Scott and Jean, Sunday morning

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Another one of those very, very awkward talks they had to have, this one involving what happened to their suite, a certain videotape, and the nature of forgiveness. It's surprisingly productive, and the two of them come to a decision that the most of the rest of the mansion would be cheering - if they were going to be told.


They needed another bookcase in here.

Rubbing his jaw, Scott frowned at the overloaded single bookcase the guest suite had come equipped with. "I own too many books," he said, loudly enough that Jean, who was in the kitchenette making... well, he wasn't sure what she was making, something that was supposed to be breakfast. "Where do I find the time to read any of them?"

"Strike me," Jean called back, fighting with the egg beater, "but it's good that you try. These damned egg whites will not fluff. Stupid things."

"Why are you fluffing egg whites? Wait," Scott amended, "I don't want to know. It can be a surprise." He tried shifting some of the books around. It didn't actually help. "I liked our bookshelves better," he muttered. "The shelves were wider..."

Jean paused what she was doing, then carefully put down the egg beater, coming to lean against the counter and watch him fussing at the shelf. He very, very rarely mentioned their suite. Rarely in a never sort of way. "Well," she said finally, "there are a couple obvious solutions..."

Scott hesitated, realizing what he'd just said. "Ah," he muttered, straightening and turning towards her. "Yeah. You know, it's striking me that I've never actually explained why we're here, and not in our own suite."

"You haven't, no," Jean said. She paused a second then went on, "You... you don't have to if you don't want to. I mean, I can imagine... well, I can imagine a lot of things." Most of which would be uncomfortable to talk about, to say the least.

"No... I probably should." Although it would be uncomfortable for both of them. Still... he didn't like leaving these things unspoken. Hadn't that been the problem in the first place? "I lost my temper and trashed the place," he said as steadily as he could. "The morning I got the videotape in the mail."

"Ah," was all Jean said at first. Eventually, she moved to actually come into the room and sit down. "I guess that's... understandable. How trashed is trashed?" She was doing her best to keep her voice level as well.

"Well, I basically wrecked everything but Horatio's tank," Scott replied after a long moment. "There wasn't much that was salvageable." He felt so guilty about that, suddenly. That had been her home, not just his...

Jean looked down at the carpet, and quietly she said, "I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything, but I am."

Scott stared at her, his mouth opening then closing again as he bit back his initial reaction. "Doesn't mean anything?" he asked finally, unsteadily. "What do you mean by that?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip. "There's no way I can make any of this better, least of all by saying 'I'm sorry' for things you refuse to blame me for." There, it was said.

Scott leaned back against the bookshelves, folding his arms across his chest in an unconscious defensive gesture. "Would it make it any better if I did?" he asked, his throat tight. "I don't understand that, Jean." Did she really want to know how much part of him had wanted to blame her? How much part of him had hated her?

"I don't know," Jean said honestly, "I really don't. I also don't know if it would make it worse. I... I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I did. I really don't understand how you could." And she looked away again, breathing deeply. "But... but maybe you need to admit that there's something that I did that needs forgivness."

"It's not that simple." His arms tightened, as if he needed to brace himself to stay upright. "Would you have ever done that in your right mind? I think the answer is probably no. And the state you were in... you had help getting there, Jean."

"I wouldn't have, no," she said, because at least where Bobby was concerned that wasn't even a question, "but that doesn't change the fact that I did it. Help or no."

Scott looked away for a moment, staring blindly at the unfamiliar view out the window that wasn't theirs. Then he came over and sat down beside her - leaving a little room between them, more for her benefit than his. This wasn't a conversation that you had while clinging to each other.

"I told Dr. Barnett about what happened. She wanted to know if I'd addressed it with you... I said no, because of all the complicating factors..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "We can't change it, Jean, you're right."

"I know," Jean said faintly. "I know."

Scott stared fixedly at the coffeetable, trying to think. "You would have known what she was doing," he said slowly. "Not just... that night. But with the tape, afterwards." He swallowed and looked up at her. "That must have been very hard," he said, his voice unsteady again. "Knowing how I'd react when I saw it, but not being able to do anything..."

Jean nodded, looking a little pale, remembering that night. Jane had made sure she had known exactly what she planned, and refused to let her hide from it. "I... admit I was a little surprised you didn't... you were as... you didn't hit me when I showed up in that club."

Scott jerked a little, something hard and tight inside his chest dissolving into frantic, half-anguished relief that he had to fight to keep off his features. If she was surprised that he hadn't hit her, then he hadn't done anything worse - that's what that had to mean, didn't it? That was what it meant, he told himself feverishly, his hands clenching where they rested in his lap. He hadn't done anything horrible, that wasn't why she wasn't letting him see her memories.

"I don't... remember that night, obviously. But I wasn't... that week, I was angry," he said, too rapidly, the words almost spilling out. "But the anger wasn't the biggest part of it. I wasn't processing enough. I kept expecting to wake up and find that I'd dreamed it all."

"Instead you got to wake up with a missing night entirely." Jean's voice was very small, and she pulled her feet up on the edge of the couch so she could wrap her arms around her knees.

Scott saw her drawing in on herself. "It's... what bothers you most about that night, isn't it?" he asked tentatively. "That you altered my memories."

"It's... such an invasion," she said softly. "It's the sort of thing I honestly thought I'd rather die than do to someone, but... you're not the only one missing memories. Haroun lost less than a minute, and Remy... I altered his memory, didn't actually take it. But you... God."

Scott looked down for a moment, his expression very distant, as if he was mulling something over a world away. "Jean?" he said finally, very calmly, as he looked up at her. It wasn't a question so much as a way to get her to look at him - which he did. He gazed into her eyes for a moment, then offered her a tiny, hesitant smile. "I forgive you for that," he said, as steadily as he could.

Jean breathed in with a little gasp, then slowly let it out and, although her breath caught slightly in a little sob, did not start crying. She looked at him somewhat mutely for a few moments, biting her lip, then nodded faintly. "Thank you," she whispered.

Scott leaned against the couch, watching the change in her posture, the lessening of tension, and was profoundly glad he'd said that. Because he did. However much part of him still wanted to know exactly what had happened, he did forgive her for taking the memories in the first place. Partly because he was getting the very strong impression that even Jane hadn't done it in malice, but in confusion, and hell, if he was going to start damning people for confusion, he might as well start with himself.

And he was a little tired of that. He reached out, laying a hand over hers. "Kinda lost here, now," he said a bit uncertainly. There were times he so missed the link. Yeah, roughly once every two minutes, all day, every day...

Jean bowed her head over their hands for a moment, then turned hers over to lace their fingers together. "Me too," she said, then looked up and smiled at him, although it was a small smile. "I think it's ok, though."

"I've been feeling so lousy since I saw Dr. Barnett," Scott said, "because she said something about me not trusting you. No... that there'd been a loss of trust, over this," he corrected himself painfully. "And as much as I wanted to tell her no, that wasn't true, I thought about what I'm afraid of - that I'm going to wake up some morning and you'll be gone again, or worse, that I'll do something to drive you away. Maybe that is not trusting you." He tried to smile again and didn't quite manage it. "I thought it was just me being insecure."

"In a way, it probably is," Jean agreed, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face. "But then, I don't trust me anymore, either. Not after everything I've done." Which, admittedly, was not news to anyone, especially given her refusal to use her powers these days.

"I want to trust you," Scott said. "I want to wake up every morning, realize that yes, you're in the bed with me, and be able to laugh at myself for doubting it. And to be able to eventually forget to even do that." He gazed at her, still uncertain. "Does that... is that enough?" he asked. "Does it help at all to know that I want it to be that way, even if I'm not sure how to do my part to get us there?"

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "It does help, and I think it's enough for now. For both of us." Leaning forward she kissed him softly on the cheek. "I want to be by your side for all of my life. For all of our lives."

He loved her so much that it hurt. Insecurity and everything that had happened aside. Scott shifted towards her, sliding an arm a bit hesitantly around her. "I love you," he said. "I think.... how would you feel about going away for a while?"

It took Jean a few moments to decide - part of her still felt that leaving would be running away, and part of her still desperately wanted out, even just for a little bit. "Yes," she finally said, "I think that could be... good."

"We never got a honeymoon, you know." He smiled a bit tentatively. "I mean, the only problem will probably be keeping people from going 'Oh, god, finally!' and throwing us in the trunk for the trip to the airport. And then frogmarching us to the departures gate."

"I'd be in favor of not even telling them," Jean said, "but if we're going to be gone any actual length of time, we probably ought to. And... I'd kind of like some serious time away. Just us."

"Yeah. Just Scott and Jean," Scott said, remembering what he'd said last week - and a number of things people had said to him before and since. "We can make plans quietly," he said, "and only tell the people we really need to tell. And the term's over."

Jean nodded. "I think... I think this is a plan. A good one."

"All of my plans are." He pressed his lips to her temple, just briefly. "That goes without saying. And you know... somewhere on my laptop is still all the half-made plans and options for our honeymoon." Scott smiled a bit wistfully. "I didn't have the heart to delete it."

She turned to look at him, and said, "I'm..." then paused. Maybe, for now, 'I'm sorry' had been said enough. "I'm glad," she said instead, kissing him on the cheek.

"Me too." Scott's smile grew a little steadier. "Maybe I have a closet optimist somewhere deep down inside after all."

Comments

[x-traction.livejournal.com]

Aw...very nicely done guys. My inner Marie is looking very smug and thinking that its about time.

[x-rahne.livejournal.com]

That's because it is!

And for heaven's sake, people, go somewhere sunny.

*pause*

And while you're gone, maybe we can rig Scott's office and your new suite with sunlamps. Or just those full-spectrum lightbulbs that mimic sunlight... you know, for plants? Unless that would prevent him from getting outside more. Hmm.

[x-crowdofone.livejournal.com]

I have all those sunlamps from Boiler Beach just sitting in storage . . .

[x-rahne.livejournal.com]

I'm thinking of emailing him and asking if we can replace all his lightbulbs.

And possibly add the sunlamps.

If I can come up with a way this is in character. Not so much that Rahne wouldn't do it, but how she happens to think of it.

[xp_daytripper]

Maybe it comes up in conversation about how nice it is it's summer again? Summer=sun=memories of Boiler Beach=the wacky effect sunlight has on Scott and how he spent all his time down there. *grins*

[x-polarisstar.livejournal.com]

I was thinking idle chatter about 'oh good, thank god they're gone. Do you suppose Scott will get sun?'

'Tan Scott, ha!'

'Happy Scott, ha, you mean!'

'...sunlamps. Now.'

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

"Why is sitting in my office making me feel so mellow cheerful giddy? Someone's been playing with my lightbulbs, haven't they?"

[x-rahne.livejournal.com]

"...Dude! He relaxed!"

[x-legion.livejournal.com]

I'm relieved because I was telling Scott they should go on their honeymoon within an hour of meeting him. I'm pretty sure the words "just take the trip and tell no one" came up with Jean at least once, too. This was all pre-quasi-mind-control, though. I guess better late than never.

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

I can't speak for Jean, but I'm just, you know, slow.