Scott wakes up

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

After a full night's rest, Scott wakes up, then kind of regrets it. The pain does not stop him from trying to get up and go be responsible, though. That's what he keeps Jean around for.



It was always worse the morning after.

Scott opened his eyes, blinking up blearily through his sleep goggles at the ceiling. Oh, he felt like shit. Warmed over shit that someone had scraped off their shoe and then run over with a truck. A very, very big truck. He pushed himself up on an elbow - with his good arm, he wasn't that out of it - and tried not to whimper. Ow. Moving bad. But necessary. Things to do.

The difference between when he'd been unconscious and only subconsciously aware of the pain in his body and now were astounding. Intellectually, Jean knew that the mind could subsume all sorts of things underneath the cloud of sleep, but it was always a bit of a shock to get such a vivid example. She set her reading down and crossed the main room to lean against the door jam, peering at Scott. "Morning, love. Where do you think you're going?"

"Gotta... get up and go check on... things," he muttered feebly. Blankets needed to be... away, a little, but he was propping himself up with the good arm and reaching out with the other didn't work so well. "Ow..." he hissed, his breath catching in his chest.

"Feel free to tell me what and where and how and I will be happy to play the part of your legs, eyes and mouth, but you're not going anywhere." She stayed where she was, frowning slightly.

"Not lying around," Scott said stubbornly, gritting his teeth and managing to push the blankets back. "Nothing's broken..." He blinked at his hand. "Mostly," he amended.

Oh, he was being stubborn. Wonderful. Not that she hadn't expected it, really, this was Scott after all, but that didn't mean she liked it. Well, not in this instance. "Tell you what, if you can get dressed all on your own, you can go out. Cause fond of the look as I am, I don't think you ought to be wandering around the school in the all together." He'd decided, once they'd peeled the leathers off and managed not to drown him, that even pajamas were too much effort and had pretty much collapsed straight into bed the night before. "I'll even help by pointing out that there are painkillers and water on the table next to you. Of course, if you take all of them, you won't be able to think, and if you don't it will still hurt too much to get dressed." She wasn't really being evil, but the doctor proscribed bed rest and he was damned well going to take it.

This was one of those no-win situations. And she'd set it up deliberately. Scott glared at her fitfully, then tried to shift in the direction of the edge of the bed. He managed a whole three inches or so before he was sagging back against the pillows, breathing raggedly. "Crap... not fair." The pillows were rather nice, though. In fact, the bed was altogether much better than not-bed. "I'm a wimp..."

She heard the admission in his mind and wasn't going to push it any farther. Instead, Jean crossed the room and sat carefully on the bed, making sure not to shift him. "No, you're just one big bruise, currently. Well, one big bruise and a couple hairline fractures. The paramedics were right. Here," she said, picking up the pills. "Do you want all of them, or do you want some ability to think?"

"Not all of them." Thinking was better than not thinking, and most painkillers upset his stomach, some sort of metabolic reaction Hank had attempted to explain to him once. With Jean's help, he took two of the pills, washing them down with a sip of water, and then laid back again, his breathing finally slowing down, if staying shallow. "I hate this," he muttered faintly, his forehead creasing.

Jean stroked the hair at his temple, then leaned down to lay a kiss on the worry lines across his forehead. "I know, love. And I wasn't kidding about going around and checking on things for you. With the link you'll at least be able to get an idea of how things are going."

"Yeah, I guess." The gentle touch and the kiss were soothing, surprisingly so. She didn't think he was being a wimp. And she'd beat up anyone who came knocking on the door demanding that he stop being a wimp. That would be nice. One of the reasons he loved her.

"Or I could stay here and play nurse. Wait on you hand and foot, treat you like the lord of the manor, that sort of thing. Your call." She smiled down at him.

He looked up at her, more woefully than he really intended. "Stay?" he asked. "I feel better when you're around." Coming from most people it would have sounded rather incredibly cliched, but Scott somehow managed to pull it off.

It was not actually possible for your heart to melt and run into your shoes, but it certainly felt like hers was trying to. "Of course, love. Whatever you want." She leaned down to kiss him carefully. #Whatever you need.#

"Fly over to Hungary and do something nasty to Mr. Veres?" Scott grumbled, his eyes sliding closed. "Pride hurts almost as much as I do..."

"With pleasure," Jean said, a hint of just how much pain she would like to cause the man who hurt Scott sneaking into her voice, "but I'm not sure I can do that and stay."

"I know. Just wishful thinking." He managed a faint smile. "Beat up on the next person who puts me through a wall." He shifted a little, wincing at the pain. "Okay. Nice drugs can kick in anytime now..."

"Will do, gladly. Just stop getting slamned through walls when I'm not there to protect you. Don't worry, they will. And given you haven't eaten anything, you'll know when they do." Jean was expecting the world to go fuzzy on him any second.

"Got him though," Scott murmured, finding a certain amount of solace in that. "In the end. Don't think any civilians were hurt too bad, either..." Incidental injuries, from the bastard coming through the walls of their apartments and so forth. "Could've been so ugly if he'd decided to start leaving a trail of bodies..."

"Thank God for small blessings. And you did good, you know. You stopped him, and that's what really matters."

His head was swimming. Scott tried to open his eyes, and Jean's face, leaning over him, was all blurry. "Okay... there they go... room's doing the funny thing..." A strange sort of worry nagged at him, even as his eyes drifted closed again. "Don't go 'way..." he mumbled. "Please..."

"Not going anywhere," Jean said, fingers brushing through his hair. "Promise."