Jean and Scott, very early Saturday morning

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Scott wakes up from a nightmare.



Normally when she was visiting a patient in someone else's hospital, Jean was a far better visitor than this. She tried to not get in the doctors' way, didn't presume upon their specialties and their facilities and she certainly didn't hassle the nursing staff. This, though, was a special case. This was Scott. The staff at the hospital they had brought him to were perfectly competent, but competent was. not. good enough. The nurses lived in fear of Jean, doing their best to finish all of Scott's treatments and bandage changing when she wasn't around. And when she was, they tended to avoid the room. At least they had stopped suggesting that visiting hours were going to mean anything to her.

It was late now, and the hospital had settled down into it's normal night routine. The rare click of heels going past on rounds and the hum of the airconditioning and the lights were pretty much the only sounds.

Scott was dreaming. They were back at the monorail, the crowd screaming, pressing in on them as he and the others tried to hold them back while the train was evacuated. This time, he turned in time, to see a man with no face raise a Molotov cocktail and throw it...

At Jean. It hit her, and she started to scream, flames flaring into life around her, and the rain was the roar of water, and...

Wait a minute. With the recognition that it was a dream, Scott woke up with a strangled gasp.

His sudden surge into consciousness pulled Jean out of her light doze and she rose from her chair and moved to his side without a thought. "Shhh, Scott. It's all right."

"Jean." It was more of an acknowledgement that a question, and he tried to slow his breathing down. Moving had hurt. "S-Stupid dream." Her hand closed on his and he let his breath out on a ragged sigh.

"But just a dream," she said firmly, catching the images still hovering at the front of his mind.

"Yeah..." Her hand was cool, her grip firm. Like an anchor. "What time is it?" He hated having both eyes... one eye and where the other eye had been, rather, bandaged like this. Blindness scared the hell out of him.

Whenever he was awake Jean tended to keep hold of him for that reason. Well, partly for that reason, and partly to reassure herself that he was still there for her to hold onto. "Late," she said, glancing at the clock. "Almost two."

"And what day is it? ... joke, Jean." He was perhaps trying the humor as coping mechanism a little too much. But it was either that or think about... this, and he wasn't going to do that. Not just yet. Maybe when his head was a little clearer. "Still in Seattle, right?"

Jean swallowed the laugh which tried to escape, knowing it would come out more sob than laugh. "Yes, still in Seattle. Although I think the hospital staff wish we weren't. Or at least that I wasn't."

"Been terrorizing them again? Shame on you..." He turned his head a little on the pillow, wincing. "Do I have whiplash?" he asked a little hazily. "From the explosion? Neck hurts... I think it's a separate thing. Little hard to tell..."

"It's a mild case," she said, "but yes, there was some secondary damage." On it's own it wouldn't have been much more than a minor problem, easily handled through rest. But, of course, it wasn't on it's own.

"Okay..." He took another deep breath, then let it out. His heart was definitely slowing back to something approaching a normal rate. "Wait... if it's two, why... are you sleeping at all?"

She managed a little smile, although he couldn't see it. "Some, yes. For hospital chairs, they're very comfortable."

"Jean." Scott sighed, squeezing her hand. "Need to rest," he insisted stubbornly. "Can't make yourself sick, okay?"

"Yes, you do," she said, turning his comment on it's head. "And you're just going to have to excuse me if I have no intention of being farther than arms reach away from you for a while."

As much as he didn't want to see her wearing herself out, part of him was rather selfishly glad to hear that. "'M sorry," he said, his voice slurring a little, like it did when he didn't focus on enunciating clearly. The whole side of his face wasn't moving right, that was the problem. "Shouldn't fuss at you..."

"No, you shouldn't," she agreed, leaning down to kiss the back of his hand. "I've got sole fussing rights just now. You'll just have to wait until you're back up on your feet before you can start fussing about me again." And that day would come. It would.

The brush of her lips made him smile - or at least, half-smile. The problem with talking affected that, too. "Promise? Like fussing about you..."

The little half smile was equal parts likely to make her smile in return and want to cry. "You know, I think I've noticed that. Yes, I promise, love. And I won't even fuss about you fussing about me, when you do."

"Too kind..." The banter was a bit hollow-sounding, though. He heard the little quiver beneath the surface of her voice, and the need to do something, anything to reassure her warred with the creeping fear.

"Scott..." She couldn't hold him properly, but she wrapped him up in the mental equivelent of a tight hug, giving him only her love and hope and concern. The doubt and worry were for when he slept, keeping her awake more effectively than the coffee.

His chest felt tight, suddenly, and Scott forced himself to keep breathing steadily. "Hate the dreams," he said, trying to sound conversational. Failing miserable. "Know I should be resting, but I hate the dreams..."

"I know," Jean said, her voice soft. "I could try to help, if you want..." It wasn't a long term solution, he needed to face up to his fears when he could, but Jean hated seeing him hurting.

"Please?" His voice wavered. "I can't... I have the dreams, and then I wake up and I can't see..." His hand clenched on hers almost spasmodically and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "I d-don't know what's worse."

"No dreams we can do," she said, her touch on his mind shifting ever so slightly a calming pattern carefully weaved into his own thoughts. #I love you, Scott, and I'll be here when you wake up.#