2012-09-08 Brownies Say I'm Sorry

Jean has just finished grading the first labs of the school year. She's sitting at her desk, a cup of coffee in hand, looking out the window at the beauty of the grounds, knowing that soon the leaves will turn and fall and the seasons will change. She has been very sensitive to change lately. She's in her weekend clothes of jeans and a button down shirt, sandals on her feet. Her hair is back in a low ponytail.

Sam's been in the kitchen, fending off curious visitors drawn by the smell of warm chocolate and vanilla. Most days, Sam acts like a perfect hybrid of his Ma and his Pa, maybe with a little Scott thrown in when the kids get rowdy. Then, once in a while, he acts like what he is, a 21-year-old guy with occasionally questionable judgment.

Sam knows darn well that yesterday was one of those times. He just wanted to try that trick out so bad, and... well, now he's making triple-chocolate brownies for Jean. Because he knows she cares and he doesn't want her to think he doesn't appreciate her concern--he does, a lot, even when he's being a dude and not doing what she tells him to do. He can multitask, honest.

Sam puts together a tray with a plate of warm brownies, glass of milk, some of the last flowers from the garden, and a few napkins. Then he takes himself up to knock on her door and apologize.

She scans outside the door without even thinking, using her telepathy having become instinct rather than effort since her return. Jean calls out, "Come in Sam," as she turns her chair around, setting her coffee mug down on the desktop.

A moment later, Sam steps in, his expression a blend of hand-dog and hopeful. "Hey, Jean." There's the blush--he is rather embarrassed, too. He hates screwing up. "I wanted to say sorry. I was outta line. Brownies?"

A brow arches, and Jean looks like she might tear him a new one, but then the smell of brownies hits her. Another brief scan and she realizes he made them himself. She sighs and gestures to another chair. "Some days it's exhausting having to be the adult here," she notes.

"I know, and I'm sorry for makin' it worse." Sam puts the tray down once he finds a clear space for it on her desk. "It was just eating at me until it was bigger than being hurt and I didn't feel that bad... and I'm an idiot because I know I'd do it again. It's just me being me. But, I really am sorry for giving you a hard time."

"If you'd just asked me, Sam, I'd have called Warren in earlier and let him heal you up so you could test your powers safely," Jean explains. Then she frowns. She and Warren haven't been on very good terms lately. Or her and Bobby. Or her and pretty much anyone but Logan and Hank. She rubs at a temple a moment before she reaches for a block of chocolately goodness. "But apology accepted. I worry, you know, about all of you."

"I know. You remind me of Ma most of the time--an' do not take that like I'm saying you're her age." Sam holds up his hands. "Just that you got a lot on your plate. I didn't think about asking, I don't know why. Also, I hate the idea of using Warren like some kind of bandaid. I got myself hurt, it's not his fault. But... can I do anything to help? I mean other than not being an idiot about things, which I can't promise I won't do."

A bite of the brownie is taken, then a sip of milk, all accompanied by yum sounds. Jean swallows the morsel then shrugs a little bit. "One thing all the X-Men, and all our students need to understand is that there are consequences for their actions. That understanding seems to be sorely lacking in children and adults both."

"I think sometimes I stop thinking about them, stop thinking at all, because if I keep it up, I'll lose my head," Sam says bluntly. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he wanders over to the window. "It feels kind of huge, or it gets huge rolling around in my head. What if I forget how to do it and next time I'm just standing there empty handed while someone turns my friend into a smear on the pavement? What if I could have done that back when Doug got shot?"

Jean grimaces and she reaches a hand out to touch Sam's elbow as he passes. "You can't think about the what ifs. It can't be undone, Sam. The present and the future need you, the past cannot change."

"It makes sense when you say it, not when I'm sittin' there with nothing to keep my head from wandering. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not one of those people who can just read something to keep busy. I'm mostly lousy at video games. I need to do stuff that makes sense." Sam looks over his shoulder and gives Jean a little smile. "I don't know about everyone else, but that's mostly why I do dumb stuff. And why I would just go back and do it again. Because it's not doing nothing. The reasons don't make it right, though. Not when it comes off as disrepecting someone I actually do respect, like you."

"You grew up on a farm, didn't you?" Jean asks. "How would you like to help me with making a greenhouse to grow some of our own herbs and vegetables for the Institute?" It's an offering, to give him something to focus on when his mind is a mess. "I garden when I need to stop thinking. It helps, making things grow."

"Yeah, I could do that, sure." Sam turns around and gives Jean more of a smile this time. "I gotta admit, at home, Ma's the final word but I'm the man of the house, which sounds okay when I say it there but sounds awful stupid when I say it here because I feel like I'm fifteen again. Anyway, I'm used to making my own work, not that it needs making. I'm at loose ends here. I'm not a kid, but I don't have a proper degree or any of the stuff that counts as being grown out here."

"What about College? Have you thought about maybe trying it?" Jean asks. "Or even trade school? Something that might help you feel like you've transitioned into adulthood?" she takes another bite of brownie and chews thoughtfully.

"I got a general degree online when I was home, nothin' fancy. Just to say I did it so Ma wouldn't fuss. And so I could have something to put down if I applied for work somewhere." Sam sinks into a chair, bouncing one knee as he sits and rolls things over in his head. "Did my EMT training, basic paramedic level so I could apply to fire departments. Volunteer firefighter certification. Some forestry training for summers when I worked on the firebreaks. There's not a lot I can't put my hands on and do, it's just most of it's kinda useless once you get up into civilized country where folks have so much."

"You could be part of the Salem Center volunteer fire department, maybe?" Jean suggests. "Or maybe check out culinary school, because these brownies are fantastic."

"I gotta admit, I love feeding people." Sam's face lights up with the compliment. "If it's okay with you, I'll maybe see if the fire department could use me once in a while. I just didn't want to be on call in two places at once. And I'll help you with that greenhouse. You tell me what you want, I'll build it for you and it'll last."

"I'd like that, Sam. Something to keep both our minds on good things, rather than dwelling on the bad." Jean smiles. Or keep her busy instead of thinking up ways to run into a certain resident clawed badboy.

"Then we'll do it. I'll go check out some blueprints, find something to show you. And I'm not gonna promise that I won't be an idiot again, because this is me here, but I will make sure my apologies are really tasty." Sam pushes himself to his feet. Something to do is awesome and he is itching to get going on it. "The rest of 'em are downstairs with your name on 'em. You can share if you want, but I made 'em for you."

"I look forward to our project. Thank you, Sam. You're a good man. Remember that when things get tough." Jean smiles at him gently.

"I'll try, Miss Grey." Sam winks at her as he lets himself out. "You remember that, too, mind. You're a good person an' you do a heck of a job around here." It's too easy to forget that things are complicated on both sides of that weird divide between leaders and followers. Sam writes himself a mental note--for what it's worth--not to forget that when he's feeling sullen and childish. Things get rough all over.