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Title:
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Mutant
Author:
Terri (with a little assist from James Joyce on the title..)
E-mail:
xgrrl26@yahoo.com
Rating:
PG-13
Disclaimer:
I own no one, and I wish I could actually produce the paintings
Archive:
Ask, and ye shall receive.
Feedback:
Please? With whipped cream on top? Good, bad, and ugly welcome
Warning:
I have to put a BadJean warning on this one (because I have learned to err
on the side of caution there..) but I actually see her as less icky than my
UsualJean here.
Summary:
Budding painter Rogue struggles with her development as a person and an artist.
Some people are more helpful than others.
Comments:
Some people have asked me if I paint. Let me say right off that the
answer to that is no. (Or at least not very well.) Let me also
say that I don't like James Joyce. Not one bit. And I know that
of which I speak -- I've read most of his works, including the big-ass (is
that the literary term?) Ulysses, repeatedly. Still no dice.
That just goes to show that art is subjective. Or at least I think
so ;)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
'Hey, you're
back. Are you OK?" Rogue was in the kitchen, just about to look
for a late-night ice cream snack, when the X-team entered, fresh from their
latest mission.
"Yeah."
Logan answered as though the question had been directed only to him.
In fact, it probably was, but Jean crinkled her nose at his reply.
"They got away, though." Logan hadn't been back at the mansion five
minutes-just enough time for Rogue to hug him and squeal and say "I'm so
glad you're finally back!"-before he was pulled away for a mission.
Ordinarily, he would've declined. He wasn't interested in joining the
team. Except - this mission involved Mystique and Sabretooth, and Logan was
interested in revenge. Very interested.
"Crap."
Rogue frowned a little as Logan crossed the kitchen to hug her. That
promptly erased the frown from her face.
"Language,
Rogue," Jean warned, causing Logan to pull back and shoot Jean a quizzical
look.
"She said
crap." Jean huffed, and Logan shrugged. "What's wrong with crap?"
It was certainly nothing next to the stream of obscenity that he'd unleashed
when the gruesome twosome made their escape.
"What are
you doing down here at this hour anyway?" Jean took a seat at the kitchen
table. "It's almost three a.m. and don't you have an eight a.m. exam
tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Rogue
answered evenly. She was used to Jean by now. "That's what I
was studying for. Well, that and I was redoing my painting for my art
final. I came down for some ice cream." She separated herself
from Logan, who kept his eyes on Rogue but planted his butt in a chair between
Scott and Storm. Opening the freezer, she continued, "I was hoping
for some peanut-butter chocolate."
"Oh.
Sorry, I finished it off yesterday." Before she could help it, Rogue
let out a soft growl, one that probably only Logan heard. "Besides,
late night snacking puts weight on, and you've already gained twenty pounds
since you've been here, Rogue." Rogue ignored those comments and continued
the ice cream search, but Ororo came to her defense.
"I think
Rogue looks quite healthy. She needed those twenty pounds. When
she arrived, she was underweight."
What are
we going to discuss next? Whether I need a boob job or something? Rogue removed
a foil-wrapped mystery package and dug a little further into the freezer.
"Besides,"
Scott joined in, "she needs energy to cram for calculus, right?" Rogue
spared him a backward glance and a smile. She didn't notice the plainly
befuddled look on Logan's face as he followed the conversation.
"That's
right," Rogue responded.
"Ah, so
you admit you are cramming?" Scott was plainly teasing, but Jean let out a
little 'hmph' that had a distinctly 'Busted!' tone to it.
"I'm merely
packing in all the available study time. I've heard rumors of students
who don't enjoy studying calculus, but luckily I am not among them."
There was a chuckle in Rogue's voice, and her reply merited a short laugh
from Scott and 'Ro. "It's-umph-a privilege to be able to spend an evening
calculating the area of a curve, really. This-umph - something's stuck."
"Allow me,"
Hank offered as he entered the kitchen.
"Whew.
Thanks. It's really stuck, whatever it is." Rogue moved aside
to give Hank access to the freezer.
"Permit me
to guess-you are in search of some ice cream, perhaps of the peanut-butter
chocolate variety?" Hank examined the offending tupperware container
and made a few quick mental calculations before firmly grabbing hold of one
end and yanking it out.
"Yes, but
Jean finished that container off. I'm hoping for some cherry vanilla,
maybe some chocolate chocolate chip?" She peered around Hank's shoulder
at the newly exposed area of the freezer.
"Sorry.
Butter pecan." Hank extracted the small container and extended it in
Rogue's general direction. "Want it?"
"No, no,
you go ahead. That kind goes better with twinkies anyway. Besides,
I should let you all go and get back to my painting."
"I thought
you'd finished, Rogue," Ororo chimed in.
"Well,"
she hedged as she scooted around the kitchen perimeter toward the door, "I
decided to start all over."
"My stars!
Why? It was an amazing painting." Hank had forgone a bowl and
was breaking up twinkies directly into the ice cream container.
"Rogue can
do better," Jean answered and a sigh of understanding spread through the
room. Jean was the interim art teacher, and had been a critic of nearly
all of Rogue's work. Hank was frankly becoming concerned. He
felt that Rogue's budding painting skills needed room to develop, not oppressive
'instruction.'
"Well, we'll
find that out," Rogue replied cheerily. "I've got another few hours
to work on it and study for the exam, so I'd better get back to it."
She shot a soft parting glance at Logan. "I'll be up if anybody wants
me. Good night, guys."
As soon
as she had departed, the mood of the room shifted. Logan's brows were
drawn together in thought, as were Scott's, but Hank was the first to speak.
"Jean, she has the talent to be a great artist one day. She needs some
encouragement."
"She needs
discipline, Hank, and constructive criticism. Which, I might add, she
also needs to learn to take gracefully. She takes any comments that
are even remotely negative very personally. She can't walk through
life expecting everyone to always greet her work with uncritical admiration."
Jean waved her hands to punctuate the point.
"But," Hank
continued, "I saw the work she'd painted. It was-Jean, it was approaching
the level of a professional artist's work, if not there already. And
her subjects are always extremely personal to her-it's no small wonder she
took negative comments to heart."
"I offered
*constructive* criticism, to try to make her work better. I'm trying
to help her develop. If she's seriously considering a professional
career in art, she'd better get used to people evaluating her work with a
critical eye, and the sooner she does, the better." Jean's voice was
soft but firm. "Honestly, you all pamper her too much. I know
her mutation is severe and horrible, but still-you all give her a very easy
time of it in your classes because of that, and that's not going to help
her in the long run. If she's not prepared to take a little constructive
criticism of her work, she shouldn't make it public."
Scott let
out another sigh. "Jean, you know she's pretty sensitive. Especially
about her art. I know you're trying to help, but - "
"She's overly-sensitive,
Scott," Jean gently corrected. "All I said was that I felt the tone
and color scheme of the painting could've been done better. I said
that I felt the subject matter she'd chosen wasn't that compelling.
Scott, I *was* being gentle. I couldn't even tell what the painting
was supposed to be. I know she favors abstraction, but-"
"But, Jean,"
Hank interrupted. It was very unlike him to do so, and it caught everyone's
attention, even Logan's. "She titled the painting."
"She titled
it 'Statue,' Hank. How am I supposed to know what statue it is?
And any statue, even done abstractly, isn't *red*. The color scheme-"
"It's blood."
Logan interrupted, and, like Hank, held everyone's attention with his comment.
"I bet it's the Statue of Liberty. That night Magneto got her."
Ororo let
out a soft sigh. "Oh, my."
"But how
would she know what to paint? I mean, she was unconscious for the end
of it and she said she doesn't remember much about that night."
"Either she
remembers more than she's willing to let on," Hank ventured in reply to Jean's
question, "or she remembers it through Logan's eyes. He touched her
*after* most of the events occurred. She probably has memories of his
experience of that night." Logan frowned at that.
"She must've
been using the painting to work her way through some of that." Scott
leaned forward a little, having hit upon an important point. "She's
been so reluctant to open up about that whole subject and when she does,
we totally miss it-crap!"
"Language,
Scooter."
Scott shot
Logan a dark look. "Jean, I think you should talk to her."
"And say
what? Apologize? Scott, I understand why - if that's indeed
what she was trying to paint-I understand why she'd be even more sensitive
than usual, but I stand by my assessment of the painting."
"Whaddya
know about paintin' anyhow, Jeannie? I thought you were a doctor."
"I minored
in Art History and Criticism in college. I studied all kinds of art
for four years, Logan."
"Ya ever
paint somethin' yourself?"
"Well, no,"
Jean demurred, "but you don't need to be a painter to know what good art
is. I'm very well versed in the subject."
"Hmph."
Logan crossed his arms and leaned back.
"What?"
"It ain't
even really about the paintin', is it? You've been ridin' her every
second she was down here-little comments about her swearin', her studyin',
her weight-you got some kinda problem with her, dontcha?"
"I don't
know what you're talking about. I'm trying to look out for her, to give
her some guidance. Somebody needs to give the girl a firm hand.
You all let her run rampant. When she's older, she'll appreciate that
someone was willing to provide a little discipline." Logan's gaze narrowed,
and Jean squirmed in her seat a little. "Honestly, Logan, what kind
of problem would I have with Rogue? She's a sweet girl, and I feel
sorry for her."
"Feel sorry
for her?" Logan snorted. "What the hell for?"
"Well, her
mutation, obviously. She'll never be able to live a normal life.
It's too dangerous for her to be out in the general public, she'll never
have a husband or boyfriend, she-"
"I suspect
that Remy might argue with you on that last point," Ororo added, with a hint
of mirth in her voice. "And Bobby. And St. John. And-"
"Those are
romantic teenage crushes, 'Ro. They feel sorry for her, so they give
her attention. They're not going to put up with her mutation in the
long run. You know it and so do I." Jean's voice was soft, sympathetic.
"They're just kids. When they want to settle down, build a life, have
children, their choice won't be Rogue."
"Do you
honestly believe that?" Hank asked softly.
"Of course.
I-I don't mean to be cruel, but that's how people are. She leads a
sheltered life here. It's-it's different for her here."
"And what
about me?" Hank asked again, even more quietly. "The same could easily
be said for me, because of my mutation - that I shall never have a normal
life, never find a partner, that I lead a sheltered life here. Those
things-they could be said for almost all of us, Jean."
"Not-not-I
didn't mean to offend you, Hank, I-" Jean was at a loss for words.
She and Hank had been close for a long time, and she didn't mean for her
words to be construed that way.
"So you're
sayin' what, then?" Logan queried, in what for him was an even tone.
"That she's some kinda freak worse than the rest of us freaks? You
wanna hear somethin' honest? Outta all of us in this room, maybe you
and me can pass. 'Ro-her hair and eyes are a dead giveaway. Hank-he's
covered in fur for christsakes. Scooter-he'd be blastin' a hole in
the wall right now if not for those glasses. You and me-we're different,
though, is that what you're sayin'? We can pass for normal so we're
better?"
"No.
No. You're putting words in my mouth. That's not fair.
That's not what I'm saying at all."
"Well, what
then, Jeannie?"
"I-I'm saying
that Rogue is in a difficult situation, moreso than the rest of us.
She-the consequences of her mutation are severe. It virtually guarantees
her isolation because she can actually *kill* other people with it, and with
very little effort. The slightest mistake, the briefest moment of inattention
on her part would end the life of a boyfriend or-or partner. She can't
even control her mutation, not at all. She-"
"Could say
the same for your man there, Jeannie." Logan gestured to Scott absently.
"You still got with him." Scott looked to her expectantly.
"But Scott
can control his mutation with use of the glasses. He's not dangerous.
He's not mentally or emotionally unstable because of other personalities in
his head. He's-"
"Jean," Hank
interrupted again. Jean sighed. She'd been interrupted a record
number of times tonight and she wasn't enjoying feeling as though she were
on the defensive. "Is it your clinical, medical opinion that she is
mentally ill?"
"Would you
all quit putting words in my mouth? I didn't say that. I said
unstable. And she is-you've all seen it. She growls, she gets
the exact same expression on her face that Magneto has sometimes. She's
not one hundred percent in control up there. That's all I'm saying.
And she *has* emotional issues. She won't talk to anybody about what
happened. She never really bonds with any of the kids. For goodness
sakes, she won't even tell us her real name. She's rebellious and-and
defiant at times."
"What times?"
'Ro turned to face Jean squarely. "She is probably the most responsible
of the students."
"She-she-well,
it's her attitude. She refuses to take direction, to listen to the
guidance I'm trying to give her in class, for example."
"She's up
there doin' another whole paintin' 'cause you said you didn't like the first
one. She's up there doin' that right now insteada sleepin'. Whaddya
call that?"
"She's redoing
it because she wants a better grade, Logan. She knows that painting
wouldn't have received a high mark."
Logan snorted
and shook his head. "You just don't like her, Jeannie. That's
why nothin' she does is right and why you're so into givin' her 'guidance'
and 'discipline' and shit. 'Cause it gives you a chance to ride her
down some without havin' to feel like you're doin' wrong."
"I can't
believe you think I'm actually that kind of person, Logan." Jean was
fully indignant now. That was the last straw. She'd had enough
of being criticized and analyzed and put-upon when she was only trying to
help Rogue, to make her better.
"I can't
believe you *are* that kinda person. 'Specially towards her.
What'd she ever do to you, huh?"
Jean waved
her hand dismissively. "You have a blind spot where she's concerned,
Logan. You can't see her flaws."
"Shit, Jeannie,
everybody has flaws. Even you." Logan's gaze had turned hard
and his body had stiffened as well. 'Ro reflected that he looked just
like he did when he was getting ready for a fight. He probably is,
she thought.
"I never
said I was perfect. I never said I was flawless. I'm just trying
to do my best to help the girl."
"And we're
just tryin' to help ya, Jeannie, just givin' you some guidance and some-what'd
you call it?-yeah, constructive criticism to help you out there. Don't
tell me you can dish it out but ya can't take it?" Jean huffed at that
and her eyes flared.
"I've had
enough. I'm going to bed. Scott." She rose and gestured
for him to follow.
"I'll be
up in a minute, Jean." She looked at him with an expression that betrayed
her shock and disbelief, but quickly covered that and turned to go.
When she was gone, Scott leaned in toward his fellow x-men and spoke conspiratorially.
"It's been
a problem for some time. I don't know what's going on between them.
At first, I thought it was on Rogue's end-jealousy over Logan, to be blunt.
But I don't think that's it."
"What do
you believe it is?" 'Ro leaned forward too, mimicking Scott's posture.
"I don't
know. I don't think Jean even really knows. Maybe it's just some
kind of oil and water thing. Maybe their personalities just clash,
I don't know. But it can't go on like this. Sure, once the finals
are finished tomorrow, some of it will ease up, but still.This whole painting
thing and all the comments Jean's made about her weight and appearance-I
think it's really beginning to get to Rogue." Scott paused and they
were all lost to their own thoughts for a moment before he continued.
"Even if-even if what Logan said is right-even if we are the 'freaks'-I don't
want Rogue to feel that way. I don't want any of our kids to feel that
way. Even if it's true."
"Ain't true.
Shit, Rogue's probably the most normal person I know. The rest of ya
are close seconds." Logan arched an eyebrow and looked directly at
Scott. "'Cept for you. You're fucked up, but that don't have
nothin' to do with your mutation or shit." Scott actually smirked at
that while Logan sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his face.
"I'm gonna go up and talk to her. Somebody should try talkin' to Jeannie-not
me, she's pissin' me off."
"I will
try tomorrow," 'Ro offered.
"And I shall
make it a point to visit with Rogue tomorrow after she submits her painting
to Jean," Hank chimed in. "Not to toot my own horn, fellow x-men, but
I know that Rogue values and respects my opinion of her work. I am
no Art History minor, but I do know a bit about the subject." Hank
had been hurt by Jean's words and behavior, probably more than he would ever
let on. He agreed with Scott-even if they were freaks, he didn't want
to feel that way. And Rogue was one of the few people that didn't make
him feel that way when he was in her company. She made him feel smart,
and talented, and funny, and absolutely normal. He could at least return
the favor.
"Sounds
like a plan. When does Chuck get back from London?"
"Not for
another week. Maybe he can talk to them both when he does get back."
Scott had a lot of faith that the Professor would know just how to handle
the situation. Once it was brought to his attention, he would surely
be able to fix the problem.
"Might not
be here by then." Logan sniffed and rose from his chair.
"Logan,
do you really think it's wise to leave Rogue at this critical juncture?"
'Ro rose as well, and so did Scott.
"No," Logan
answered, surprised. "'Course not."
"Well, then
what did you mean by saying that you might not be here when the Professor
comes back?" Hank asked.
"I said
*we* might not be here when he gets back."
"That's
not precisely what you said," Hank sighed. I really
wish he would use a pronoun once in a while.
"What?
You thought I'd pick up and go? Nah. I've been thinkin' about
her and me takin' a trip together, spendin' some time away from here after
she's done with school. You know, if she wants to." The rest
of the x-men looked at him with amusement. He really did have a soft
spot for Rogue. "Besides, I'm not that big of an asshole."
"Oh, don't
sell yourself short. I think you are." Scott clapped Logan on
the back as he left the kitchen. Logan answered with a soft growl before
heading upstairs.
"Hey, am
I interruptin' ya?" Logan had smelled her out-although the scent of
the paint had masked Marie's own scent for the most part, he figured she
would be near the paint smells.
"No, not
at all." She'd changed from what she was wearing downstairs, having
replaced a bulky sweatshirt and gloves with a tank top and bare hands.
Tight leggings and socks remained. Looking at her form now, Logan thought
that 'Ro's assessment had been correct. She used to be a little on
the bony side, with a stomach that sank beneath her hip bones. Now,
she'd filled out nicely, with fuller breasts and a little rounded tummy.
Curvy legs instead of scrawny ones. Curvy hips too. As a matter
of fact-"I was hoping you'd come up. I figured you'd find me."
"Yeah."
Stop checkin'
out her body, asshole. You're supposedta be helpin' her or makin' her
feel better emotionally or some shit. You just forget that she's eighteen
now for a few minutes, all right, dickehad? Logan trained
his eyes resolutely on her face.
"How did
the mission debrief go?"
"Uh, it
wasn't really a debrief. We weren't really talkin' about the mission."
He crossed the room to stand behind her as she resumed painting. Looking
over her shoulder, he couldn't make out what this one was supposed to be.
"Oh Lord,
you were talking about me, weren't you? What was it this time, my inferior
academic performance? My inappropriate snacking habits? My stubborn
refusal to dye the white streaks in my hair to match the rest of it?"
This wasn't good-Logan didn't like that she'd guess at all that. It
meant that she'd been feeling the effects of this-whatever was going on-for
a while now.
"Some of
that. I, uh, came up here to tell you that all of that's bullshit,
ya know."
"I knew
you'd say that," Rogue grinned over her shoulder. Logan's heart skipped
a beat at that. Shit. I'm in some deep shit here. This
ain't gonna be easy, keepin' my eyes on her face, not touchin' her.
Shit.
"Well, it's
true. You, ah, you're good at the art stuff. Hank said so."
"Hank's
biased. I painted a piece for his lab as a gift. Plus, he's been
a good friend, so he has to say nice things."
"What's this
one?" Logan gestured to the painting she was working on and moved a
step closer. He noticed for the first time that there were several
paintings strewn about the room. Almost a dozen, he guessed.
"I'm trying
for a more traditional subject and a more traditional style," Marie explained,
resting her brush on the palette momentarily and pursing her lips. "It's
supposed to be the window in this room. But I guess it's not turning
out so well if you can't really tell that. Crap."
"Language,"
Logan teased and took another step closer to her, almost unconsciously placing
his bare hands on her legging-covered hips. "Don't go by me, kid, I
dunno shit about art and I never painted a thing in my life."
"Yeah, but
it's supposed to be realistic. You're supposed to be able to recognize
the window. OK, I still went a *tad* astray from that with my characterization
of the curtains, but still." She didn't seem to notice his hands on
her.
"Where's
the other one you did? The statue one?"
Marie sighed
and didn't turn around. "Do you really want to see it? It's not
very good. I kind of hate having done a poor job of something that's
so..well, so deep with you, with both of us. I hate sucking like that,"
she joked.
"Hank said
it was real good. And he wasn't bullshittin' or bein' nice. Let's
see it." He leaned in to her and kissed the top of her head gently
to reinforce his words. She didn't react much to that either, but she
was wearing a bright smile when she carefully turned to face him.
"OK, but
remember-you asked for it." She moved out of his grasp to retrieve
a painting that had been leaned up against the wall, facing it. She
held it up in front of her-it was a large painting and Logan could only see
above her chin and below her knees sticking out from behind the canvas.
As soon as he saw it, he let out an involuntary gasp. "See? Not
so good."
"Kid," he
began, spellbound by the painting, "I dunno anythin' about art, but-"
"But you
can still tell this one's bad, right? Crap. I don't know what
I did wrong with this one, I just-"
"Nah.
I was gonna say I dunno anythin' about art, but this has gotta be it.
It's art, right there. It's-it feels.true. That's-if you went
into my head and pulled out everythin' I was feelin' that night, then made
a picture of it, this would be it. This would be exactly it.
Shit, how'd you do that?" The painting was a mass of color with no
discernable, recognizable shapes or objects. It was midnight blue with
dots of bright white at the top, then swirling silver. About a quarter
of the way down the canvas, it blackened, then slowly changed to red.
It was him being flown over the statue to save her, dropping down over the
machine. The black was for when he'd thought he wasn't going to be
able to save her, and the red was blood and life-his blood for her life.
Holy shit.
She got that, dead on.
"Really?"
she asked in an excited tone of voice. "Because I tried really hard
to get it just right."
"You did."
Logan finally tore his eyes away from the painting to look at her beaming
face. He couldn't prevent an answering smile from creeping across his
features.
"Thanks.
I'm really glad you like it-even if nobody else does, it means the most to
me that you like it. It's your-our-memories." Marie slowly set
the painting down, this time with the finished side facing the room instead
of the wall. She moved to stand beside him, so they could look at the
painting together. "I guess it's not, you know, a professional piece,
but it means a lot to me. It's actually one of my personal favorites.
Do you see the statue?"
Logan looked
at the painting again. "Where is it?"
"Look-look
at it as a whole-you won't see it if you just look at each of the colors.
Don't get distracted by the colors." He did as she instructed and found
it-a somewhat distorted, almost melting portrait of the statue's head and
hand upholding the torch. It was hard to see because she hadn't painted
any lines-she'd made the shape with only brushstrokes, very subtly, and the
colors changed with the rest of the painting, further obscuring the shape.
But it was there. It was there if you knew to look for it. In
fact, at the very top-those spots of bright white amidst the midnight blue-stars,
Logan realized-made up the top part of the torch.
"I got it.
That's-that's *impressive*. That's amazin'." He looked over to
her, and found her to be grinning widely. "You're seriously good at
this shit, Marie."
"You know,"
she said, still smiling, "I haven't had anybody call me that in a while.
Not in person. It was always nice to hear it when you'd call me from
the road, but there's something about hearing it in person that I missed."
"I missed
you too." I don't
think I ever made a phone call or wrote a postcard to anybody in my whole
life except for you, kid. Logan gingerly
put an arm around her, resting his hand on her hip and tugging her a little
closer to him.
"Logan, I'm-I'm
finished with school after tomorrow. I mean, there's the graduation
ceremony, but I'm finished after tomorrow. Well, assuming I don't fail
anything, that is. But-but what were you thinking of doing after that?
Did you have something in mind?"
Shit, she
probably knows exactly what I got in mind. She has me in her head enough
to get all of this and put it down into a paintin'. Might as well fess
up. "I
was thinkin' we'd take off, at least for a while. You know, maybe head
up north. Summer's a good time to see Alaska if you still wanna."
"I'd like
that." Her smile had turned shy. "I'd like for us to spend some
time together, uh, getting to know each other. You know, in a non-life-or-death
kind of setting."
"Yeah."
He gave a (mostly) friendly squeeze to her hip, then let her go. "I'll
let ya get back to paintin'. Come find me tomorrow when you're all
done and we'll sort out what we're gonna do and where we're gonna go."
"OK."
She was about to turn back to her canvas when Logan stopped her with a gentle
arm to her shoulder.
"Marie?
I dunno what Jeannie's problem is, with the paintin' or the other stuff, but
I do know it's her problem, not yours, kid. Got that?" She nodded
dutifully but a new warmth reached her eyes. "See ya tomorrow."
Logan gave her one last look, and a wink, then headed for his own room and
some much-needed sleep.
"Hey there."
Scott expected this reaction from Jean-she was already in bed and pretending
to be asleep. "I know you're awake. Want to talk?"
"Gee, no
thanks. I think I've had enough public chastisement today." She
was laying on her side, facing away from him and she hadn't changed her position
to respond.
"Jean," he
soothed, "come on, let's talk. I'm on your side. Come on."
He moved to sit on the bed beside her and gently turned her by the shoulder
until she faced him. "There's something going on with you, and I think
we should talk. Come on."
"There's
nothing going on with me. I don't know why everybody blames me.
Nobody thinks it's Rogue's fault at all, do they?"
"No," Scott
reasoned, "they don't. Because she's still a student and you're an adult.
Do you want to talk about blame or do you want to talk about what's really
going on."
"Why don't
you tell me your theory, Scott? You must have one, right? Go
ahead." She's still
smarting from the discussion in the kitchen. This won't be easy.
"I think
that Rogue rubs you the wrong way. I think that makes you act a little
differently toward her than the other students. I don't know why that
is and I was hoping we could talk about it." He reached out to her,
gently rubbing her arm, and was glad that she didn't resist that gesture.
"Maybe I'm
just a bitch," Jean said tiredly.
"No, you're
not. You're a wonderful, caring woman. I know that. That's
why I love you. And that's why I don't understand what's happening
between you and Rogue." He continued rubbing her arm, straying occasionally
to her shoulder.
Jean let
out a long sigh. "I don't know either, Scott. Maybe she just
does rub me the wrong way. It's just that she's so-everybody just loves
her. Automatically. Just like that. Completely and totally.
It's not fair. And I know that sounds petty and childish, but if I'm
really honest with myself, that's what I think it is. It's just-how
can it be that easy for her?" She rolled to her side to face Scott.
"I know it's awful of me to think that way. I know it is. But
everything-people, the painting, finding Logan-Scott, he knows her for a
few hours then fights to save her life, risks his own life for her, just
like that. Do you know how *hard* I had to work to turn myself into
someone that people could love? Into someone special? I went
to medical school for *years* to become a doctor. She paints like an
advanced grad student in her senior year of high school. She's-she's
got this horrible, scary mutation, but people don't mind it at all!
Me, I was always Crazy Jean, the girl who heard voices in her head.
I struggled so hard for control, Scott, so hard, but she just-she just-poof!-she
somehow magically balances all those people in her head, no effort required.
It's not fair. All the things that I had to work for just get handed
to her and it's just *wrong* that it's so easy for her. And I'm right-it's
not always going to be that way, not out in the real world. Maybe-maybe
she did hitchhike for eight months with no problems and maybe she did get
lucky by finding Logan, but it can't always work out like that. And
I know what it feels like when it doesn't. That's all I'm really trying
to do, Scott, to make her stop taking everything she has for granted, to
make her realize it's not all sunshine and not everybody is out there just
waiting to greet her with open arms. That's all. It's not like
I'm trying to destroy her life or anything. God.."
Scott laid
a gentle kiss on Jean's cheek. "Honey, do you know that everything you
just said-that's how a lot of people see you? And I'd be willing to
place a bet that Rogue sees you that way too. Jean, who controls her
mutation without effort, Jean who looks beautiful and perfect and poised
every minute of the day, Jean who just popped out of medical school and became
a brilliant doctor, just like that." Jean pursed her lips at Scott,
not really believing the words. "They think of you as Jean, brave x-man.
They think of you as Jean, the woman with the really cute husband."
She didn't laugh but her lips did relax and turn upward at the corners for
a moment. "Nobody really knows the whole story. Nobody really sees
all the effort, all the work, all the trials and tribulations. They
just see you from the outside. Maybe that's true for Rogue too.
Maybe it's not just that easy for her."
"It is,
though, Scott, for some things at least. The painting-do you know what
she could accomplish if she'd just *work* at it a little?"
"I hear
what you're saying, honey, I do. But remember that it's *not* all easy
for her. She was almost killed twice in a very short period of time-first
by Logan, then by Magneto. She had both of them forced into her head.
Her family kicked her out and she had to live on her own for months before
we found her. She had to live hand to mouth. She's still plagued
with nightmares, and some of them aren't even her own. She doesn't
really fit in with the other kids her age-they all like her, yes, but they're
not really true friends for her. She's had to deal with a lot of things
at a very young age. And she's in love with a weirdo." Jean did
laugh a little at that. "Honey, I know you don't mean to hurt her,
but you kind of are. And it can't go on this way, because it's hurting
both of you. And I hate to see you hurting."
"Do you
think I should talk to her?"
Scott sighed,
considering it. "I think if you try to change a little toward her, she'll
respond. I don't think a big talk is really her style. She does
have Logan in there with her, after all."
Jean's expression
warmed, and she gave out a long sigh. "Thanks."
"For what?"
Jean smiled
as she reached to turn off the bedside light. "For not thinking I'm
a bitch. For being understanding."
"That's
why all the girls envy you, right there. You've got a fabulous man."
He leaned into her as the room turned dark.
"I sure
do," she purred.
"Hello,"
Rogue greeted Jean amicably at the door of the small room that served as her
painting studio. She'd finished the calc exam about a half hour ago,
and felt reasonably good about it. Rogue felt much less good about
this. But she had stayed up the night painting, so she hoped that there
would be something that Jean would like in the new piece.
"Hello,
Rogue. How are you?" Rogue blinked in surprise at that, but recovered
quickly.
"Fine.
And I'm done painting. Would you like to see it?"
Jean smiled
with a warmth she didn't quite feel and let Rogue lead her to the painting
displayed on the easel in the corner of the room. "Oh," she commented
upon seeing the painting.
Rogue let
out an almost inaudible sigh and her shoulders dropped. She could already
tell that Jean didn't like it. "It's, uh, the window, there."
"Yes, yes
I can tell that." Rogue frowned while Jean continued to look at the
painting appraisingly. "Rogue, this isn't what I was expecting.
It's not your usual style."
"I, uh,
thought you wanted something not my usual style."
"Is that
what I said?" It came out sharply, and Jean took a deep breath and caught
herself. "I mean, that's not what I meant. I just meant that
you needed to reflect upon your style, improve it a little, that's all.
I didn't mean to say I didn't like your style." Rogue didn't respond,
she just frowned a little and waited for Jean to pass judgment on the painting.
Jean turned
back to it. It was awful, just awful. What a pedantic,
pedestrian, perfectly *common* piece of crap. It could be hanging above
a bed at a Motel Six, it's so awful. I wonder if she did this as some
kind of jab at me, as some defiant little display. I know she's not
actually this bad. "Do you
want me to grade this one? Isn't there something else you'd rather submit
as a final project? I'd-I'd be open to that." There.
That was nice of me.
"Um, none
of the other ones are really any better, I guess. I-I don't know what
you like."
"It's not
about what I like, Rogue, it's about what's good art. This isn't good
art. It's not even in the same neighborhood as good art."
"Well, the
rest of these all live in the same neighborhood as that one, so you might
as well go ahead and grade it." See?
That's what I mean by defiant. I'm trying to give her a chance here,
and she's too stubborn to take it.
"Uh, no,
Rogue. No, they don't. Look, just pick another piece, any one
of them would be better than this."
Rogue finally
met Jean's gaze and her eyes were hard. "No. This is my final
project. Grade this one."
"You really
are being stubborn for no reason. I'm trying to help you. I'm
bending over backward to be fair here, Rogue. You've done better work."
Rogue shook
her head slowly. "This is my final project," she repeated. "Go
ahead and grade it, Dr. Grey." She straightened and squared her shoulders,
bracing for Jean's assessment.
"Fine, then."
Jean took another look at the piece. "I'm going to have to give it
a D."
And that's generous, given your total failure to do anything even remotely interesting here. Rogue nodded
once and looked at the floor again, eyes stinging with tears. "That
makes my final grade a C then? I got mostly Bs and Cs during the semester."
C minus.
No, no, I promised Scott that I'd try. And he's right, I'm the adult,
I have to be mature even when she's acting like a child. "Right.
You know, you have a lot of talent, Rogue. You have a lot of potential.
Your grades don't reflect that because you don't put enough effort into your
work."
"It's just-it's
just for fun, for a release. I don't want to work hard on it."
God!
Do you know that people would give an arm and a leg to have that kind of talent?
To have the chance to develop it, to work at it? "Well,
there you have it, then. Have a good day." Jean left without
looking back at Rogue. Her cheeks burned with anger at the girl's attitude,
but she thought overall, she'd handled it well. Or at least better
than usual.
Hank entered
Rogue's Studio (they'd dubbed it that during a late-night twinkie binge)
to find her sitting indian-style on the floor, crying. "Oh my.
Are you all right?"
Rogue nodded
and waved for Hank to come in. He entered and closed the door behind
him. "I'm fine. I'm just upset about the painting." She
waved to the piece Jean had graded and Hank went over to take a look at it.
"It's, ah,
very, ah.it's actually quite..it's, ah, particularly.."
"Bad," Rogue
finished for him. "I know it is, but I thought it would be what she
wanted. I tried to make something she'd like, and she gave it a D.
A- a D, Hank! I am a below average artist."
Hank turned
to her and weighed whether to hug her or not. She was very sensitive
about being touched but she generally didn't seem to mind Hank. He
decided that a hug was indeed a good idea when he saw her shoulders shake
with a fresh sob. He sat beside her and gathered her in. "Now,
now, that's not at all true. This particular piece, well, on the scale
of Rogue-art, it is rather low. But you are certainly a much better
than average artist."
"I don't
know, maybe Jean's right, maybe I need work. I'm not good enough or
something, and even if it's just for fun, even if I don't end up doing it
for a living, maybe I have no business sucking this much."
"You do
not suck in the least." She let out a small laugh at the solemnity
with which he said that. "You are the antithesis of suck. Plus,
it is your talent, Rogue. It is your talent to develop as you wish,
as much or as little as you wish. God has given it to you, and you
must decide what you wish to do with it, not anyone else."
"But you
think I should work at it more, take it all more seriously."
"I think
that would be beneficial if your goal is to work professionally, yes.
Is that what you want?"
"Honestly?
I don't know. What the heck do I know? Everybody keeps reminding
me that I'm just eighteen, and I don't really know what I want, and they're
right. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a race car driver.
I drove the fastest Big Wheels in the neighborhood." Hank chuckled
at that. "But that changed and maybe so will this. And I just don't
want to work on it if working on it consists of working on it with Jean.
She's never said one single good thing about any of the paintings I've done.
Oh, sure, she says I have talent, but that's just so she can criticize me
for not using it like she wants. I hate that. Maybe it's stupid
or wimpy or childish, but I hate hearing how everything I do isn't good enough
all the time."
"Well, no
one likes that. And I don't believe that you need to retain Jean as
a teacher or mentor if that isn't working for you. You have the option
of finding someone more harmonious with you or working on your own.
There are many examples of successful and respected artists who've taken
both approaches. You'll figure it all out, I am confident you will."
Rogue sniffled
and raised her head from Hank's shoulder to look at him. "Thanks.
You're a good friend. Thanks for indulging my little temper tantrum."
"If you
really wish to thank me, I'll take another painting." He smiled at
her warmly, and gave her a squeeze before letting her go and helping her
to her feet.
"I would
love to," Rogue answered. "But it's not going to be a window, OK?"
They both laughed at that, and Hank knew he'd made her feel at least a little
better.
"Ummm, those
jeans can stay. They, uh, don't really fit anymore." Marie blushed
as she laid the jeans aside. "You probably noticed I gained a little
weight." She glanced shyly at Logan, who sat propped up against her
headboard, watching her pack for their departure tomorrow.
"Yeah, I
did notice. Looks good on ya. You were a starvin' little thing
when you hopped in with me."
"Well, thanks,
but I gained twenty pounds. I think I kind of overdid it." She
patted her round tummy. "Maybe some sit-ups.."
"Look, I'm,
uh, not really good at this kinda thing, but I'm tellin' ya, you look good."
Luscious breasts, a real nice ass-don't wanna lose those. And that tummy's cute. "You have
to say that. It's, like, against the rules to call your girlfriend fat,
even if she is." She smiled when she said it and turned back to the
closet then caught herself and whipped back around, mortified. "Did
I say girlfriend? I, uh, I meant-I meant something else. Something
else completely. Just ignore that."
"I don't
think of you as my girlfriend. I think of you as my Marie. You
know-the whole package. Friend, uh, girl, partner, ah, person-you-protect,
woman, you know, the whole deal." It was Logan's turn to look a little
embarrassed.
"Yeah?"
Logan nodded, relieved that she seemed to have caught his meaning.
"You know, that's what the you in my head always thinks too."
"Well, that
would make sense."
"They you
up there likes the, uh, extra weight too. Bigger boobs." She
said it facing away from him so that he wouldn't see the blush creeping up
her cheeks or the playful grin on her face.
"I'm, uh,
not too weird up there, am I?" Shit, I
probably do a little dance or somethin' every time she gets naked.
"No, no.
You're actually.you're actually pretty sweet. Every time I look in the
mirror and, you know, think something bad about myself or how I look, you,
ah, tend to counteract that." Sometimes
with *very* vivid mental images.
"Good.
Well, good." Marie finally turned over her shoulder to give him a reassuring
smile.
"So, what
else will I need? I think I've got the clothes pretty much covered."
"Are you
takin' stuff for paintin'?" He'd heard the Story of the Art Final,
first from Marie, then Jeannie. Weird how
Jeannie always thinks the worst of Marie-thinkin' she did that bad paintin'
just to get a reaction outta her. Shit, I understand why Marie got
her back up and told Jeannie to grade that one, given the shit Jeannie said.
It's a good thing to get Marie outta here for a while.
"I don't
know. I don't know if I want to do that anymore." Marie plopped
down on the bed beside Logan. "Maybe I should just let it go, you know.
I'm not sure I want to really work at it and, you know, agonize over every
piece. I started out painting for fun, and it hasn't been fun for a
while."
Logan put
an arm around her, drawing her close. "Whatever you think. Could
just take some stuff along just in case. And even if you don't wanna,
you know, sell 'em or somethin', I like lookin' at 'em. I wouldn't
mind you makin' some more."
"I said
I'd do another one for Hank, and I guess it wouldn't hurt to just bring a
few things along if you don't mind."
"Good."
He gave her a little squeeze. "I think that's it then, we're good to
go."
She snuggled
down further into his embrace. "Alaska, here we come."
Hank received
the package postmarked Vancouver about a month after Logan and Rogue had
departed. He knew immediately that it was her promised painting and
excitedly unwrapped it. It was blue-a hundred, no, a thousand different
shades of blue. It was a landscape, but not an ordinary one.
The trees, long grass, flowers-they were all blue. They sky was indigo,
the clouds were azure, the moon was a pale cyan. Hank smiled broadly
at the work and opened the note that had accompanied it.
Hank,
Tell me
what you think. This one was definitely just for fun, but I hope you
like it. I call it The World According to Hank and I only wish everything
had a little touch of you in it ;) If you're nice, I might do a "serious"
one for you one of these days..
Rogue
This one
*was* just for fun, he knew. She did a technically somewhat-above-average
job, but he could almost feel her warmth and brightness right through the
work. That's what
will make her a good artist if she does choose to pursue it. That's
what you can't teach-how to put a piece of yourself into your art.
He smiled
cheerfully and set out to write a thank you, and a request for that 'serious'
painting.
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