My eyes glaze over as the debrief meeting drags into its second hour. The coffee in my mug went cold an hour ago, but I keep sipping it anyway, needing something to do with my hands while Scotty drones on about "operational security" and "intelligence dissemination protocols."
"So that brings us to the final point," Scotty says, tapping her tablet screen with military precision. "Who's going to be our liaison with Ms. Stark regarding these compromising photos?"
Xavier's gaze sweeps across the table before landing on Gambit, who's slumped in her chair looking about three seconds away from face-planting onto the conference table. Her eyes are half-lidded, cards shuffling between her fingers on autopilot.
"Ms. LeBeau," Xavier says with just enough volume to make Gambit's head snap up. "That sounds like a great job for you."
Gambit blinks rapidly, her red eyes focusing as she plasters on that charming smile of hers. "You got it, Xavier," she drawls, giving a lazy salute. The blank look in her eyes makes it painfully obvious she has absolutely no idea what she just agreed to.
"Excellent. Then we're adjourned," Xavier announces, and the room immediately fills with the sounds of chairs scraping and papers shuffling as everyone makes their escape.
I stand up, stretching my arms overhead until my back gives a satisfying pop. As I'm gathering my notes, Emma materializes at my side like she teleported there.
"Jack?" she says, her voice carrying that signature blend of authority and seduction.
"Yeah?"
Before Emma can continue, Gene Grey appears beside us, his immaculate auburn hair cascading over his shoulders. He gives Emma a look that could freeze hell.
"Wait, Jack," he interrupts, turning those emerald eyes on Emma. "I want to borrow him for a few hours."
Emma's eyebrow arches. "Perhaps I can join you," she suggests smoothly. "I am his therapist, after all."
Gene's lips curl into a smirk. "No, Emma, that's weird. Bugger off," he says, his mockery of her British accent so spot-on it's almost impressive.
I watch as Emma takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in that measured way people do when they're counting to ten in their head. Her ice-blue eyes narrow slightly, but her voice remains controlled when she speaks.
"Understood," Emma finally says, her voice as cool as winter. "We can connect later, Jack." She gives Gene one last pointed look before turning on her heel and striding away, her white outfit practically glowing under the fluorescent lights.
"For sure," I reply, watching her go. I mean it, too. I really need to sit down with her and tell her how thankful I am for helping with the pain yesterday. That kind of mind trick probably saved me a lot of anguish.
I turn to Gene, trying not to let my apprehension show. "What's up?"
Gene's eyes lock onto mine with that intense stare that always makes me feel like I'm being dissected. "You and I are going out for lunch," he announces, like he's declaring a new law rather than making a casual invitation.
My stomach sinks. The last thing I want is to spend one-on-one time with Gene Grey, the guy who's made it abundantly clear he thinks I'm a walking disaster. I can already feel the judgment radiating off him in waves.
"Oh, no thanks," I say quickly, patting my pockets for emphasis. "I don't have any money."
Gene's lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Nonsense," he replies smoothly. "My treat."
I glance around the room hoping someone might rescue me, maybe Jubilee will burst through the door needing my help with something urgent, but everyone's already filtered out, leaving me alone with the mansion's resident telepath pretty boy.
"Alright."
*****
Diner food has this magical way of being both the best and worst thing you'll ever put in your mouth. I'm watching grease pool under my burger like a tiny, delicious oil spill when Gene finally stops pushing his salad around and gets to the point of this awkward lunch date.
"Alright, I'll just clear the air," he announces, setting down his fork with surgical precision. "I'm not your biggest fan."
I sigh, grabbing a napkin to wipe some ketchup off my fingers. "Alright."
The diner buzzes with lunchtime chatter around us. His perfect hair catches the sunlight streaming through the window, making it look like his head's on fire.
"I want to read your mind," Gene says, those eyes bore into mine like targeting lasers.
I set my burger down, suddenly not so hungry anymore. "Are you asking to read my mind or telling me you're going to?"
His jaw tightens slightly. "You make me insecure."
That catches me off guard. Gene Grey, insecure? The guy's basically a walking GQ cover with enough psychic power to make your nose bleed just by thinking at you.
"Why?"
He looks down at his barely-touched salad. "Because Scotty seems to really like you."
Oh. That's what this is about. I feel something like relief wash over me. This isn't about my powers or the people I've killed or any of the weird shit that's happened since I arrived. It's just good old-fashioned jealousy.
"I'm not trying to steal Scotty from you," I tell him honestly. "I think she's incredibly kind."
"And she's way older than you," Gene adds, a hint of accusation in his voice.
"That too," I agree, picking up a fry and pointing it at him before popping it in my mouth. "Look, I get it. I'm the new guy, and I've been getting a lot of attention. But I promise you, I have zero romantic interest in your girlfriend."
Gene studies my face, his expression unreadable. I can't tell if he believes me or not, and for all I know, he's already rifling through my brain like it's a filing cabinet.
"She talks about you," he finally says, his voice softer now. "A lot."
"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure I helped save her life twice already. That tends to create a bond."
Gene scoffs, the sound sharp in the bustling diner. "Hardly. Scotty is strong. She would have figured it out without you."
"Probably," I admit.
Gene studies me for a moment, those emerald eyes seeming to look through me rather than at me. "Emma doesn't ask permission before she goes into your mind, does she?"
"No. She certainly does not."
"Then let me in," Gene says, leaning forward across the table. "Come on."
I wipe my greasy fingers on a napkin, stalling. "Didn't you already dive into my head when I first came to the mansion?"
"I thought you were a threat," he acknowledges, his flawless face tightening slightly.
"So now that I'm not, suddenly you have morals?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.
Gene's eyes flash, and for a second, I swear I see flames dancing in those emerald depths. "Yeah, Jack," he whispers, glancing around the diner before leaning closer. "We're mutants, and we're constantly fighting to survive. Some days, morals are a luxury."
"Alright, fine," I sigh, pushing my plate aside. "Dive in. I don't care anymore."
Gene's eyes widen. He clearly wasn't expecting me to give in so easily.
"I want to ask you questions and measure your responses," he says, voice dropping even lower. "It'll help me understand what's really going on in there."
"This is a bit crazy," I mutter.
Gene's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Then I guess I'm a bit crazy, Jack."
"Jack, let me be direct. Are you trying to steal Scotty from me?"
"No," I reply immediately, not needing to think about it. "I told you already."
He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "That's good to get a confirmation of it, though."
"Yeah, thank God trust is out the door," I mutter sarcastically.
"Relax," Gene says, his voice softening slightly as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm just trying to understand the situation."
The waitress refills our water glasses, and Gene waits until she's out of earshot before continuing his interrogation.
"Do you think Scotty is attractive?" he asks suddenly.
I nearly choke on my water. "Really? That's where we're going with this?"
A triumphant gleam flashes in his eyes. "Oh, so you do think she's attractive."
"I didn't say…"
"Do you want to sleep with Scotty?" he cuts me off.
The bluntness of the question catches me completely off guard. "Of course not," I snap, feeling heat rise to my face.
Gene's eyes suddenly blaze with fury, a flicker of flame dancing in their emerald depths. "Your mind is saying something else," he hisses.
I slam my palm on the table, making our dishes rattle. "I want to fuck most women I meet," I growl, "but it doesn't mean I would ever try. There's a big difference between finding someone attractive and actually pursuing them."
"Wow..." Gene leans back, his expression shifting from anger to disgust. "You had sex with Nightcrawler." His face scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "And there's so much lust in here for Emma Frost? Really?"
"Alright, we're done here," I say, throwing my napkin on the table and starting to slide out of the booth.
Gene's hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. "Wait," he says, his voice suddenly desperate. "I'm sorry."
I pull my wrist out of his grip, but I don't leave. Instead, I slump back against the booth and let out a long sigh.
"Gene, I don't care about whatever you have going on," I tell him bluntly. "I'm just trying to find my footing here. And honestly, everyone besides you has been super chill with me."
His visage twists into something between a scowl and a smirk. "That's because everyone else in the mansion wants to fuck you."
I almost laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. "And? I asked around. It's not against the rules for me to hook up with people."
Gene's emerald eyes narrow. "I get that, but do you really want to be a slut?"
The word hangs between us, sharp and judgmental. I think about what Rogue told me in the hallway.
"Rogue said it's not being a slut," I counter, meeting his gaze. "It's just learning to love freely."
"Rogue would say that," he says, shaking his head. "She and Remi have their own... arrangement."
I lean back against the vinyl booth tired of dancing around the issue.
"I'm not sure what else there is to say here. You clearly aren't going to like me no matter what I do or say, and that's fine. But I'm not going to avoid Scotty just because you're feeling insecure."
Gene's face flushes, and for a second, I think he might reach across the table and strangle me. Instead, he just grips his water glass so tightly I'm afraid it might shatter.
"You don't understand," he mutters.
"With all due respect," I continue, keeping my voice level, "Scotty's an incredible leader. She's smart, she's strong, and she deserves your trust. Why wouldn't you just have faith in her loyalty?"
Something flickers behind his eyes I can't quite make sense of.
"It's complicated," Gene says, his voice suddenly hollow. "Relationships are complicated."
"Yeah, no shit." I grab another fry, using it to punctuate my point. "But the solution isn't to interrogate every guy who talks to your girlfriend."
Gene looks out the window, his perfect profile outlined by the afternoon sunlight. His jaw works silently like he's chewing on words he can't quite spit out. When he finally turns back to me, there's something vulnerable in his expression that catches me off guard.
"I've been with her for over a decade," he says quietly. "And sometimes I still feel like I'm going to lose her."
I'm not sure what to say to that. Part of me wants to tell him to get over it, but there's something in his voice that makes me pause.
"Listen," I say, softening my tone a bit, "I meant what I said."
Gene studies my face, probably probing my thoughts to see if there's anything else.
"Fine," he says, picking up his fork and stabbing at his salad. "But I'll be watching you."
"Sick."