Scott and Jean and the attack cat

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Silly fluff. Also fuzz.



It was peaceful. Dark and quiet and peaceful. Not a thing was wrong in the world as Jean snuggled further under the light cover, dead to the world. This, clearly, could not last.

The dark shape moved along the top of the headboard, stepping lightly, almost delicately. Balance was very important, at moments like this. Balance, and perfect timing.

Jean sighed, rolling over slightly - her dreams a chaotic mess of her own thoughts, Scotts, and any of the students who were being particularly vivid. Through the years she'd gotten used to it and nothing but the strongest of nightmares from elsewhere in the school could break through her shields enough to wake her up, but it did mean she wasn't a particularly peaceful sleeper.

Des crouched down, her tail lashing violently as the face of her target was exposed. Perfect timing. She leapt, paws outstretched - if claws in, since the last time she'd did this with claws out she had been deprived of tuna and the last milk out of the cereal bowl for a whole week.

It would have been an "Augh!" if her face hadn't been covered by two pounds of cat. Instead, Jean's exclamation came out more of a "Mrpmrgh!" as she was jerked into wakefulness. And she managed to restrain her instincts enough not to hurl the cat across the room this time.

Scott sat bolt upright on the other side of the bed at the stifled yelp. He was even less of a sound sleeper than Jean, and was generally alert almost immediately upon waking. Right now was no exception, and he groaned as he saw the familiar dark fuzzy shape on top of Jean. "Des!" He reached down and hauled the cat upwards; she flopped bonelessly in his grip, purring loudly.

Jean sat up, glaring, and then sneezed, clearing her nose of cat fur. "Cat! I'm going to make you into slippers!"

Scott had instinctively brought his arm around to hold Des properly - he wasn't into dangling his cat, even when she was being bad - and she flopped backwards into the crook of his arm, still purring. Scott blinked down at her, and then scratched her under the chin.

"I'm going to let her, you know."

"Yeah, scritching the cat makes that a tad unbelievable." With something halfway between a growl and a sigh, Jean tossed the covers off, standing up, her heart only now slowing down. "I'm making cocoa. Want?"

"I mean, 'Bad Des! Into the nether regions with you.'" Scott set the cat down - on the floor, not on the bed, and she had the good sense to skitter out of the room ahead of Jean.

Jean shook her head at Scott as she vanished into the kitchenette. Milk in the pan and, despite her annoyance, she poured out a small bit into Des' bowl, then flicked a few drops at the cat, although this latter only made her jump slightly before she proceeded to lick her fur clean.

"I really will look into that latch," Scott said, emerging from the bedroom.

"I'm not convinced it would stop her," Jean admitted, collecting a pair of mugs and then adding the cocoa powder and sugar to the milk. "She's sneaky. And vile."

"She's not vile," Scott protested. "She's just... demonstrative."

The Look was aimed equal parts at him and the cat. "I'm of the opinion 'demonstrative about the fact that your hers, not mine' counts as vile. Also tricksy and false."

"She'll settle down as she gets older. She's not a year old yet, you know. Still not much more than a kitten." Scott came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Hmph," was the reply, but Jean leaned into his embrace easily enough.

"She's stopped using the claws when she does that, hasn't she?"

"Yeees," she said slowly, not really wanting to admit the point.

"So. Progress." Scott said, very carefully keeping a straight face.

"Hmph," Jean said again, although she was clearly working to maintain the air of pout. And, since she was unwilling to move from his arms, the pan lifted itself off the stove and the contents carefully poured into the cups.

"Besides, if she didn't wake us up at three in the morning we wouldn't be able to have these little nightly interludes, would we?" Scott asked innocently.

That won the hint of a grin out of her as she turned around in the circle of his arms. "Interlude, huh? Is that what we're calling it now? I don't know - I think you're on the cat's side... Surely there's no interludes for you if you're on her side."

"The cat's fickle, Legs - it's in her nature." Scott couldn't not grin. "I, on the other hand, have been fixated on you for much longer than Her Fuzziness has been around."

"Hmmm, true," Jean said, raising her arms to slide them around his shoulders, "but I think you're going to have to do some convincing. I still have cat fur in my hair."