ashes to ashes

jean • professor • therapist deerfield community college the rising center

[buckyofcoherence]

Help! I need somebody.

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

ohmyl0ki‌:

@jeanxgrcy​

Mayor Loki decided to take Bruce Banner’s advice and see a therapist. He was stubborn at first to see one and didn’t want someone to leak his talks out to the public. Bruce reassured him that she was the best and could keep secrets. He set up an appointment and sat in the waiting room. His leg shaking from nerves while he flipped through a US magazine. He heard his name being called. He got a few stares from people knowing who he was.

It was hard to go anywhere without the stares. He went into the room and looked around. “Hey.” He said. Should he just sit down? He went to the chaise lounge and took a seat. “I.. I must admit I have never done this before, you come highly recommended.”

Discretion is quite possibly the most important attribute for a therapist, next to compassion. Working in New York’s mental health centers, Jean had seen her share of high-society blue-bloods. and a celebrity or two; she’d never told a soul. So, when the mayor of her new home called her for an appointment, Jean was less shocked by his call, than by the fact that a man of his stature in such a small, tightly-knit town had decided to see a therapist at all, let alone one so new to the town.

As he entered, Jean rose to her feet, and gestured toward the different chairs in the office. “Anywhere you like. I promise, the chair you pick has nothing to do with treatment,” Jean smiled, and sat in the armchair near the chaise. “I’m glad to hear my little center has made an impression, Mr. Mayor. Oh, which reminds me-- I’m often more informal with my patients, but I wanted to ask you your preference: would you prefer first names, or would you prefer your title?” Jean had served people who asked to go only by first names, those who preferred “mister” or “missus”, and those who preferred aliases. But civil servants were fickle, and Jean’s priority was to make him comfortable.

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

wic-cant‌:

Billy knocked gently on Dr. Grey’s door. On her syllabus it had said they were her office hours, but if the door was shut it was possible she was busy. He really needed her to look over his rough draft. He couldn’t have his psychology grade dropping his GPA. He understood the topics well enough, he just couldn’t manage to explain them to someone else. He could have asked someone in the writing center for help, but Dr. Grey seemed like the better option.

When he didn’t get a response to his knock, he opened the door to poke his head in. His professor appeared to be picking her papers up off the floor. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could proof read my paper? It says you’ll look over them on the syllabus.”

Jean’s head pivoted back to the door. “Billy? I mean, please, come in, come in.” In a last effort, Jean scooped the remaining papers into her arms, and placed them unceremoniously on the corner of her desk. Gesturing to the wide, wingback chairs in front of her, Jean took her seat behind her desk. “I’m happy to read over it. Normally, I’d mention that the deadline is only a week out, but I’m certain most of your classmates haven’t even started it yet.”

“So, is there anything in particular I can take a look at for you? I know our last unit exam was a bit difficult.”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

thunderous-thor‌:

Thor was a fairly regular denizen of this particular bar, and it was this one in particular because the owners didn’t mind him running up a tab, knowing that Loki would eventually pay it.  In his more self-destructive days, he’d buy rounds for the whole place, an added fuck you to his brother and his family legacy, drinking himself into oblivion with anyone that was willing to join him. And there were always plenty of willing parties.  Booze and sex didn’t completely make up for all that he felt he was missing here, but it sure as hell helped.

Hence him coming into the bar tonight.  He wasn’t feeling that intense self-destructive bent that would lead to his wilder nights, but Peter was working tonight and that made the apartment feel more lonely than Thor would like to admit.  It was like a strange itch that gathered at the back of his neck, calling him to some kind of…something.  Thor could never name it, but he just knew it would just keep getting worse and worse until he obliterated whatever brain cell was responsible for it.

He was already a pitcher of beer in, but it wasn’t nearly enough, just enough to make that itch more of an annoyance than the actual physical pain it had started to become before he came in.  Thor had just retrieved another pitcher and was in the process of returning to his table- complete with two more drunk women, one or both of whom he intended to bring home with him tonight, at least until he felt a pair of legs swing into his, knocking him back enough to spill the pitcher down his shirt.  Thor felt something angry start to build inside of him until he saw the woman’s pretty face, and the enticing tumble of red hair around her face.   “Oh nothing that can’t be fixed,” Thor said with a wink, setting down the now half empty pitcher and pulling off his wet t-shirt and tossing it back towards the girls at his table.  He leaned in and wiggled his eyebrows at her, laying one arm over the back of the seat, pressing himself gently into her space.  "Make it up to me and buy me another drink.“  He smiled, something easy but also dangerous about it.  “Or maybe I’ll buy you one, beautiful women should never buy their own drinks.”

Looking up into the stranger’s face, Jean was stuck with a bolt of anxiety, with a hefty dose of embarrassment. Of course, the only suitable ending to this godawful day would be to kick an extremely handsome man, right in his legs. If God himself came down to strike her down where she sat, she’d chalk it up to just another appropriate part of this awful day. That is, until the stranger in question threw his soaked shirt off, without a second thought, and sidled up closer to her. At which point, Jean began to wonder if her luck had begun to turn.

The napkin Jean extended toward the blond man fluttered out of her slackened fingers. Well... Damn. Jean’s normally eloquent mouth fell ajar, dry-- her cheeks were radiating so much heat, she was sure he’d be able to feel it. “I’m sorry, a-all the same,” Jean finally croaked, taking a quick sip of her drink. Anything to get her mouth moving again properly. “But really, it was my mistake. So... another pitcher, then? If you wouldn’t mind joining me, that is. I’d be happy to order one over,” Jean extended her hand toward the waitress--leggy, blonde, and most certainly cut from a very different, much more mass-appealing cloth than Jean was. Despite that, Jean was not intending on losing this man’s attention. She’d come here to improve her night, after all, and she was due at least a conversation. “I’m Jean, by the way...” Jean added, sliding further into her booth, and gesturing for the man standing above her to follow. 

The ambiance of the bar-- sounds of music, snippets of conversation, pouring of drinks-- washed over her. “So, I’ve never been here before, but you seem like a regular. Anything I should keep in mind...?”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

arcanum-exo‌:

“I had a very good day, actually,” he replied with the kind of tone that suggested he knew as well as she did just how rare those could be for him. Jean knew better than anyone about his sleepless nights and the ghosts of his past that refused to stay buried, and while she wasn’t officially his therapist, Stephen was pretty sure he ought to start paying her in more than the occasional drink.

He paused in the pouring of said drink in order to watch the way Spots tangled himself around Jean’s ankles with the energy of an awkward teenager with a crush, grinning and shaking his head good-naturedly. “I’m not convinced that he doesn’t like you much more than he likes me. But, yes, he’s been behaving exceptionally well,” Stephen assured her with the same wide smile as he finished pouring and crossed to offer her the glass, then turned to reach for a small handful of treats from a jar on the nearest bookshelf. “We’ve finally gotten through our basic obedience lessons, so we’ve moved on to more… elaborate things.” To demonstrate, Stephen stepped to the side and Spots followed excitedly, lured by the promise of treats and plopping his butt obediently on the floor when Stephen raised one fist.

“Stick ‘em up,” Stephen demanded gruffly with an exaggerated frown, pointing a two-fingered gun in Spots’ direction to cue the pup to rise up on his haunches with an excited whine. With an equally gruff ‘bang’ Stephen released his thumb and Spots flopped dramatically backwards, and it might’ve even been convincing if not for the continued and overly enthusiastic wagging of the dog’s tail and his wiggling haunches. Stephen dropped the act with a chuckle. “We’re still working on that part,” he confided, waiting for Spots to squirm back to sitting before he tossed a couple of treats for the dog to catch mid-air.

“A good day? For the surly Doctor Stephen Strange? Perhaps it’s about time I go buy a lottery ticket!” Jean grinned, with another ruffle to the dog’s fluffy fur, before standing up. “In all seriousness, Stephen... I’m so happy you had such a good day.” She fixed him with another sweet expression, gentle and compassionate. “And I’d love to hear about it, too.”

Jean curled her fingers around the heavy highball glass, and gave the amber-colored drink a swirl. “You’re really putting this little man through his paces, aren’t you?” She crossed to the chair, folding herself in with the ease of a frequent guest, and a friend. “Well, go on! I’m excited to see him show off.” With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Jean watched, enamored, as the sweet hound reared up, and collapsed backwards, obeying his master’s orders... mostly.

Jean clapped like she’d witnessed a masterpiece, and stretched out her hands to play with the dog again. “Well, I think hes doing much better! At least he tries to listen to you. Wadsworth’s grown a fascination with knocking all my files onto the floor when he decides I’ve stayed away too long. Can’t seem to get him to quit,” Jean chuckled. She knew Stephen was intimately familiar with her darling cat’s stubborn, petty streak.

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

Liability || Jean & Strange

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

arcanum-exo‌:

Despite the power he could sense in Jean’s own psychic energy when it lashed out, it didn’t seem to phase him save a cursory glance at his artifacts to make sure none of them needed rescuing. The spike of power that followed, however, Stephen could tell was something else entirely, something foreign and far more dangerous. His own defensive energies bristled reflexively in response as he could feel the telltale surge around the young woman in front of him, and while he hadn’t personally encountered the Phoenix Force up until this moment – he only had what he’d learned second-hand, or researched himself – there was no doubt in the sorcerer’s mind. It was clear confirmation that not only was Jean inexorably linked to the universal force but she was barely able to hold it together. Or keep it from taking her over.

Stephen let out a soft, slow breath of something like relief when he could feel the Phoenix energy ebb and as his eyes flickered to where Jean’s hands settled in her lap, keeping his own arms folded. “No, Ms. Grey. It’s not my intent to harm you. But I am going to have to ask you not to do… that,” he replied in an echo of Jean’s own tone, and with a brief gesture towards her general person as he straightened up from his desk and crossed behind it again.

A few more papers were moved around and the enormous book briefly consulted before Stephen sank into his chair, fixing Jean with another shrewd look. “Tell me – what is it that you know about the Phoenix Force?”

The electric tingles of residual power vibrated across her body, fractals of energy pulsing against her skin, her eyes, her hair. Jean let it go, breathing out the Phoenix’s seductive call. It had been so long since she’d reached out and touched that power, suffocating and empowering all at once. She’d hoped not to have felt it again. She’d hoped it was gone.

She was wrong.

“I know that whatever you think you want with it, you’re mistaken,” Jean began, her voice hoarse. Her throat clenched, and bobbed, with a hard swallow. “It’s the most dangerous entity that even someone like you could ever hope to face. It brought me back, twice now,” she breathed out, the very admission of which ached; the fire in her core lay mostly dormant, but seemed to flare and arch at the mention of its name. She never spoke about it if she could help it. Jean was terrified of waking it up, but it seemed that it was too late-- the Phoenix was as alive and well as she was.

“What do you want with it? Extract it? Kill it?” Jean continued, her voice almost clinically cold despite the clench in her chest. “You’re the Sorcerer Supreme, you said. I don’t know much about Sorcerers. But I do know that every person who’s ever come looking for the Phoenix regrets it. Believe me. I know.”

[muitomaisqueumaprincesa]

BRUTAL HONESTY HOUR.

[arcanum-exo]

A - If I'm in love.

B - Who the last person I talked to on the phone was.

C - How long it's been since I've kissed.

D - If I have a preference for boys or girls.

E - How many piercings I have.

F - Give me any options, like 'hot or cold?'

G - The last person I said 'I love you' to.

H - The last person I hugged.

I - The last time I felt jealous, and why.

J - Are you insecure. What about?

K - What my full name is.

L - If I have siblings.

M - If I forgive betrayal.

N - Favourite animal?

O - Where would I like to travel

P - What kind of music I like.

Q - Favourite flower?

R - Is cheating ever okay?

S - 2 habits.

T - 3 things I love unconditionally.

U - Favourite time of year, and why

V - Big dreams?

W - If I've done something I regret very much.

X - 3 turn ons

Y - 3 turns offs

Z - Ask any question you want.

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

|| Office Hours ||

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

doctor-bruce-banner‌:

Bruce had never taken himself for someone to be anything close to a professor, not like the types he’d had in college, people with too much time in academia who had lost touch with the real world, pursuing knowledge above all else, perfectly content to cut the human element out of it entirely.  But when it became clear that just the small private practice he’d started running out of his basement wasn’t going to be busy enough to make endsmeat.  

But community college was entirely different, a slower pace, and almost every professor had another job.  Not research like his old professors, but real jobs out in the community.  It proved to be strangely rewarding, teaching almost exclusively for those that were heading into the small nursing program at the larger college just outside of town.  It was making a difference, and maybe even more than the one he’d felt he was making contracted to Boston General, working on bigger cases with bigger payoffs.  Still, Bruce didn’t feel like he really felt in, often seen as a big city man even though he’d done his best to adapt his life to a slower pace.  He was seen as kind and competent, but largely still an outsider.  But Jean Grey, when she’d started teaching here, had never made her feel that way.  In fact, he’d watched the other faculty try to eat her alive, and while he hadn’t really done the good thing to step up, he’d remembered giving her a gentle nod, and roll of the eyes to let her know he knew exactly how the rest of them operated.

It was the little things, like this small friendship the made Bruce feel like he was connected to this place at all, when there were times he felt like he might just float away, untethered to the earth by anything except his daughter. “Well, you can come off as a little intimidating,” Bruce said with a grin.  "People are always a little terrified of accomplished women, it’s woven into the misogynistic fabric of our great land,“ he said with a slightly amused sigh.  "Or maybe you’re just that amazing of a teacher that they don’t have questions because you answered all of them in class.”  

Bruce lifted an eyebrow and let out something of a laugh. “Please don’t tell me that’s a real question that someone asked you,” Bruce said and shook his head.  "Though honestly, it sounds like a more exciting discussion than the questions I get.  Which is largely from boys that are forced into my biology class, trying to figure out new and exciting ways they can avoid getting their girlfriends pregnant without using contraception.“  He made a bit of a face.  "Also exactly what I got my doctorate for.”   He smirked and shook his head.  "I am sure my daughter would love for me to make an appointment, but I think I’ve got at least a minor handle on my various issues,“ he teased.  "But I can’t imagine it will take too long for people to start coming to you.  We really don’t have the services here that are sorely needed.  I’d even suggest reaching out to Xavier’s, I’m sure they could use another therapist to contract out to.  Those kids sure do need it.”

Although Jean was an “actual doctor”, most of the surgeons and general practitioners never failed to make her feel inferior. Of course, they went to the same schools, practiced at the same hospitals. But her degree was different, like her patients were different. So she was less than. Of course, this meant that whenever Jean met another doctor who didn’t make her feel that way, it made her sit up and take notice: Bruce had been one of those doctors.

After roughly her fifth time gently wheedling him into talking to her, Jean had come to know Doctor Bruce Banner as one of the good ones, someone who really, truly cared about people. She was grateful to find a kindred spirit in this little town. “Well, I hope you’re right. Sort of,” Jean laughed, tossing her full head of red curls. “I can’t tell if I’d rather be so frightening they can’t ask me questions, or that I’m doing so well that sitting here is a waste of time.”

Jean folded a leg over the other, leaning further back in her chair. Her face had softened, showing only an expression of genuine care. “Well, if you really can’t be persuaded. But my office is always open to you, and to Kitty. Even if it’s not at the office, or whatever. I’m here to talk. You know that, right?” She tapped his arm, gently, once, before returning to her pose in the chair. “Anyway... I hope you’re right. I’d love to help the kids at Xavier’s, if they’ll have me. I never know in this place-- I know people don’t often trust outsiders.”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

The lights in the bar were low and smoky. Men and women floating here and there, in flirtation, in conflict, in love. On the mounted speakers, 1970s and 80s classic rock buzzed; all the electric guitar and synth instruments blurring together in one continuous drawl-- Jean had been here over an hour now, and she couldn’t have singled out one particular song from the playlist.

From her little booth for two in the back corner of the bar, Jean took a long pull from her scotch, just watching the motion around her. It was her third of the hour, and guaranteed not to be her last. It had been a particularly draining day on Jean’s energy: it seemed that no matter how she tried, most of the faculty refused to warm up to her, and the weight of it-- plus her heavy courseload, plus her work trying to develop her practice-- had thoroughly wiped Jean of whatever residual strength she’d collected for the week. So, after closing her practice, she’d forgone her little green Volkswagen Beetle and took a walk in the early fall air. They’d led her here, to an unfamiliar bar, to a glass of scotch in her hand. She couldn’t really complain. Jean took another sip from her glass before swinging her legs out from the booth-- and colliding them with a man who was passing by at exactly the wrong moment.

“Oh my god,” Jean exclaimed, one hand flying to her mouth. She swiftly scooted forward on the pleather cushions, and reached out to the tall blond in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

@thunderous-thor

[sigynaseirdotter]

Little Town, it’s a quiet-Well that didn’t last long.

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

sigynaseirdotter‌:

The sleepy town was starting to rumble with activity as sunlight streamed into the crowded bookstore. A simple plaque hanging above named the store “Yggdrasil Book Shop” as a golden imprint of a tree had been burned into the metal. The vast display window had an assortment of books stacked haphazardly without any favoritism for genre or author, even a vast dictionary was currently the favored ‘spot’ of a large, but drowsy looking black cat as golden eyes blinked lazily as the sun filtered in. Despite the non-rigid book structure, there was a simple note that said items were to be sold at 50% off with no warrenty that cat hair lingered between some pages. The books were mainly for display, but owner did get the occasional buyer that said the slight wear on the books added to the charm. Although it was advised to consult the owner before attempting to retrieve said book..if one of Hati’s chosen spots were chosen..there would be blood.

Moving beyond the small shelves of standard ‘in-fashion’ novels of popular authors, the true treasures of the shop were kept on polished black oak sleeves in the middle and back area of the shop. The middle shelves housed everything a traveler could want; encyclopedias of flora and fauna, books on foreign languages, small guide books for the busy tourist, camping cookbooks, full color picture books of every imagined landscape from around the world. While in the back, it wasn’t your typical shelf as it was akin to a series of displays as sunlight passed over a set-up projector. Minute by minute a new map of some kind would flash against the solid drawers each marked with a card with information on their contents. Even specialty orders could be made for a surveyor to provide a fresh map with their own flourish..or connections to original maps hundreds of years old.

While the main registry of the shop could be found in front of a vast stacks of seemingly random objects against the far right of the shop. The only window of the store couldn’t do it’s job properly as too many books, loose papers and other things were blocking the streaming light. The collection seemed to change periodically as an observer could catch the few words of a letter, a marked up encyclopedia, simple origami paper toys to please a child. This was Sigyn’s precious clutter and her single rule of the shop, that no one move or even touch any of it. It had been her deceased father’s and acted a memory of him for her..as she could be seen flickering over pages of some book in quieter hours of the shop. Her quiet space until reality came knocking again..

At least she had company in the quieter hours as Hati kept watch from his book ‘post’ and Skol, his snowy but equally furry brother kept watch from a simple overstuffed pillow located at the end of the counter space next to the brass register. Perfect for ear scratches as his purr was a low rumble as Sigyn stroked a fuzzy ear as she paused in her drink of morning coffee. A simple brew, but rich in its’ bitter taste. This was her morning routine..open up the shop, drink coffee, appease her cats temperamental moods and attempt to browse a book or two..

The chiming of the door’s tinkling bell and the greeting meow of Hati broke the silence as Sigyn smiled at her customer “Hello. Welcome to  Yggdrasil, where the world is at your fingertips. How can I help you?”. Her tone was not too chipper as in truth she had never been much of morning person, but her caffeine was just starting to kick in.

There were few places in Deerfield that Jean knew would both appease her curious nature, and also provided a safe, private enough space for her to relax without encountering a patient, co-worker, or student. Yggdrasil Book Shop, and its kind owner, perfectly fit the bill.

Jean’s classes for the day had been canceled-- maintenance to the ventilation system in the office building proved to make all the classrooms completely uninhabitable. As the sun had already risen, Jean was completely incapable of getting back to sleep. Golden, warm sun beams lit the trees, and the walkways with a beautiful glow. Holding two coffee cups in her hand, Jean walked into the door of Sigyn’s shop.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Jean smiled, advancing to the front desk. Gently, she set the two paper cups on the counter, and extended a hand out to Skol to reacquaint the two of them-- her own cat, a fluffy ginger Persian named Wadsworth, had insisted on cuddling this morning, and his fur lingered  on her sleeves. In Hati and Skol’s territory, however, she liked to remind them that she was a friend, not a stranger.

“Oh, I was hoping to catch you before your first cup. I brought you a latte from the shop. Compensation for being what I assume is your first customer of the day.”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

arcanum-exo‌:

Setting his glass on the small table between the two close-set chairs, Stephen pushed himself up to standing as he heard Jean coming up the stairs, smiling and shaking his head. “My good professor,” he tried to say with a straight face and largely failed, starting to chuckle even as he pressed one hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “I invite you up for a nightcap, and here you respond with such threats.” It was safe to say that not all of the scars on his hands and forearms were from the accident; plenty were contributed by furry ‘friends,’ and Wadsworth had definitely left his mark.

Without waiting for an answer he turned and pushed open the door to his apartment, waving Jean in after him. The place was immaculately clean and organized to the point where it hardly seemed lived-in, but the illusion was shattered by the enthusiastic entrance of a medium-sized white dog covered in black speckles that bounded in from the next room, dropping a couple of all-too-well-loved stuffed animals in his wake. Excited as Spots was by Jean’s presence he was still exceptionally well trained, and while his tail wagged hard enough to shake half his body he didn’t jump on her, only orbiting her feet a couple of times before pausing to beg for pets.

Stephen’s kitchen was a short walk across the open-aired loft layout of his apartment, and it was noticeably peppered with gadgets designed to limit the stress on his hands; his cookware was lightweight, utensil handles ergonomic. An electric jar opener was within easy reach, and a tool that could open wine bottles with the push of a button perched on the island where Stephen kept his almost suspiciously impressive collection of alcohol. Large glass bottles of liquor had been transferred into lighter-weight decanters, all of which he gestured to before opening up a cupboard of glasses. “Pick your poison.”

As Jean climbed the narrow staircase to Stephen’s upstairs apartment, a smile came to her face at the sound of his laugh. It was a rarer sound than she’d like, but whenever she happened to make him happy, it was a victory. Even though it was at the expense of her poor cat Wadsworth, a geriatric ginger Persian that she’d adopted during her undergraduate studies. He was her constant companion, her familiar, and the bane of Stephen’s existence. When he wasn’t being exceedingly difficult--even on occasion hostile-- to Stephen during their monthly veterinary appointments, he was affectionate to him at exactly the wrong moments. Stephen was convinced it was out of spite-- Jean wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong. “Threats? But you and are such good friends, I’d have thought you’d be happy to see him!” Her laugh bubbled out as she followed him into his apartment.

No matter how many times Jean had been here, the near-obsessive neatness off the place always came as a bit of a shock. Books perfectly aligned in cases. Cushions were set on the chairs at perfect-90 degree angles; Jean was fairly positive he measured them with a level, but hadn’t yet caught him in the act. Even the few personal items in the room were arranged with mechanical precision. Once when she visited, Jean had surreptitiously rotated a little paperweight by only a quarter of an inch. The next time she’d arrived, it had been corrected. Her clinical mind had already run the gamut of what it could mean, despite her attempts to restrain it. She was debating a second attempt when she heard the scrabble of big paws, and the panting of Stephen’s fluffy, darling dog Spots, running right to her feet.

Jean’s face lit up in delight before kneeling down, despite being in her sensible black work-skirt, and ruffling Spots’ mottled fur, and scratching his head and ears. “Oh, hello there! Yes, I missed you too, buddy, I missed you too!” A jingling giggle erupted out of Jean as the hound licked her face, and she wrapped her arms around him to tousle the fur on his sides. “I hope you’re being good for your dad, yeah? Not causing too many problems?” She scolded, in a mock serious tone, before shooting a grin to Stephen, in the kitchen. Casting an eye over the selection, she rose to her feet before dusting herself free of fur. “Scotch, no ice.” A wincing smile, then a shrug. “Seems it’s been that kind of day for both of us, am I right?”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

“Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see!”

“O-oh, um... thank you...? Wait, is this like a joke, are you joking with me?”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

|| Office Hours ||

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

doctor-bruce-banner‌:

Jean Grey was a force to be reckoned with, Bruce had seen that on his first meeting with her.  She was young, incredibly so, to be as accomplished as she was. For someone with as much ambition as she’d shown, she also seemed remarkably down to earth.  But at first, the fact that she was so young had made Bruce a little wary to get to know her on all but the most professional of levels.  He really didn’t want to seem like one of those guys, since he was sure in her career, Jean had run into plenty of them.

But it was another way she proved to have the same stubborn quality that he had so admired in Betty, carefully wearing him down and opening himself up to her friendship.  And that was something Bruce felt incredibly grateful for as he handed Jean over some of the papers he’d collected for her.  "I’ve been a part time professor here for almost a decade, and I’ve had students actually come to office hours maybe…fifteen times?“  He finished helping her tidy up and gestured to the chair reserved for students in a question before sitting down.

"It’s good to see you too. I figured it’d been too long, and if I didn’t drop by soon you’d come track me down.  Not that I’m really here to engage you in some insane discussion about psych disorders.  As fun as that is, I’m sure you’re over talking about the DSM-5 for a little while.”    He smiled.  "How’s the practice going?  I saw the new signs from the street, they look great.“  Bruce chuckled.  "That, by the way, is not me offering to be one of your first clients, as good as you are.”  

Before coming to Deerfield, Jean’s only personal experiences in academia were as a student; sure, she’d T.A.’d a class or two, but her general impressions of her professors, and what they did, were from the perspective of one receiving the performance. To be the one up there, subjected to constant scrutiny-- about the material, about her demeanor, even sometimes her professional appearance. And, she found, the appraisals could be twice as vicious from the other faculty. It felt like everywhere she turned was a tenured staff member who deemed her, a neophyte to the field of education, unworthy.

That is, until she met the reclusive veteran professor of biology-- and anatomy; and microbiology! jean had thought, dazzled, when she heard of him-- Bruce Banner. They’d first met at the  “gala of the sciences”, a mandatory dinner the chairs of the the sciences forced their faculty to attend. Over dry chicken and a sharp sauvignon blanc, Jean was grilled by her new colleagues about everything from her undergraduate professors, to her residency, to the summation of her thesis. She breathlessly provided the answers as the questions came, but there was always another. And no matter her response, it felt to Jean she was always found wanting. When Jean at last found a moment to excuse herself, she fled to the bar at the back of the room, sure that she was shaking. Sure she’d fall apart right there, in the face of their surgically-efficient. So it was to her comfort that she found someone in the back of the room who seemed to want to be there even less than she: the evasive Doctor Banner, she’d assumed. A shared look. A simple, friendly nod, and a murmured “hi”. That was the limit of their first interaction. But it was also the first kind gesture someone had shown Jean that evening, and it did her immeasurable good. She knew then that she wanted to get to know the quiet man.

Jean tucked her papers away, and crossed to sit in the chair adjacent to Bruce. Even though it was her own office, Jean had no intention of sitting across a desk to speak to him: far too formal, far too distant, and far too reminiscent of power plays she’d too often been subjected to. The other members of faculty had started to warm to her finally, but it still happened on occasion. “It’s amazing to me how rarely they come to ask their questions. You’d think I was terrifying, or something,” Jean grinned, crossing one leg over another. “On the other hand, if they were knocking down my door, I wouldn’t have time for our discussions, would I?”

“What?” Jean replied, her face a picture of shock. “You haven’t come to ask me if I think your roommate is a sociopath because she doesn’t like cats? A shame. Those questions from my students are exactly what I got my PhD for.” She laughed, a soft, bubbling sound she made often. “But you’re right-- in fact, I had “track down Bruce” on my calendar for tomorrow. You made it just under the radar.” She tapped his arm with a friendly grin before settling back into the chair. “It’s doing all right, I suppose. I’m still new here, so it’s taking potential patients a bit of time to trust me. But I’m doing well enough, even if I can’t get you to come see me yet.” She teased with another of her grins.

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Liability || Jean & Strange

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arcanum-exo‌:

“You can call me Doctor Strange, though some know me as the sorcerer supreme.” Such a statement would’ve sounded ridiculous coming from almost anyone’s lips, but Stephen figured he’d illustrated enough up until this point that it ought to be believable coming from him. “This place is the Sanctum Sanctorum, and while parts of it do exist in dimensions other than ours–” – he glanced up with a benign smile, leaving the book open to a page to circle back to the front of the desk – “–most of it, including my study here, is in New York City. Greenwich Village, to be precise.”

He could feel the press of Jean’s mind at the edges of his defenses, gently poking and prodding, obviously trying to get a feel for what it was up against. Stephen didn’t begrudge her that in the slightest, and if anything, that earned her more of his respect. Jean was careful, cautious; even so, what he could glean from even that light brush of her mind was staggering. He knew that, if she so chose, his own wards would likely be nothing more than paper against the full force of her own psychic capabilities.

Jean’s third and final question, along with the way it was delivered, gave him pause. Fixing her with another shrewd, appraising look, Stephen’s brow furrowed only faintly as he folded his arms against his chest and considered how to answer. “And if I said yes? That I brought you here to kill you. What would you do?”

Jean nodded, taking in the news serenely. Like it was every day she was magically abducted from her own home, by a sorcerer in a magic cape in an opulent mansion in the Village. Yet she didn’t doubt a word of it; she didn’t need to read his mind to see this man believed every word he said. Of course, far stranger things had happened to Jean Grey in her life {and death}. In a flash, her mind dragged her, unwilling, back to that day, so vivid and yet so fragmented. Clawing breathless to the surface of her consciousness. Ripping herself apart, piece by agonizing piece. The memory, swirling turbid fragments, threatening to drive her mad. A great shudder wracked through Jean’s chest; psychic shocks emanated from her, the result of barely-contained trauma, rattling a few curios within her range. Forcing herself back to the surface, she locked eyes with the man across from her: half-challenge, half-apology. Then she lifted her hands--which had curled into claws on the plush arm rests-- palms open in front of her. “I’m sorry. I was somewhere else, for a moment.”

Unable to meet his eyes any longer, Jean’s glance flitted down, to the ornate tome that lay open at his desk. In there, she assumed, lie the answers to why she had been brought here. Although, with a small, sinking feeling in her stomach, she knew she wouldn’t need to read it to know why.

“It depends,” Jean murmured breaking several seconds of silence between herself and Strange, “on why you’re doing it. If it’s to hurt my team, weaken them, then you’ll understand why I cannot allow that.” Her eyes swirling with power, hands balled into whitened fists, Jean inclined her head and looked up at him for a long moment. This, she knew, was the face of the Phoenix. Warm tendrils of energy encircled her, so tempting, so easy to just reach out and take it, Then, like a steam vent, Jean let that power drain out of her on a deep exhale. And all that remained was Jean: for the first time looking small, pale, and so, so tired. “But, if it’s because of that... that’s a different story.”

[jeanxgrcy-blog]

Is winter coming?

“Well, I don’t know about winter, but autumn is certainly coming on fast!”

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What are your hobbies?

“I do a lot of reading, outside of papers and journals for work, and I have a cat, named Wadsworth.”

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Who are you dating now?

“Um, no one right now actually! Between moving, my course load, and getting my practice started up, I’m afraid I don’t have the most active social life. I’ve met a lot of great people here, though.”

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arcanum-exo‌:

TEACHING AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS || Stephen & Jean

The changing of the seasons was a mixed blessing for Stephen Strange. Cooler weather sometimes brought the benefit of soothing the fiery flare-ups in his nerves, but the pressure systems that came with had the tendency to stiffen the webs of scar tissue on the backs of his hands and cause the pins and plates in his bones to ache. He did what he could to take it in stride, and took advantage of the good days with a couple of fingers of scotch on the porch that extended from his loft apartment and over the main entrance of his practice. Stephen wrapped himself in a thick cardigan and breathed deep the chilly breeze as the sun sank close to the horizon.

The combination hospital and shelter wasn’t on the main drag of town but it was near enough that he could watch people coming and going, and when a familiar car pulled up to the curb in front of the building, Stephen found himself smiling as an equally familiar head of red hair emerged.

“Evening, professor,” he called down to Jean with that quirk of a smile, the title more of a tease at this point than anything else. “Unless you’ve got an emergency, I’m off duty.” He punctuated the statement with a lazy cheers of his glass, ice cubes clinking against the sides.

That was, of course, something of a lie. Even if the hours of his practice had ended there was a sign by the door that offered the direct line for the phone inside, ‘24/7: for emergencies only.’ Dealing with the veterinarian roused at 3AM might not be for the faint of heart, but in some cases, it was better than the alternative.

“But if you’re here for a drink, I have an empty chair.” Stephen gestured to the side of the building, though he knew Jean was already well aware of the stairs around the corner that would bring her up to his porch.

@jeanxgrcy​

Autumn was just around the corner, and Jean couldn’t be more thrilled. Despite the sudden crush of activity in Jean’s schedule that always came this time of year-- between classes coming back in session, and the slight uptick in patients that usually filtered in when the days grew shorter and the end of the year grew nearer-- the cooling weather, the turning leaves, and the energy was rejuvenating to her spirit. A chill nipped at the back of Jean’s neck, even safely tucked away in her green Volkswagen Beetle; one pale hand reached up from the ridged steering wheel to pull her big, fluffy scarf back into place.

This had been a lighter day in Jean’s schedule. Her evening appointment at the Center had canceled last minute, which left her free to clean the office and reorganize her patient files. Which only took twenty minutes. Which left Jean with a whole hour blocked out of her day, and nothing to do.

Flicking her wristwatch around to face her, Jean checked the hour, and knew her friend/former student, the town’s resident surly veterinarian, would be retired to the apartment upstairs from his practice by now. The Center’s proximity to the Sanctum meant the two frequently crossed paths, coming or going, in addition to Jean’s regular appointments for her cat, but it had been a few weeks now since they’d just sat down and talked. With that, Jean’s mind was made up.

Easing her little Beetle to the curb, Jean stepped out to a greeting. “Evening, Doctor,” Jean called back, tilting her head up to the man at the balcony and shooting him a grin. In the light of the setting sun, Jean made her way around the walk to the staircase to the side. “Just a social call tonight, I’m afraid, so I think I’ll take you up on on that drink. Didn’t bring Wadsworth. But I suppose I can go back and get him, if you’d like?”