Friendship, well.. brief friendship and a show of giving everything up (just a few minutes of training) usually would get people to talking. She picked that from Charles' brain not too long ago..
"Actually.." Jean brightens. "If you could teach me how to fight, I would very much appreciate it! Everyone's busy and I really don't want to be a bother more than I already have.." Her words trail off for a moment, gaze nearly vacant. "But.. other than that. Let's give'r a go. I'm ready."
*
There is no hesitation from the big guy at all: "Of course. A young woman should be able to defend herself," Piotr replies with a warm smile. Once she signals that she's ready, he nods once, sets his jaw, and lifts.
That much weight /really/ shouldn't be moving with so little apparent effort. This school is weird.
"I do hope that you have not *needed* to defend yourself," Piotr says thoughtfully, his voice a concerned rumble as he keeps his eyes focused on the bar. "I do not know what happened, but I saw the yard."
*
Jean smiles, then gives a sharp nod that she acknowledges his words. As he lifts the bars, her eyes widen for a second, her hands reaching out to remain over the steel as she watches. Good lord.
"Unfortunately.. yes." She answers honestly. "More times than I'd care to admit." But, she really wouldn't go into that right now. She was attempting to figure out a way to dig out what was bothering him. And.. he seemed like an honest and gentle soul. "But that isn't really important right now. You're bothered. I can feel it. Would you like a friendly ear?"
*
Piotr pauses with his arms fully extended, his expression clouding. At least his grip doesn't falter. "Ah, prosti — I apologize," he says with a bit of awkwardness, blinking the distraction away and shifting the bar back towards the rack. "I did not mean to disturb. It is…" He makes a face up at her, letting his arms flop down to dangle at his sides once he's secured the bar on the rack. "…complicated. I would not want to trouble you."
*
Jean was ready to take the bars from him by a force of TK if needed. He could feel that they were just a touch lighter, if that ever made any difference from him. "You didn't disturb. These things just happen." She doesn't gesture as she usually would, but she does wait until the bar was secured to take a step back. "It's okay, Piotr." She says aloud, moving towards his side and to the end of the bench, promptly setting herself down upon it to give the indication that she wasn't going anywhere.
"So, lets hear it. Even if I don't understand it, I'd like to hear it."
*
Piotr runs both hands over his face before hauling himself up to sit, carefully swinging a leg over so that he can sit next to Jean properly rather than straddling the bench. "You are very kind," he repeats, but something in the way he says it this time just feels more… somber.
To his credit, Piotr does not make her insist. Having the chance to put things into words is actually very welcome, even if he feels terribly guilty for inflicting it upon her. "I went home," he says slowly, clasping his hands in his lap. "And everything was… gone. Smoke, rubble." He holds up a pair of fingers, his brow furrowing. "Two graves. My sister, she is six — gone. I look everywhere. Nothing."
Piotr casts a look towards the door leading back into the mansion proper, his expression clouding. "So. I come back. And there is a young woman… your age, I think? Who knows me. Knows things only my sister could."
*
Jean listens, critically keeping her thoughts to herself until the entire story, whether how long or how short, is heard. Her arms slowly fold about her chest then, her head lowering. He was telling the truth, which was obvious. She couldn't possibly fathom anyone telling a lie like that. "Who is in the other grave?" She asks outloud, then slowly begins to process the information.
If there was a young woman here who knows only things that his sister would… "But.. okay. Your sister was six. And this woman here speaks things that only your sister knows.." She goes another route, after a bit of a silence. "How do you feel about this woman? Like.. when you first saw her.. what did your heart say to you?"
*
Though Piotr doesn't say it aloud, the thought is clear enough: his parents were in the graves. He knows because, in desperation and panic, he checked. It's little wonder he's trying so hard not to think.
"I want to believe her," Piotr says, his voice awfully small for such a large person. "But I do not know if I trust myself enough to. It is…" His expression twists in frustration, one hand coming up to anxiously rub at the back of his head. "…if it *is* Illyana, then she has been through too much. Too much. I do not want to add to her burden by doubting her."
*
There was a quiet little grunt from Jean. Her head turns away as her fingers curl into a fist to press against her mouth, her eyes squeezing tightly as she takes a breath to steel herself. She -really- needed to keep herself in check. Withdrawing for a touch, but not too much, she leaves that question alone. It was already answered.
"Most of the time, I've learned.. that we sacrifice a bit of ourselves for the sake and comfort of others." She murmurs quietly. "And, you also know that deep down, if it really is your sister.. lovely woman by the way.. that only you could truly help her come to grips with all that has been endured." Her head bobs a little, her fingers tilting like a scale, back and forth. "And if it isn't. Why?" She asks, her hand dropping. "Why does she think that she's your sister. What does she have to gain? What do -you- have to lose? If she is or isn't.. answering those questions and forming a bond with someone.. I think it would be worth it to find out. Yes?"
*
Piotr is not certain what caused Jean the moment of discomfort, but it's enough that she had one at all. He grimaces and murmurs a quiet apology, quickly looking down at his lap and clasping his hands. It is not solely her responsibility to keep out of his head — it is only polite for him to try and keep his thoughts more restrained.
"I do not know why anyone would… pretend, in this way," Piotr admits, very slowly nodding his head. He's simply not important enough, and as a ruse, it would be… well, frankly, absurd. "And she was so desperate for me to remember her, it… would not be easy to fake. But I worry." He turns to Jean again, frowning. "If I am wrong, then Illyana would be out there still. What if I am wrong?"
*
Jean feels horrible. So she slides close enough to him to reach out and grasp his hand with hers. She gives a tight, friendly squeeze, and nothing more. It was all encouraging. "I don't.. know too much about the evils of man and people like us.." She starts, pursing her lips tightly. "..but if something has happened to her, right or wrong.. wouldn't the best place to start is with Ms. Rasputin herself?"
She lets go of his hand then, nodding faintly. "I've heard of people being mind controlled, their memories erased.. all of that. Even I could possibly do it." She lifts her fingers to tap into her temple. "What if, I can give you both the answers you seek? Be a conduit. To tell the story of what happened to Illyana with you as the front viewer? To.." She tries to figure out a way to say this. "..use myself as a bridge so that you can see if she's telling the truth. And to possibly reunite you with your sister, or avenge her against the person who had did this to this woman who thinks that she is her." Tongue twister!
*
The contact is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Piotr hadn't entirely realized how isolated he had been feeling until Jean took his hand and helped ease it, even a little. It's enough to earn her a genuine smile and a very careful, grateful return of the squeeze in silent thanks before letting her take her hand back.
"I… perhaps? I worry about upsetting her with my doubts," Piotr sighs, running a hand over his face. "But I do not know what else to do." He mulls it over silently, working his jaw, before he gives a small, short nod. "If you are willing, then… I will ask her. If it goes both ways, it would be more effective than trying to explain politics the long way, I think," he says with a wince. "Her accent… people are not always kind and she does not understand."
*
"I have seen her anger first hand.." Jean admits. She doesn't know if it were a dream or not still, but she witnessed Illyana's fight in limbo, and she was calm as a peach. Even though Illy questioned her presence. It was still something that was unknown.
"I am willing. I think she would be kindly to prove herself to you. If anything, what I've gotten from our conversation and what you've said of her, she just wants her brother back." If she were real, that is. "Either way, your sister or not. I am sure we both will protect her and keep her safe, and treat her with the respect that she deserves." She leans in, bumping his large shoulder with hers.
*
"You are very good at this," Piotr notes with a hint of amusement in his voice, letting the bump cause him to wobble slightly in place. "I will have a difficult time repaying you, I think. But I will try."
Having something even vaguely resembling a course of action has already done wonders for Piotr's spirits. With a nod to himself, he rises to his feet, turning and offering Jean a hand up from the bench. "The least I can do is take punch. Well, and teach you to throw one," he muses, nodding his chin towards the sparring mats. "Da?"
*