Scott and Jean, Thursday around lunch

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott is still taking it easy, and Jean brings him lunch. There is some talk of the v-word (vacation).


Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, the idea of actually pampering Scott was absurd. For one thing, Scott didn't usually need it. Of course, when he did, Jean actually rather liked taking care of him. It was something she'd never have been able to admit to any of her old college feminist friends, but cooking a nice breakfast for him and serving it to him in bed was actually fairly comforting. Okay, so right now it was closer to lunch time than breakfast time, and she was serving him in bed because she'd told him she'd tie him down if he tried to move and he was still too sore to really be up and about, but the basic idea was the same. Sort of. Well, he'd asked for the pancakes, at least.

Jean toed open the bedroom door and smiled at Scott. "Food, as requested."

Scott had been skimming some files - he could at the very least manage the touchpad, although typing was more than a hassle - but was more than glad to have sensed her coming, with or without breakfast. "You look a little smug," he said with a slightly wan smile. "I'm going to be knocked on my ass by the quality of the breakfast, aren't I?"

"You've already been knocked on your ass, that seemed too easy. Went for the next step up. There's orange juice. Fresh squeezed and everything." She set the tray on the bedside table before tugging over a chair and sitting down. "How you feeling?"

"Better." Which was the truth, but strangely, it wasn't accompanied by the appropriate levels of guilt for still being sprawled in bed. He just didn't feel all that ambitious. Charles had been in to see him earlier and murmured something about well-deserved rest. Which had led to a conversation he was still digesting, trying to make a decision about... well, later for that.

"Very glad to hear it. You actually look worse, or at least more colorful, but that's the bruises going down and is a good sign." Technicolor was really the best word for it. His chest was technicolor.

"Can actually manage deep breaths without whimpering today," Scott said in a tone that might have been playful if it had been a little less tired. He eyed the tray for a moment and then reached out for one of the glasses of orange juice. "You're being too good to me, you know," he said more quietly.

"No such thing," Jean said decisively. The orange juice was safely aquired, and Jean sat back in her chair, watching him. "Love you, and I actually do enjoy taking care of you, although we could do without the pain and fractures next time."

Scott sipped at the orange juice. "I know," he said softly. "I just..." Hate to need it? Old habits died hard, he supposed.

"I know," she echoed him. "But hey, given the number of times I've ended up bed ridden up here, either coming out of a coma or floored by the telepathic noise, I'd say it's your turn."

"I didn't realize we were keeping score?" Scott sipped at the orange juice again. Nice time-buying sort of thing, drinking orange juice... "I think," he said slowly, "that I need some time off." His eyes flickered down to his hand wryly. "Suppose that's pretty much inevitable anyway. But the point stands. Although it does make me feel like a wimp."

"Ok," Jean said simply. "Definitely not going to protest you taking some time off, especially since, as your doctor, I would be inclined to insist upon it, yes. And for what it's worth, I don't think you're a wimp in the least. I think you work too hard, and always have, and you need a break ever now and again, but particularly now." She smiled at him. "Are you thinking time off from the team, or the school, or are you still just thinking?"

"Just... off," Scott muttered a bit fitfully, backing mentally away from the issue. Again. "For a few more days, at least." He sighed, setting the orange juice aside and shifting upwards a little, wincing. The food would be getting cold. "I'm such a hypocrite," he said, reaching for one of the plates. Jean immediately reached out to help. The one-handed thing was going to get on his nerves real soon. "I was growling at Sam on the weekend, for doing more or less the same thing..."

"You never give yourself enough credit, Scott," she told him, not exactly scolding him, but not exactly not, either. "You got pulled through a wall, broke your hand, and it's a miracle you didn't dislocate your shoulder. Taking time to recover is not being weak."

"Just... I could move if I had to at this point, I think," Scott said a bit sheepishly, "and I don't know why I don't want to." He bit his lip, staring down at the pancakes. "You... cut them up already," he said, a bit of color stealing into his cheeks and a helpless smile tugging at his lips. "You really do think of everything."

"Let's just say that I'm thorough." She grinned brightly at him, eyes sparkling. "If you really want to work out why, you can do that with Charles, you know. Personally, I'm ok with 'you don't want to' for a reason. You deserve as much of a chance as anyone to get to do things because you do or don't want to."

"People keep telling me that sort of thing. One of these days I've really got to start taking them seriously." Scott tried the pancakes, then smiled. "They're really good," he said. "And yet strangely familiar, too. You didn't steal the recipe from the old lady with the quilts, did you?"

"Conversly, you haven't listened to us yet, why start now?" Jean offered. "And Lorna claims that a chef never reveals her secrets. But since you keep saying I shouldn't actually steal her quilts, this seemed like a reasonable compromise. Although I feel I should get you later for the slight to my cooking skills. Implying I'd need to steal my recipes. I mean, just because that happens to be the case, doesn't mean I should let you get away with that sort of thing."

Scott blinked, then, entirely shameless, gave her his best puppy-dog look. "I've been beaten on quite enough this week, don't you think? Plus I can't really get away. Very fast. Right, Horatio?" he called, looking out into the living room. The turtle may or may not have moved in his aquarium, but did not, in any case, answer.

"I said 'later', I really did. I wasn't going to do it today. Oh, Scott... Put away the puppy-dog eyes, that's cheating." Jean tried to fight the puppy-dog look, she really did, but it never worked. "Fine, fine, there shall be no revenge. You are too cute for revenge."

Scott tried not to smirk. Smirking would ruin the whole thing. The smile he let slip instead was warm and oddly reflective. "I don't get to be cute all that often. Have to be all grim and forbidding the bulk of the time... it's no fun. I can only really let it out, most times, with you."

"Yet another reason for us to go on an actual vacation. Although just going to that b&b works. The old lady with the quilts thinks you're the sweetest thing, and was fully convinced the first time we went there that I was playing games with your young heart."

"Was that why she was waving the soup ladle threateningly at your back that time at lunch?" Scott asked, mystified. "Huh. That makes more sense, now..."

"Oh yes," Jean said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I don't think she decided until the third or fourth time we went back there that I wasn't just leading you on. At least, that's when she stopped thinking pointed comments about the 'cruel, older woman who'd just make that nice young man sad in the end'. Didn't help, either, that she knows I covet her quilts."

"Ah, see?" Scott asked, applying his attention to the pancakes. "It's the quilts in the end. She has quilt-coveting radar." He stopped, set the fork down, and tried not to snicker. "I think the painkillers might be making me a little silly today."

Jean grinned at him. "It's possible, yes," she said, stealing one of the strawberries off of his plate. "But I like the silly. It's amusing. And it's a better mood than some of the other options."

"Don't eat my strawberries," Scott mock-complained, reaching out for his orange juice again and unable to help a wince at the jolt of pain that went through his shoulder. "Ow..."

It definitely didn't help that his broken hand and his bruised shoulder were on different sides. Meant that it hurt either way, and there wasn't much she could do about it. Well... "I could feed you, if you want, but there would likely be more distraction than food..."

"I'll survive," he reassured her quietly, then smiled a little. "Not that the image doesn't appeal, but you're right about the distraction and I'm so not in the condition to actually do anything about it just now. Which would be a crying shame."

"It would be, at that. We'll just have to make up the missed opportunities when you're up to it." The lasvicious smile flickered away as she added, "I do wish I could do more, though."

"If we ever stopped wishing we could do more than what's possible," Scott said softly, reaching out with his good hand to cover one of hers, "we'd know something was wrong. But it's just enough to have you here, you know. It really is."

Jean turned her hand over to hold onto his. #I love you so much, Scott, words can't express it. Good thing I don't have to rely on words.#