Jean and Scott

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

As predicted, the gods of alcohol take their toll.



The sunlight was creeping up oh her. Jean was completely unaware of it, what with being dead to the world, but it was stalking her. Des was watching it. The minutes ticked past and the edge of the sunlight crept closer and closer to where her rather mussed head stuck out from under the covers. All was quiet. And then...

"Augh!" There was stabbing. Light and ow and light and HEAD and ow. "No light. Light bad." Jean curled up into a little ball, burying her head under the covers.

"Good morning, light of my life," Scott said wryly from somewhere over to her left. He was sitting in the armchair by the window - in the sun - laptop open on his lap and his hair rumpled. "There's aspirin on the bedside table. And another glass of water."

"You're a saint," she said, although it was more than a bit muffled by the blankets. "Honest to God, saint material. I take back all nasty things I have said about you." She paused, then added, "Except those relating to the black eye. Who knew it would hurt more today than yesterday?" A hand sneaked out of the covers to secure the aspirin, but the water was going to be more challenging. Maybe she could use the blankets as a protective shroud.

Scott rose, laptop in one hand, and came over to transfer the glass from the table to her hand. "A saint with caveats," he said wryly, then went back to the sunlight. "Who'd've thunk it."

She actually sat up under the blankets to drink the water, so it was this bizarre, Jean shaped blanket monster that answered. "Well, you know..." A hand appeared from underneath to wave vaguely at him. "Thing." It didn't make sense, but it didn't have to. She had the water. "So, can I have another glass of water approximately the size of Lake Superior?"

"One second." It took about fifteen, actually, to get a bigger glass from the kitchen, fill it up with spring water from the fridge, and return to the bedroom. "I would have put coffee on but I didn't know if you'd want it.

By the time he got back she had braved the light, although she was sitting on the corner of the bed that wasn't in direct sunlight. "Um..." she said, considering. "Actually, stomach shockingly not in a bad state. But caffeine will not help the headache. Ask me again in half an hour." Reaching up to rub the back of her head she encountered her hair and winced. "I must look a state."

"You're a little rumpled, yes," Scott said, retrieving his laptop and returning to his chair. The direct sunlight was making the muscle aches go away quite nicely. "That's okay. You have pretty bedhead." He smiled a bit crookedly.

"You're sweet," she told him, cradling the larger glass and taking this one slower than the first, which was sitting empty on the bedside table. "Is it wrong of me to feel like giving all my classes pop quizes today? I mean, is taking out my hangover on the students against the rules?"

"Very much so, yes. I'd have to disapprove of that and give you my scowly face." Scott pulled up the next email in his inbox, scanning it briefly.

"It's a good face, the scowly one. Very... scowly." Jean managed to stand and move over towards her dresser, and the mirror beside it. "Urgh," she said, frowning at her reflection. "So not my best look. And I have the pop quizes all written up and everything. In a file in my cabinet marked 'bad days'. Is that so wrong?"

"Well, it's mean, and a little sadistic, but not necessarily wrong, I suppose." Scott saved the email, moved on to the next. This one got a two-line reply. "I would never want to actually encourage sadism."

"I think," Jean said slowly, "it would be mean to attempt to lecture with this headache. At least the quizes were written when I could think."

"Rationalization," Scott scoffed softly, not looking up from his laptop. "They'll start calling you the Wicked Witch of Xavier's again."

"Certainly they will if I go to class looking like this. Frightful. What did I do with that hairbrush last night? I remember having it, but not where it went."

"Des?" The cat yawned and stretched. "Did you do something with Jean's hairbrush?"

Jean cast a baleful look at the cat. "Fuzzball, I was nice to you last night. Did you take it? Or is Scott simply attempting to divert suspicion from himself? Are the two of you in on it together? It's all a big plot, isn't it? Well? Speak, kitty!"

"She's very hungover, Des," Scott confided to the cat. "If she sounds irrational, that's why."

"Definitely conspiring against me. Clearly." Jean pouted. "Haaaairbrush. Or more water. I require one or the other."

Scott got up and started to scout around for the hairbrush. It was, rather surprisingly, near the window. "She must have had it," he said, picking it up and handing it to Jean. "You know how she likes to steal or wreck your stuff."

"You'd think she had a personal vendetta against me for stealing that small portion of your attention you give to me. Small. Miniscule. Haven't even gotten a kiss this morning."

Scott sat down on the bed next to her, gazing at her for a long moment. Then he leaned in and kissed her - not quickly, but not one of those 'must lock the door and pretend it's not time to leave and face the world' kisses, either.

Jean smiled at him when he leaned back, the smile going a long way to counter the frightful bedhead. "See, yet another reason why you're up for sainthood. You put up with me being irrational, hungover and pouty. Thank you."

"Well. Not a trial, to kiss you, you know." His voice was very soft.

She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. "Love you, by the way. In case I hadn't mentioned it recently."

"You have kind of been glaring a lot." His tone was even a little light. "Deadly glares."

"I glare because I love. I also yell because I love. And shake you because I love. It's complicated."

"Ours is a vehement love." Scott sighed. It wasn't an entirely happy-sounding sigh. The brightness of the morning sun was somewhat unforgiving of the lines of weariness and pain in his face. "Hey, you. What would you think about going away for spring break? Somewhere sunny..."

"I'm in favor. Very much in favor. I think I even mentioned doing fun things last night, but it's in the blurry bit." Sitting up straight, Jean began attempting to tame the hair.

"Somewhere quiet," Scott said after a moment. "Sunny. Nice beaches... good food? And I have this strange craving for steel drums." He gave her another crooked smile.

"Big beaches," she clarified. "Lots of sand I can lie on and not get wet. The lake's been giving me evil looks." There were just too many resonances. "But otherwise, yes, that sounds excellent."

"I'll... look something up. Do you trust me?" The smile was more natural, this time, almost a little teasing. "I might get creative."

"Creative, like, stables-creative or creative pop-quiz-creative? Cause I'm in favor of the former." The aspirin was kicking in.

"Oh, definitely the former." Scott tilted his head. "Some quiet little island where there aren't a lot of tourists... there are a few, in the Carribean."

"Very few, but if you find one I'm all for it. There might even be a new swimsuit involved. One of those ones not designed to go in the water." She grinned at him.

"Oh. Those I rather like. I will have to search most diligently." It was so good to be able to sit here and just... banter. Not like nothing had happened, because it had, and there was no denying it. But it was reassuring, in a way, that they could find their way back to something approaching normality.

All it took was some significant quantities of liquor and time. "Here's to diligence. And fruity drinks with little umbrellas. But not for a while."