Scott and Jean, Thursday afternoon

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott sneaks away from Parent's Day activities to go hunting through the storerooms with Jean for his old saxophone. There's a fair amount of nostalgia involved in the hunt, and even more dust.


"I think I'm developing a dust allergy," was Scott's pronouncement as he straightened from where he'd been rooting through a box. "This is... achoo! Ridiculous," he sniffled, then grinned a bit sheepishly at Jean. "Kind of fun, though."

Jean snickered. "You've got dust in your hair, love," she told him, reaching over to ruffle it, and then wrinkling her nose as, indeed, a fair amount of dust was shaken out.

"This is what happens when you lift boxes down off shelves that haven't been touched in ten years," he said, almost cheerfully. Oddly enough, dust or no, the physical work plus the exercise in nostalgia (plus the break from dealing with parents) was agreeing with him quite nicely.

Which Jean was very glad to see. She'd also been highly amused (and somewhat horrified) to find the box of her old clothes from when she'd been in high school. She'd entirely forgotten that she'd boxed them up when she went off to college. "Some of them never should have been touched again," she suggested. "That or we should hit the attic after this and clear that out, too."

"Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere near the attic. Some of Hank's old Science Fair projects are in the attic, I think," Scott said, mock-repressively. "So we don't go anywhere near the attic without body armor and back-up."

"Oh, come now, he never actually managed to create life, I'm pretty sure." Jean grinned at him.

"Are you sure? Maybe not biological life, but I remember some of his early experiments in robotics..." He was being half-serious. That was the funny thing. "Why did we keep some of this stuff?" he asked, bemused as he lifted the lid off another box and found what looked like his collected assignments from his year at teacher's college.

"Those," Jean said, peering over his shoulder, "you were convinced would be useful. I've no idea why."

"I'm obsessive-compulsive. That would be why." He grinned a little sheepishly, lifting one of the papers on the top out and leafing through it. "Got an A on this one."

"What's it on?" Jean asked, turning to one of the other boxes and wrinkling her nose as she opened it. "God, I remember this shirt. I'd say we should donate these clothes, but really, burning is probably more in order."

Scott was snickering. "Conflict resolution in the classroom. And I got an A. Damn, how far the A students have fallen..." He put it back in the box, however, and sealed it back up, thoughtfully. Maybe he'd come back down here sometime and go through them. See if he could rediscover the Scott who'd been so enthusiastic about teaching, years ago...

"Oh, I'm sure you'd still get an A, it would just be a more realistic, cynical A that admits that the conflicts you're probably dealing with in the classroom involve more than, say, a desire not to do one's homework."

Scott looked up at her, grinning a bit ruefully. "Did I ever tell you that you're awfully cute when you're being droll?" he asked, and before he could quite lose his nerve, got up and kissed her. Just a quick kiss, but if he worked on these previously spontaneous gestures, eventually they'd become spontaneous again. The way they should be.

Jean grinned at him, flipping one of her pigtails back behind her shoulder - she'd told him she was only wearing them because it made sense while they were working, and he'd clearly not believed a word of it, but that was the way it ought to be. "So, which box you going after next?"

"Box? I'm not sure," he said, turning to look at the piles and piles of boxes. "We're looking for an instrument case, remember... I think we should just continue excavating and hope." He pulled another off the pile, then peeked behind the pile. "No, no instrument case back here. Carnivorous dust bunnies of unusual size, though..."

"Heh. I know, I know. But that doesn't mean we can't organize and clean while we look. And you don't have to worry about the dust bunnies. They're carnivorous - they only eat other bunnies." Jean grinned, popping the lid back onto the box she'd been poking through and then eyeing the piles. "I think I'm going to venture into that corner. If you don't see me in two days, send a search party armed with forklifts."

Scott shifted some more boxes, hoping to spot a saxophone case. Could it be in one of the larger boxes? Surely he hadn't sold it. He certainly didn't remember selling it. Sneezing as he stirred up more dust, he shook his head.

"This is silly, I suppose," he said. "Like I'll even be able to play it, if I find it."

"That's what practice is for," Jean called over her shoulder, pushing a particularly large box that seemed to be filled with books out of the way. "I mean, it's not a bike, it'll take practice, but I doubt you've forgotten everything. Ah, hold up, I think I see it."

Scott immediately left what he was doing and came over to where she was extricating what was.. yes, unmistakably an instrument case from one of the walls-of-boxes. "I'll be damned," he said quietly as she handed it over. He sat down on one of the boxes of books and opened the snaps on the case.

Straightening up, Jean stretched out her back, smiling as she watched him. "It may need a trip to the shop or something," she said. "It has been down here a long time..."

"Well, Mr. Wang's shop is still there downtown," he said, lifting the sax out. It didn't look too much the worse for wear for not having been touched in... eight years? Had to be almost eight years. "Although I think his son might be the one running the business these days."

"What, Jackie? I remember him. He was an obnoxious kid - used to hassle me whenever I was in town during high school. I assume he's grown out of that, though."

"I've been in a few times to pick up instruments for our music classes," Scott said thoughtfully, then shook his head as he sized up the instrument. "Yeah, this needs some tender loving care. And a new reed, obviously."

Jean smiled, then moved closer to lean over and press a kiss to his forehead. "Sounds like a good project to me."

He looked up at her, smiling. "I have this compulsive need to fix things," he said in a deadpan tone. "You may have noticed."

"You know, I think I have," she replied. "It may have come up a couple times before, even."

"Less patient women would hit me for it." He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lightly brushing the side of her face as he lowered his hand. "I shouldn't speak too soon. You may decide to strangle me in my sleep for all the squawking and squeaking I'm going to be doing with this thing over the next little while. Let's all be very glad I didn't play the tuba. Or the drums."

"Indeed," Jean said, smiling at the soft touch. "Saxophone's much easier on the ears. And I promise not to strangle you in your sleep. I reserve the right to threaten to beat you over the head with the horn, though."

"Fair enough." He eased the saxophone back into the case, closing it and setting it down before he looked up at her again, smiling. "So are we done in here, or did we want to keep rooting through boxes to see what we can find?"

"I've kind of been enjoying this blast from the past and am up for continuing if you are," Jean said, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet and into a hug.

"Dust and all, hmm?" He slid his arms around her, not tentatively but carefully. "Down here has the plus of being quiet and relatively isolated. I like being alone with you," he murmured - bizarrely, meaning it without the slightest trace of innuendo. But it was good to be alone with her. Just the two of them, no worries about who was watching, or wondering...

"And not in the suite. It's an entirely different sort of alone together." She leaned her head on his shoulder, just relaxing for a bit.

"Love you," Scott murmured, smiling. "And I'll serenade you, I promise. Once I can, you know, play again."