Scott and Jean, Wednesday evening

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

She beat him back home, but only by a couple of hours.


It seemed ridiculous, that Nathan and Jean had actually beaten them back, given the circumstances, but they had, by a good two hours according to Kurt's hurried report in the front hall. Scott had proceeded to bolt downstairs, homing in on the feel of Jean's mind. She was tired, and hurting, too, but she seemed awake and lucid and damn it, he was going to kill her...

"What were you thinking?" he burst out as he came through the infirmary doors and saw her just emerging from one of the private rooms. In the next moment he was across the room and hugging her - if carefully. Her... ribs hurt? Definitely the ribs.

Jean slumped into his arms, the concern boiling across the link blunting the anger in his voice. She'd faded in and out of consciousness on the plane, too stressed to sleep and too tired not to, but really, the brief nap she'd had after Amelia re-taped her ribs and scolded her was the closest thing she'd had to real sleep since before they'd gone to Chechnya. She wrapped her arms around Scott, hiding her face in his shoulder. "No yelling," she muttered. "Yell at Nate. Hug me, yell at Nate. That's how this goes."

"I don't think I want to risk Moira's wrath, thank you." The thought of the two of them in the hold of a cargo plane for ten hours, both injured, made his blood run cold. "Damn it, Jean, if this is some attempt to outdo me in the close-shaves department, Alkali puts you ahead forever. So knock it off right now."

This close and this tired, Jean was as much in his mind as in her own. She snorted at something, then winced. "So, you want to tell me about the exploding car? In the interest of full disclosure."

"No, because then I'd have to tell you about tackling the pyrokinetic assassin, too," Scott said with a flicker of wry humor, stepping back but keeping his arm around her as he drew her towards her office. He thought they could both use the couch. "Kurt told me what you told him. I'm for leaving it up to Charles to explain to Barath precisely who was trying to kill him. Mostly because I'm a coward."

Jean followed unresistingly, the couch sounding like an excellent idea. "See, if I weren't so exhausted, we could have a proper screaming fight about the pyrokinetic and the psychotic Russian. We can do it later, if you want."

"Yes. Let's do that." He was actually too relieved to want to scream at her right now, and he doubted that was going to change anytime soon. He pushed her towards the couch, once they reached her office, and went over and poured himself a glass of water from the small cooler. "I'm a bit hung over," he said wryly.

Jean settled onto the couch, briefly eying the paperwork that had built up on her desk while she'd been gone then turned her attention back to Scott. "Hangover?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Lots of partying with Barath, then?"

"Oh, don't I wish. Barath's doctors were still sitting on him when we left." Scott paused, then looked at Jean, realizing that she probably didn't know. It wouldn't have been first on the list of Kurt's things to tell her when she arrived home. "Ororo zapped the other assassin with a lightning bolt. We were sort of celebrating. With palinka. Remind me never to drink Eastern European fruit brandy again."

Slowly a smile spread across Jean's face as the meaning sunk in. "Oh, that's excellent news. Definitely worth celebrating, although I'll keep that in mind for you about the eastern European brandy."

"Also, if I ever need someone who's not me to teach defensive driving, apparently I shouldn't look anywhere but at Forge." Scott sighed as he sagged down beside her on the couch. He was definitely hung over, and the various bruises from yesterday's excitement were complaining loudly. "You know, we could really do without weeks like this. So dare I ask how you'd rate Professor Trask and her new friend in terms of threat level?"

Jean twisted about, wincing as she pulled at the tape around her ribs, until she could lean against Scott's shoulder. "They're both mad as hatters," she said. "Completely bat-shit. And I don't' think Saidullayev's the only new friend she's made. Saidullayev's natural telepathic shields had been reinforced, Nate and I both got the feeling it was from outside. And she's taught them Askani mental patterns."

"Then we have a real problem, don't we?" Scott suddenly went still, in the way that meant his mind was racing. Attacking mutants working for integration... "The Preservers," he said softly. Thoughtfully.

Jean sat up, eyes wide. "Oh hell..." she whispered, "do you think?" Her hand went to take his, holding on tightly.

"Hard to know. They've got a classic cell structure... I don't think anyone's investigation came anywhere close to where they started." It was just suggestive, the similarity in their ideologies. And given Trask's abilities, she didn't even need to have started the ball rolling herself. A few subconscious suggestions to the right minds, and...

Forgetting herself for a moment, Jean slumped back into the couch, and hissed at the sudden pain. "Ow. I hate them all," she muttered.

Scott sipped at his water, eyeing her. "Did you get any rest when you got back?" Implications and possibilities could wait, for the time being. None of them were going to even begin to sort them out until they'd all gotten a little sleep.

"Any, yes. Enough, no. I couldn't really sleep on the plane, either. Had to make sure Nate kept breathing." He'd been mostly out of the woods, but given the lack of medical facilities, Jean hadn't wanted to take any chances.

"You both need plastic bubbles, you know. And he's a bad influence on you." He didn't really mean it. Mostly because Jean and Nathan were both prone to being reckless, so he wanted to be fair. And look who's talking, Summers.

"Plastic bubbles for all," Jean said, leaning into him again. "I'll get on that after I've had about thirty-six hours of sleep."

"I'd carry you to bed but those long legs of yours make that very awkward." Scott's arm around her shoulders tightened slightly. She was here, she was all right, and she was not going off to do reckless things without him for the next hundred years or so. That worked just fine for him.

"Stop being short," she told him, not making any move to stand or go anywhere. The couch wasn't the most comfortable but right now Jean didn't care. Scott was here and she was home.