Jean and Scott

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Last night, after the majority of the kerfluffle, Jean and Scott make a halfhearted attempt at relaxing. It does not get very far, though.



His hands hurt. Slightly too energetic a session with the heavy bag, Scott suspected, opening the door to the suite and closing it behind him before he went over and flopped down on the couch. The regular... okay, daily... all right, twice-daily these days... sessions were doing wonders for releasing his pent-up frustration.

It hadn't quite done it, tonight.

"How much Bailey's would you like in your cocoa?" Jean asked without looking up from the pot of milk on the stove. "I am in need of chocolate and liquor."

"Other way around," Scott muttered, sliding off his glasses so that he could rub his temples properly. His headaches had come back, this past week or so. Guess that kills the idea that they were entirely link-related... "I would like a token amount of cocoa in my Bailey's, actually." Keeping his eyes closed until he could slide his glasses back on, he gazed at her silently for a moment. She seemed better. Felt better.

"There's scotch downstairs, if you'd prefer," Jean offered, lowering the heat and stirring in the powdered cocoa and sugar. "Of course, that would require going back out there, and I've already liberated the Bailey's."

"I've been trying to minimize the alcohol consumption, to be honest," Scott said with a sigh, leaning forward, resting his chin in his hands. "One of my many ways in which I'm attempting to not emulate late fall. But spiked hot chocolate is allowable, I think."

A second mug floated off their mug rack to join the first on the counter as Jean nodded. "After a day like today? Yes, it is. Particularly as otherwise I would worry you'd just steal mine."

Scott rubbed at his hands, wincing. Knuckles were definitely bruised. "You'd think I'd been hitting walls rather than the bag," he muttered. "How were things in medlab today?"

Jean carefully poured out the cocoa, adding more-than liberal doses of alcohol to both and dumped the pan into the sink with a thud before answering. "Quiet. Sort of. I mean, Cain's been hovering outside the entrance most of the day, growling at things, and Tommy was oh, so pleasant about wanting to know what the hell happened yesterday. Interestingly, though, seems the magical healing has speeded up Remy's recovery even more than usual." Sighing she carried the two mugs out into the main room, handing one to Scott.

"She honestly seems to think that we're objecting solely because it's Remy." Scott took the mug, staring down into it for a moment before he took a sip. "That's not just the excuse. As far as I can tell, she really believes that. What kind of unutterably warped perspective..." His hand clenched around the mug and he took a deep breath, then let it out.

Jean settled on the couch, propping her legs on the table with a sigh. "I think you may be onto something. With the warped perspective, I mean. In hindsight, she's been acting strangely for... a while now. I'm a little worried that, well, that something may be wrong in her head." Maybe, like Paige, something had happened and they just... hadn't seen. Or hadn't understood. "Remy may have been the last straw, but I think this might have been coming for a while."

Scott flinched violently at the thought that slipped down the link. He leaned forward, setting the mug safely on the table, and closed his eyes for a moment, rationalizing the unproductive, useless emotional reaction to Jean's words away savagely. Even keel. He stayed on an even keel, because he had to. He had to stay on top of things. Had to.

The repetition actually worked. His breathing slowing, he opened his eyes and reached out for the mug again. "Angie and I had something of an argument," he said quietly, letting Jean see his memory of the email thread - she would have seen the other on-journal discussion, most likely. "You know, she had a point. In a way. And I have to wonder if she was trying to make another point entirely, one she couldn't explain to me. But I can't... I can't change what has happened," he said, a certain desperation creeping into his voice. "Maybe that means they're entitled not to believe me when I tell them it won't happen again."

Whoops. "Scott, I'm not blaming you, for Paige or for this. It's not your fault, not now, not then. These kids are too good at keeping stuff from us. Important stuff. Whether she's losing her mind or not, Amanda is a perfect example of this, because we have no idea where these powers are coming from." Jean sighed, taking a sip from the hot mug. Hmmm, possibly still not enough liquor.

"They would turn that right around on us and tell us that we don't tell them everything either." He tried to push the desperation out of his voice, and managed. Mostly. "I know it's teenaged logic. I know that. I just..." He bit his lip, hard, and then took another sip of the cocoa. "I will stay on top of all of this," he said, more steadily. "Too much to do."

"It... It seems stupid to say, because right now I don't see how, but it will be all right. Eventually. I still have enough optimism for that. Just barely." Jean slid an arm around Scott, leaning into him.

Scott leaned against her for a moment - and then jolted forward. "Damn," he muttered, setting his mug down again and kissing her on the forehead before he detached himself and got up. "I was going to check to see if... uh, someone had emailed me," he faltered a little, then gave her a quick, apologetic smile that flickered and faded as quickly as it had come. One of these days, he would tell her about Pietro.

He went over to where the laptop was open on the desk, and sat down, typing busily away. A moment later, the typing slowed. Then stopped entirely, and although he didn't turn around, the fury boiling down the link was perfectly clear to Jean.

Jean's eyes widened in surprise at the pure fury and she was across the room in seconds, peering over his shoulder as she recognized the familiar layout of the journal system. She scanned down it quickly, not getting more than a few sentances into Amanda and Alex ripping at each other before slamming her eyes shut, breathing deeply and locking her TK down. "You can't kill her," she said, not entirely sure which of them she was saying it to.

"No," Scott said, his voice quiet. "I can't, can I?" He stared at the screen for a moment longer and then started typing again. One reply to the... to Amanda, and then one request to Hank, someone who could turn off her access to the journals...

Done. Scott took a deep breath that rasped in his chest, then let it out. Then closed the laptop.

He should get up. Get up and go and find Alex, try and...

He was shaking his head, not really aware of doing it. "Can't," he said, almost inaudibly. "Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow."

Jean nodded jerkily, jaw clenched. she tried to run through a calming pattern in her mind but it lept breaking apart. "Tomorrow," she agreed. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tommorow. Turning back to the coffee table she picked up her mug and finished it off in one swollow. "Liquor and skeeping pills don't mix." It was a quiet reminder to herself.

Scott stared down at the computer in something close to dull loathing for a moment, and then rose, his expression wiped clean again. There had been no email from Pietro. Tomorrow, maybe.

There was always tomorrow. He took a sudden, almost jerky step towards Jean, pulling her into his arms. Holding her was the easiest way he knew to remind himself that miracles did happen. That things did work out.

Jean dropped the mug as he pulled her to him, and neither of them was paying enough attention to notice it broke before it hit the ground. Wrapping her arms around him she kissed him hard.

Breathing a bit raggedly, Scott leaned his forehead against hers. "Don't ever leave me. Please." His voice was more steady than he'd expected. "It didn't work when I tried this without you. But you look at me and I feel strong."

"Not going anywhere," she swore. "Need you too much to let you go."

He laughed, softly and a bit wildly. "I wonder if they'd call this codependence..."

"Don't care," she said, holding him closer. "They can all go to hell if they want to."

"You and me against the world?" He'd made a joke like that once. He remembered. The sailing trip, as they'd reluctantly concluded that the only way through the storm blocking their return to port was straight through it.

"Feels like it today." Jean breathed in deeply, trying to drown out the emotions and thoughts flying around the mansion, trying to hide in just the awareness of him.

"I say we barricade the door."

Without looking, one of the armchairs slid across the room in front of the door. "Done," Jean said, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Handy, handy thing, telekinesis." He was leaning on her, he realized. "Fuck, I'm tired," he said finally, with a sigh. "Feeling the lack of sleep last night, I think."

"Has its uses, yes. Come on, bed," she said, kissing him again before steering him back towards their room. "At least try to sleep tonight?"

"I don't think that's going to be hard," Scott said softly, not resisting the direction she was tugging him in. "Not hard at all."

"Good, glad to hear it." After all, at least one of them should sleep, and Jean wasn't really thinking it would be her. Well, maybe it was his turn to be watched over.