Friday evening, Jean and Scott

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

The morphine takes a bit too long to kick in, and Jean uses the moment of lucidity to get an answer.



Hated the bed. He very definitely hated the bed, Scott thought groggily, turning on his side and hitting the morphine button again. Of course, the bed's utter lack of comfort didn't have much to do with the fact that he couldn't sleep. But it was easier to blame it.

The fretting coming down the link was more frustration than anything else, so there was no panicked rush down the halls. It still was not that long before Jean poked her head in his room. "Scott?" she said. "Something wrong?"

"Just hurts..." Scott muttered fitfully, trying not to curl into a fetal ball. He had various things attached that made that a dicey proposition, he thought. "Hate hospitals."

"I know," Jean said, coming in properly and closing the door before crossing to take his hand. There was nothing she could do, though, and the helplessness made her a little crazy. "I have a brief distraction for you, if you like."

"Distraction's good." The morphine wouldn't kick in for a little while. He squeezed her hand. "What's up?"

"I was wondering how much you want me to tell everyone back at the school. And who you want told. People have been worried and... well, never mind." There was a brief flash of anger at Clarice for her thoughtlessness, but she hadn't known. She couldn't have.

"I..." Okay, that was a question that needed clear thought, and morphine kicking in or not, his thoughts were still a little disjointed. "Suppose... could you tell them? Don't want to shock anyone. And if they've been worrying..."

"Of course," she said. "I didn't mean to spring this on you but I thought I should get it dealt with."

"Rumor's... not a good thing. We both know all about that... and I just don't want anyone to be shocked." He sighed, relaxing a little. "Going to be enough staring and whispering... not really looking forward to it."

"Most of them, I think, won't stare. Some of the littlest, maybe, but they're good kids. They've even got manners, some of them." But he would be something of a sight for a while. They would need to leave the bandages on for several weeks, and it would take a bit before the scaring faded.

Scott squeezed her hand. "Hate leaving you to be the one who does the telling," he murmured, "but typing's not so feasible right now."

Jean smiled at him, the feeling behind it apparent over the link even though he couldn't see it. "Love, you are probably the only man in the world who would apologize for not being able to type after going through major surgery and being stuck to bed rest and a morphine drip. It's not as though this is the first time I've had to be the bearer of bad news. It's just never hit so close to home before."

"Love you, you know..." The morphine was indeed kicking in, and the bed was distinctly less uncomfortable. "Couldn't... without you. Means so much that you're here..."

"Always going to be here by you," Jean said, lacing her fingers through his. "We'll get through this."