Jean and Scott

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean's had a long day in the medlab, but Amelia's got the night shift and she finally makes it home.



Jean still hadn't reappeared from the infirmary, not that Scott was all that surprised. Sighing, he propped his leg back up on the couch, positioning the fresh cold-pack at his knee. He leaned back against the cushions, reflecting somewhat sourly that he wouldn't have minded getting thrown up on so much if they'd had at least a little warning as to what kind of mess the girl was in.

It had been less than an hour after the girl got down to the medlab that Jean had started stifling the link - not so much to protect Scott from her ire, although he didn't need the headache, but simply because the quantity of ire was so great that it was stifle or worry about projecting it to the girl herself. So Scott didn't have a lot of warning before Jean came storming into their suite and tossed herself onto one of the armchairs. "This girl's parents? Need to be hunted down and shaken."

"I'd pretty much come to that conclusion already. I believe Charles is going to be making a very displeased phone call later," Scott said, sighing at Jean's wrathful look.

"We won't get the blood work back until the morning, but I will bet you dollars to doughnuts that the alcohol's not the only thing running through her system, particularly not after the scene we got when I made it clear she would not be getting anything to 'help' her sleep tonight. Given how little English she speaks, it's quite impressive that she knew some of those words."

"Good idea to leave her to Amelia, then." His knee hurt. The cold pack was not particularly helping. "She can manage a better totally-unimpressed look than you can."

"Yes, I think that was her feeling on the matter, too," Jean said, sighing. "She's a piece of work, that girl, though."

"You're telling me. She threw up on my shoes, remember?" Scott was feeling vaguely sulky, for some reason. Not over the shoes. But it hadn't been the best week thus far, and it was all stuff he couldn't do a damned thing about.

"Mmmm, yes, there is that. Poor Scott." Jean smiled at him, not a hint of teasing or mockery. "Do you need distracting and cheering up? Because I kind of do."

"I need a new leg. And possibly a pony." At some point in the last year or so, he'd apparently decided that if he couldn't have a sense of proportion, he'd have a sense of humor. Maybe they were roughly the same thing.

"Well, the first one Forge can do for you, but I think you'll have to ask Charles for the pony. Although if I stumble upon a small fortune on my own, I'll buy you one for Christmas."

"Maybe a stuffed pony?" Scott suggested, letting his head sag backwards. "Something for Des to destroy while she and I are alone in our cold empty bed and you're on night shifts...."

Jean's smile widened into a grin. "I'm totally going to do that now, you know. You shouldn't give me ideas like this. Remember Nate and the squirrel?"

"I don't have any trauma about squirrels. Make sure it's a chestnut pony. One-third life-sized. Like those ones you win at the fair." Scott closed his eyes, but his lips were twitching.

"Oh, does this mean I get to go cheat carnies at the state fair again?" There was far too much glee in Jean's voice at the suggestion.

Scott opened his eyes, regarding her thoughtfully. "Yeah. Let's," he said, after a moment. "Just the two of us, some night..."

She smiled at him. "I'm always in favor of 'just the two of us' nights out."

"We don't do it enough." Were they ever going to stop having this conversation? Scott's smile was a bit wistful.

"I've come to the conclusion that, really, no couple does. It's simply exacerbated in our situation, what with the living in a nut house and each holding down three jobs."

"I must be especially nuts because I'm thinking of adding a fourth," Scott said, then paused. "Well, no, not a job. I just got thinking about it again this last week... it's something I tried last fall, but I really wasn't up to it."

Jean arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

"Well, you know I had to get my certificate in school management before Charles could appoint me headmaster. Five more courses and a research paper would mean an M.Ed." Scott shrugged. "I tried to take a course last fall. Like I said, didn't work out. But I thought I might try again in January. They're fine with part-time students."

"Ahhh, gotcha. It'd be a good project, I think, but do you think you'll have less stress this term than last year? Or are you, shock of shocks, actually going to try and do less work?" She was teasing... mostly.

Scott's reaction wasn't overt, just a twist of his lips that was a bit too wry to be a smile. "I think my concentration is a lot better in September 2007 than it was in September 2006. And I wouldn't have to register for January until nearly December, so I have some time to think about this. They sent me a course catalog," he said by way of explanation, "which is what got me started thinking about this again - I just really want to do this, Jean. If we ever want to start talking in a more general way about mutant issues in education in this country, the additional piece of paper might be useful."

"Hey, hey, I think it would be a good idea, no argument," Jean said, holding up her hands to ward him off. "I just have a vested interest in keeping you from killing yourself."

"I might cut back on my teaching load, if I do this," Scott conceded. "Bring someone else in to do shop, at least. A supply teacher would take my engineering class over my dead body," he said, his good humor returning. Although he was entirely serious. He'd spent too much time setting it up to hand it over to anyone else.

"And then we'd have to find a new doctor and science teacher as well..." Jean added with a smile.

"You wouldn't soldier on grimly in my absence?" Scott asked whimsically.

"Oh, come now, you know I'd have gone on a murderous rampage, and then Charles would send me back to Tibet." She was only mostly joking.

"Fate worse than death. Tibet, I mean. Boredom and yaks." And he was possibly a little off, tonight. He gave Jean a crooked smile. "I'm awfully glad I didn't bring my car today."

Jean snorted. "I can imagine. I take it the station wagon's going to be getting cleaned?"

"Have any of the kids misbehaved today?" Scott asked mischievously. "It'd make a good detention."

She laughed. "Pretty sure some of them would class that as 'cruel and unusual'."

"Machiavelli had nothing on me," was Scott's slightly smug reply.