Scott and Jean, Monday evening

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

On the last evening of their vacation, Scott gets oddly furtive and starts plying Jean with buttertarts. Clearly he's got something else on his mind.


It was vacation. Clearly Jean should not have her laptop out and be typing away. Probably, given Scott had said he was just stepping out for a bit to 'grab something' she should be lying in wait on the bed wearing little or nothing. But Scott was not actually the only workaholic in the relationship. Jean was just better at hiding it.

The door opened and Scott stepped in, raising an eyebrow as he saw her on the laptop. "Cheat," he accused her, smiling, as he closed the door behind him. He had a large paper bag in one hand.

She grinned over her shoulder at him, saving and shutting the machine off. "Well, you know, you left, so I had to fall back on my second love - the laptop." Swiveling around in her chair, she eyed the bag curiously. "So, are you going to keep me in suspense about this 'something' you had to get?"

"Well," Scott temporized, lifting the paper bag, "I did happen to remember that the little bakery down on the shore road makes those buttertarts you like so much on Monday afternoons..."

There was definitely something going on, Jean thought, but he really was very good at shielding the link when he wanted to be. She grinned at him, though. "You're a wonderful guy, you know that, Scott? Just in case I haven't said that enough this weekend."

"You've been inflating my ego quite sufficiently, not to worry," Scott said with a grin, going over and sitting down crosslegged on the bed, opening the bag. "These damned buttertarts, though. I swear they're half again the size that they were the last time we were here..."

Jean moved over to sit across from him, bringing some tissues to act as plates. "Well, I'm certainly not going to object if they are."

"Not to mention," Scott said rather proudly, "I got seven for the price of six. The owner went 'Oh, my, I remember you!' and decided to be generous."

Jean laughed. "Everybody in town remembers us. It's... comfortable."

Scott removed one of the enormous butter tarts and placed it on Jean's napkin. "One of the ones without raisins," he said, then grinned. "She even remembered that."

"See, and now she's being too nice to me, too. You've got everybody conspiring to make me love this town even more." She broke off a corner of the tart and popped it in her mouth, eyes fluttering closed. "Mmmm. Love these..."

That was an entirely unique sort of blissful look, Scott thought, watching her for a long moment. Maybe opening with the buttertarts had been a bad idea?

Jean's eyes opened and she peered at him closely. That one had been a touch too loud to miss. "Opening with...?" Opening with the tarts definitely meant that there was something coming after, and he was being sneaky...

Ack! Scott zipped his mind up very firmly and gave her a meek look. "Uhhh... there's... um. Oh! I picked up a brochure about this new farmer's market we might stop at on the way back," he said hurriedly. "While I was walking back from the bakery. Apparently it has nice antiques?"

Jean blinked as his mind buttoned back up, and then stared at him, hard. "Antiques are nice..." And she wasn't buying it for a second. She debated with herself whether or not she could stifle her curiosity long enough for him to do the surprise his way, and decided that, after he'd gone to all this trouble she couldn't ruin it. Besides, there was still tart.

Ah, the wonders of the telepathic girlfriend. Sometimes it was definitely a mixed blessing. "Good tart?" he asked, almost meekly.

"Excellent tart," Jean answered, breaking off another piece.

Scott contemplated his options. Well, he needed to let her finish the tart, first of all. Because really, divided attention would be a bad thing. Wouldn't it? She might... miss important details, with all the focus she was devoting to the buttertart. First the ice cream, now the buttertart. What was it with her and food today?

If she'd heard that thought she'd probably have smacked him, albeit lightly, but his mind was locked down but good. Not that she was trying to sneak a peek. No, not at all. But while focusing on the tart had made a good cover for a discreet (and soundly thwarted) attempt, on its own it was not enough to distract her from her curiosity, and too good to not get the proper attention it deserved. Wrapping it up in the tissue she set it on the bedside table before turning the full force of a pout on Scott. "Please tell me whatever it is you're planning?"

"I... um." Scott found himself grinning helplessly, and he leaned back a little, just about completely undone by the pout. Damn it. He felt like he was twenty-two again and doing this for the first time. He was that nervous. "Do you remember the time we went sailing? And the knots were driving you insane, and I had to show you how to do a square knot what, six... no, seven times before you got it?"

"Yes, of course. The ropes never seemed to go where I thought they ought." Jean cocked her head at him, completely uncertain where he was going with this.

"I remember I thought we were going to wreck the boat and I was going to wind up owing Patrick's parents my first-born child or something." Patrick, a clairvoyant who now worked for the NYPD, had been a resident of the mansion for a year or so several years ago. Scott certainly would never have tried sailing without his influence, let alone gotten fond of it. Which he still was, even if he hadn't done it in a few years.

Scott was stalling. She had no idea why he was stalling, but he clearly was. Okay... "But we didn't. His parents had nothing at all to complain about when it came to the state of their boat. And I mastered the knot, eventually."

Scott reached out and took one of her hands in his, taking a very careful deep breath. "I remember I said something about square knots. About how the harder you pull on them, the tighter and stronger they got."

Jean's heart started pounding; maybe it was the anticipation, or maybe it was just the way he was looking at her. Whatever he had planned, it was something big. "Yes," she said, softly. "There's no way to break it, it just doesn't come apart."

His chest felt a little tighter than it should, and Scott gave her a very slightly unsteady smile and a helpless laugh that was more than half a sigh. "Damn it," he said, and reached with his free hand into his pocket. "You'd think I'd never done this before."

Jean blinked, confused, and then the world stopped as she caught sight of the small black velvet box he had in his hand. "Scott..." she breathed, hesitant, as though she might wake up and find this was just a dream.

"I know we said that we'd take this slow, and I know that we both have a lot of... sorting out left to do," Scott said very quietly, not looking up at her just yet. "But I've been thinking, lately, just how pointless it is to pretend that I'm anything but absolutely convinced that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Still not waking up. This was real. This was real and so perfect and right that there were no words in the world to explain how right it was. Jean's mind was awash with love for him, and a feeling that transcended joy.

Scott opened the box to reveal a delicate ring of braided gold in the shape of a square knot. He took it out, still holding her hand, and finally looked up at her. The old ring was still in a drawer at home; he remembered, suddenly, that he'd been planning to take it on that trip up to Alkali Lake and leave it there. Let her go.

But she'd come back to him. "I never stopped loving you," he said softly, "and I never will. Marry me?"

Finding words again took effort, but when she found them it was worth it. "Yes," she said, the single word echoing in her head over and over again. "Oh yes."

The gnawing (and possibly completely unnecessary) anxiety was gone in an instant at her answer, and Scott couldn't stop smiling as he slipped the ring on her finger. "Your hand kept looking wrong," he said, staring down at the ring, which looked very right where it was. "It just kept... nagging at me." He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

"Oh, God, Scott..." Jean twisted to wrap her arms around him, kissing him. #Love you. Love you love you yes, yes yes love you so much.#

#... it's a good think you didn't eat the whole buttertart,# Scott sent, even as he kissed her very enthusiastically back. #I don't think I would have survived.#

#Your own fault. Yes. Providing, yes, your own distractions. Love you. Yes.#

If he hadn't laughed and opened his eyes at that, with the intention of turning his attention to other, equally kissable spots, he wouldn't have noticed that they were in fact floating several inches above the bed. "Jean," he said, his lips twitching helplessly. "We're levitating."

Jean blinked, then giggled helplessly into his shoulder. "I'd apologize, yes, but, love you, there's no space in my head to be sorry. Yes." Oh, she had gone so incoherent and didn't care in the least.

"Not complaining. So not complaining." His arms tightened around her almost involuntarily at the sudden flood of protective tenderness and fierce love that washed over him. "I mean, I did feel like I was flying... it's good to be right."

If it were possible to get closer, Jean would have. Instead she just kissed him again. #Oh yes, so right.#

Comments

[x-foliate.livejournal.com]

This still makes me giggle like a school girl.