Scott and Jean, Tuesday morning

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott brings his overworked fiance breakfast in bed and they - shockingly! - dare to begin making Certain Plans.


Sleep, real sleep, was an excellent thing, but it wasn't the only thing which she'd been lacking in during the hectic rush of the last few days. Catching the scent of something delicious, Jean's stomach decided that, as nice as sleep was, it was no longer the priority, and Jean found herself awake, blinking up at the ceiling. Scott's side of the bed was empty, and Jean smelled sausages. This was promising.

There were a variety of equally promising noises coming from the kitchenette. Shortly, though, they stopped, and a little while after that, Scott appeared in the doorway of the bedroom with a tray. "Morning," he said quietly, with a quick smile. "Hungry?"

"Yes, very," Jean said, pushing herself into a sitting position and smiling at him. "It smells fabulous. Remind me again why I don't make you cook more often?"

"Because nine times out of ten my cooking is a complete bust," Scott said wryly, coming over and setting the tray down on the bed between them, stretching out as he did. "Made enough for both of us," he said. "I've already been into the city to the hospital to check on Nate this morning. He's doing fine, by the way."

"Ah, but that tenth time is always worth it..." Jean said, taking one of the fresh strawberries. "Thank God for that," she added. Both that Nathan was fine, and that he wasn't having any trouble at the local hospital. They just wouldn't have been able to deal with him downstairs. Not this week.

"These things come in swarms," Scott said with a sigh. "Always. I'm waiting for disaster number three, here..."

"Don't say it..." Jean clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. She glanced around the room as though expecting another disaster to come blasting through the walls. "You know better than to say anything," she whispered, hunching down into the bed. "Fate's always listening in..." She was kidding, mostly.

"Of course she is," Scott said with a bleak sort of humor, snagging a piece of fruit. "Eat your sausages. They smell good, and you need the protein."

"Blaming the next one on you," Jean muttered, picking up a fork. "So you know. One of these days we'll learn to stop saying things like that. Or 'my, it's been quiet around here lately.' Or anything else."

"Don't you know? Everything around here is ultimately my fault," Scott said, and then reflected that he was carrying the black humor a little bit too far. Flopping back against the pillows, he nibbled on the banana piece and eyed her thoughtfully. "Hey, do you want to get married?"

Jean arched an eyebrow at him, contemplating throwing the sausage, but she was too hungry to waste it. "Well, yes. I thought we covered that at the bed and breakfast with the tarts and the ring and me walking on air for most of a week."

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking rather meekly at her. "I didn't mean in general. I mean, sometime soon. Once things have... settled, of course."

"Oh," Jean blinked. Perhaps she hadn't slept enough yet. Probably. "Soon would be... I could do soon, yes. Or, at any rate, the idea of waiting this time doesn't really appeal."

"We were both so busy, for so long, the last time... before," Scott amended. "I don't think, honestly, that we're going to get any less busy in the near future. If we hold on waiting for a break, to start making plans..."

"That is a really, really good point," Jean said. She considered the last of the sausages (the rest of which had disappeared with remarkable speed) and decided he'd probably pout if she ate them all. And, actually, the sausage was worth the pout. She swiped it, and went on, "I'd recommend running away to Vegas whenever the next opportunity comes up, but my mother would kill us both."

Scott didn't bat an eye at how quickly she finished off the sausages. That part of the breakfast had been very definitely for her, after all. "Vegas is tacky," he pointed out. "I was thinking more along the lines of something very small. Your family, mine, Charles..."

"Sounds nice. We could do it on the grounds, use it as a chance to get your grandparents to come visit, but it would become far less small very fast. Upstate, maybe, by my parents' place? They'd like that."

"I just don't want it to be an event. Unless you want it to be an event?" Scott asked, trying to sound diffident as he looked up at her.

Jean thought about it, a few strands of hair falling in her face as she turned her head to consider him. "It is an event..." she said slowly, "but..." #It's our event.#

"Exactly," Scott said, reassured that they were on the same page. "And it's not that Nate and Moira's wedding wasn't gorgeous, but... we've had plenty of epic in our life," he went on, a bit wryly.

"I know what you mean. And it's not as if we have our own castle to throw a wedding in at two weeks' notice in the event that we find two weeks without anything epic already happening in it."

Scott reached out for half an English muffin. He'd put butter and jam on hers, and just butter on his. "We can always throw a party back here, afterwards," he pointed out. 'I just want this to be... ours. Like you said. No drama, just... quiet."

"Quiet sounds wonderful. There is not enough quiet in our lives." Jean's smile widened and she added, "So, have you started planning out possible dates already?"

Scott coughed. "Well... no, not really," he temporized. "I had some thoughts, but obviously we can't make any decisions just yet. Although I thought late October might be nice," he said, a bit diffidently.

"If you have a spreadsheet already you're getting jam on your nose," Jean told him, picking up her muffin.

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that there's nothing wrong on principle with a nicely organized spreadsheet," Scott said with a good stab at a blithe tone. "Quite the opposite, actually..."

Jean grinned. "Right, so, jam on the nose it is..." And before he had a chance to get out of the way, she swiped a finger through the jam and smeared it over his nose.

Scott gave her a look that combined offended dignity and pure amusement. "You didn't sleep enough. Still being silly," he said, reaching out for a napkin. "Did I mention that you woke up last night, sat bolt upright in bed, and demanded to know whether I'd put the anteater outside?"

The look on his face earned him a quiet snicker. "You didn't, no. And had you put the anteater out?" For all that she was silly, and still tired, Jean really couldn't afford to go back to sleep this morning - too much to do - so instead she turned to the coffee he'd brought.

"Tied up in the backyard where he belongs. His name is Rufus."

"Excellent," Jean said. "Rufus is a good name for an anteater, I feel. Better than some other options, at least."

"He's a lonely anteater. Maybe we need to get him a girl."

Jean laughed. "It's the answer to so many problems - get him laid..."

"The universal remedy. Rufus and I should do commercials, don't you think?"

"I think there would be scarring of the kids. You know Kitty or Doug would have to design an 'adult filter' to keep them from seeing that."

"Our kids are overly sensitive, don't you think? Especially considering how many of them were going at it like bunnies while a number of us adult types were spending all our time in cold and lonely beds... one could almost call it hypocritical."

Jean arched an eyebrow at him. "They're teenagers," she said wryly. "We could call it hypocritical, but it would be redundant."

"You're such a cynic." Scott took a bite of his English muffin. "I wonder where I learned it..."

She waved the end of her muffin at him. "Jam on the nose..." she warned again, before sliding farther down in the bed and rolling over on her side to watch him. "I'm tired, Scott," she said, all traces of playing gone in an instant.

"I know." His voice was gentle, and the touch on the link was more a caress than anything else. "When do you have to be back in the medlab?"

"As soon as I can."

He sat up, then leaned over and kissed her. "You should finish your breakfast," he said more steadily, leaning back, "and have a shower. Should help perk you up a little more."

"Yes," she agreed, reaching out to catch another strawberry. "And after so long in the suit, I don't think I'll ever feel clean enough, which is another vote for showers."

"I've got to go harass some people about various things," Scott said with a flash of black amusement in his voice. "Joy. I'll be around when you get off-shift, though..."

"I'm glad." Jean managed to keep most of the quiet desperate need out of her voice, but it was hard when she was so tired and Alison was downstairs, throwing herself into the work necessary to save her lover.

"You'll do it," Scott said quietly. "You all will. And the rest of us will hold everything else together while you do. And then," he went on, giving her a wistful smile, "I'm going to confine you to the suite for a couple of days and wait on you hand and foot."

The breakfast tray was lifted off the bed telekinetically so Jean could slide closer, wrapping him in a tight hug, just this side of clinging. #Love you. So much.# "Shower now," she added, stealing a kiss.

#Love you too. And I'll get you some more coffee while you're doing that.# He held onto her for a moment, firmly pushing the darker thoughts that had been recurring since Haroun's injury away.

"Thanks," she said softly, but she didn't let go.