Jean was, for a better lack of words, uncomfortable, that much was clear to you as she sat opposite you in the medium-sized room, although it seemed tiny with the lack of light. It wasn't unusual for her to visit on such short notice, but she was never there when you had company. Jean had known about the abandoned warehouse basement that you occupied, it wasn't difficult to hear your thoughts when she went looking for you. To her, they were loud and disconnected compared to anyone else that she met, mutant or not. Her eyes kept glancing to her left every so often as she kept her body tightly pressed together with her hands on her legs, her fingers were linked together so much so that her knuckles were beginning to turn to an extremely pale-white colour that contrasted the red colour of her cheeks, caused by the snow from the winter weather outside of the building.

Unlike herself, you sat slumped in the hard, icy, metal chair. The empty space between the two of you was now occupied by your outstretched legs as you sunk down even further. You couldn't help the smirk that twitched on your face as you watched her shiver, catching the look of fear in her eyes as the dull, buzzing, pale-green light fixture swung slowly like a pendulum to your right and her left. Jean glanced over to her left again before looking back at you, staring at the tattoos that covered the right side of your neck completely, hidden away by some of your hair and the grey hoody underneath the leather jacket you wore. As her eyes raked over your body and posture, you did the same to her, but with the tilt of your head, admirably. There had been ten, long and agonising, minutes where you hadn't heard her speak since she arrived. So, with a quick clear of your throat, and the slight shift of your body so your left elbow rested on the arm of the chair, your right hand gripping your left forearm, and your left leg moving closer to your body, leaving your right leg sticking out still, you began to talk.

"Not that I don't love our meetings, Jeanie, but I was in the middle of something," you told her with a dark underlying tone to your slightly calm and light voice.

"I, uh, I can see—"

The man, that was tied to the chair, to her left, thrashed violently. The, once white, gag in his mouth was damp with saliva and blood that dripped from his broken nose. He sat directly underneath the swinging light, while Jean and yourself were a few meters in front of him. Jean jumped in fear and quickly looked over to you while you watched him, clearly unimpressed and annoyed. He continued to thrash about and yell into the gag until his voice went hoarse and his screams turned into whimpers, his head dropping down so his chin touched his chest, and his shoulders shook as he cried silently. With a sigh, you turned to look back at Jean. It wasn't news to her that you were somewhat of a criminal, she had known about that long before she met you in person, all thanks to a dream she had late at night. Amongst the rogue mutants, who had no place to go and no place to stay, you were known as a judge, juror, and executioner. At least, that's the reputation you were given after word got out from one of the mutants you decided to let go after a week of interrogation.

"I, uh—" Jean started to talk again, but she couldn't find her words.

"Would you like to speak to me outside?"

Jean nodded quickly. "Yes."

Without saying a word, Jean got up from the metal chair and went to the heavy steel door that she pushed open, while you got up slowly and made your way to the man in the chair. With your fingers gripping his hair tightly, you yanked his head back and looked him in the eyes. "Scare my girl like that again, and you'll see what I can really do when I'm motivated enough," you threatened him, watching as his eyes widened, understanding that you were talking about your mutation. With a forced smile, you pushed his head back down and stood up straighter, following Jean out of the room.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she told you as you closed the door, leaving the man alone in the room.

"It's my job, Jean."

Jean shook her head. "It doesn't have to be."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"You could always come back with me, back to the school, I know the Professor wouldn't mind."

"What about the other students?" You asked, not really caring about the conversation, but you knew Jean wasn't going to let it go. So, you decided to humour her and pretend that you would take it into consideration while you walked over to the small clustered area in the middle of the basement—that was lit up by an overhead light that was dangling down, much like the one in the other room, but without the swinging motion—that had a fridge and a few other supplies that you kept up and running.

You heard her sigh as you opened the fridge. "Not all of them know about you."

"But they will," you responded as you turned your body to face her while you rested your right arm on the open door of the fridge. "Word will get out if it hasn't already done so."

"Would you just think about it?" Jean asked as she placed her hand under her armpits to try and warm them up.

You looked away from her and paused, staring blankly into the empty fridge. Jean heard metal scraping across the floor and turned her head to see a small metal heater inching closer to where she was standing before it stopped and began to heat up, despite the plug not being plugged in anywhere, but rather laying limp on the ground behind it. "If I say 'I'll think about it' would you drop it?"

"I'll know if you're lying," she answered, removing her hands from her armpits, and, instead, held them in front of the heater.

"Whatever," you mumbled, pulling out a beer bottle.

Jean stayed quiet as she watched you closely, holding her hands out to the warmth of the heater still. Her eyes followed your actions as you turned around to the wooden table behind you—in the small kitchen area you made yourself that had mostly stolen appliances that weren't plugged in—while you pulled open one of the draws to get a bottle opener. The fridge door began closing itself, and the lid of the beer bottle popped off. When you placed it down on the table, you turned to face her, leaning the left side of your body against the side of the table as the lid slid across the wooden table and into the small bin that opened and closed without you touching it.

"When are you just going to visit because you want to hang out? When are you going to stop recruiting me?"

"When you agree to come back with me?"

"Great," you muttered with a sigh. "I would offer you a drink, but all I have is beer."

"How has your health not declined?"

With a shrug, you responded, "Not sure, healing isn't exactly my ability, so I'm guessing it's the durability."

"You can use that for good, you know."

"I already am."

"This," she stressed, "isn't exactly a dictionary definition of 'good'. How is anything that you do down here 'good'?"

"I stopped one guy last week from evading his taxes," you pointed out.

Jean looked at you unimpressed. "That's not—"

You shook your head and whispered to yourself, "Goddammit, Jean." She looked at you expectantly. "I'm not like you. I like what I do. You might think I'm a terrible person, or a criminal like the rest of them do, but I'm doing what the law up there can't." You pointed to the ceiling, referring to those above ground, not under it like yourself.

"Oh yeah? And what do you propose that is? What are you doing that they aren't?"

"Their damn job."

She stayed quiet. "Would you change your mind if I told you why I'm so adamant?"

"Depends on what crap you're going to say, Jean."

Jean breathed in before she began, "I keep coming back here, to this cold, creepy, lonely place because I know that you're here, and I know that you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me here. I keep coming back here because I like being around you, I like being with you. I like you. This place isn't a home, so stop trying to make it into one," she pleaded, noticing your eyes glance around the small kitchen that you had made, "this isn't healthy, it's not good for you. But coming back with me can be. The mansion could be your home, I know that because it's my home. You don't have to do this anymore, okay? Just think about it." You knew she wanted to say more, but you also knew that she said enough.

With one final glance at you, she began to walk away, leaving you to stare at the empty space she had been standing it. "Goddammit," you hissed quietly, slamming the beer bottle down on the table, ignoring as the liquid spilt out and onto your hand and jumper sleeve that poked out of the leather jacket. "Goddammit, Jean," you hissed again before you pushed yourself away from the table and towards the exit she disappeared from.

When you made your way up the stairs, and to the main level of the warehouse, you were still cursing her name, running your hand through your hair just before you pushed open the main door to the building that you used to get into the warehouse. Jean was stood just outside the front door, with snow already sticking to her hair and clothes. She turned to face you with a smile when she heard the door open.

"You knew I'd follow you, didn't you?"

Jean nodded. "I also knew you'd leave the guy down there so I called the police to come get him."

"You called the—"

"We will be gone long before they show up, don't worry."

"You drive me up the wall, Jean."

She grinned. "I know. Now can we go home so I can warm up?"

"Sure, whatever," you sighed, still gritting your teeth in annoyance. "Goddammit, Jean."