Scott and Jean, Thursday evening

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Jean tracks down her husband after his fight with his father.


It was almost summer-like. Despite that, the rest stop was empty. Just Scott and his bike - the latter parked in the little gravel parking lot, the former lying flat on his back on one of the picnic tables, staring up at the blue, blue sky. The idea was to let the sunlight improve his mood. It didn't seem to be working very well.

There was the sound of a car approaching - a very familiar sound, and Scott raised his head to see a silver Solstice pulling into the rest stop. With a groan, he let his head fall back against the wood of the table with an audible clunk. Only one person would be driving his car, and he didn't need the telltale presence on the link to tell who was behind the wheel.

Jean had caught sight of the motion as Scott looked up to watch her, and the mental echo of his head thudding into the wood of the table got a wry smile as she shut off the engine. She took a moment to consider him before getting out and heading towards him - he didn't seem that much calmer than when she'd first sensed his fight with his father, clearly the time to himself wasn't helping that much. Sliding onto the bench attached to the table he'd chosen to lie on, Jean set her elbows on the table next to his shoulder and propped her chin on her hands. "So," she said.

"I hate him," Scott muttered. Then, in a rush: "And I wish I'd taken the opportunity to break his nose, because I suspect Alex will never speak to me again if it ever comes to blows again."

"Ok," Jean said mildly. "I'm not going to offer to do it for you; it wouldn't really have the same cathartic effect anyway."

Scott grumbled something more than moderately profane under his breath. "Alex and Phillip and Deborah are so... happy," he said finally, almost fitfully. "I am the rain on their happy little parade. And probably a really awful person, deep down - it's not like he hasn't been through a hell of a lot, and I'm not making this any easier on him."

"There's no rule anywhere that says you have to," she pointed out. "I'm not saying I'm surprised that they're happy, cause I'm not, but I think I would have been if you were. If you just unquestioningly opened your arms to him. Not after everything that's happened to you."

Scott sighed and sat up. "You know what, though? I would have done nearly anything to have had him not in Madripoor, these last fifteen years." His voice was hoarse with emotion as he went on. "It's not that I think Charles did a bad job of things, but it just would have been good to have someone who didn't have... all these other considerations, too." Who could have been just a father.

Jean didn't move, just lifted her eyes to track him as he sat up, suddenly almost a foot above her. "I know," she said softly.

Scott shifted from the top of the table to the spot on the bench opposite her, folding his arms on the table. "So I'm holding it against him that he wasn't there, and holding it against him that he wants to know what he missed... I'm really sadly freaking contradictory, when it comes right down to it. I'm just so angry at him." Although he didn't sound angry, but more bewildered.

"So, I apologize in advance for being all pop-psychology on you here, love, but I think in a way you're supposed to be. Abandoned and orphaned children... anger's part of the grieving process, Scott, but you never really had a chance to be that child. To get over everything. You woke up in the hospital and everything was already so far out of your control, so you locked it all up. Took control of the parts of your life that you could, even if they were all internal. Now you're grown up, your life is stable and secure, and your father shows up, and you get to deal with all this again. Not just get to, even, but in a way you feel like you have to. Because he's here. Because Alex and your grandparents are happy. Just because."

Scott looked up and met Jean's eyes finally. His lips twitched in an unhappy half-smile. "Your pop psychology is pretty good psychology. You should charge by the hour." He unfolded his arms, reached across the table and took her hands, silent for a long moment.

She squeezed his hands gently. "You're allowed to be angry, Scott. It's probably even healthy; certainly more healthy than shutting it off and pretending you're not. I just... I don't want you to shut any doors. Don't do anything that can't be undone. Because I think there's going to be a time when you're not angry, or not so angry. And you're going to want him to be there then."

"Don't do anything irrevocable." He somehow thought he hadn't crossed that line just yet. The look Chris had been wearing had been far too... calculating, really. Which only made him angrier, or would have if he wasn't so damned tired at this point. "I think I can probably manage that." He raised his eyebrows, then let them fall again. "I'm just not sure I can handle the bonding, or the catching up. I mean, he seems to have taken Alex's lurid past in stride..."

"Well, you know, I bet we can avoid the bonding and so on, at least for tonight." She pulled his hand closer and pressed a kiss to it. "Want to find a hotel and hide out?"

"You have an overnight bag in the trunk, don't you?" Scott asked wryly - and didn't even try to keep the gratitude off the link. "I think I could do with a cooling-off period. And then, well, there's the whole spending the night in a hotel with you..."

"I might have stopped back at the school to grab some supplies, yes," Jean said, smiling slightly. "Thought there was a better than even chance that you'd need some cooling off time. Plus, as mentioned, the you and me and hotel thing..."

"It's one of those win-win sitations, isn't it?" Scott didn't seem inclined to get up right away, however. It was sunny out here, and quiet, and they were in no rush. "What do you think of him?" he asked after a moment.

'He reminds me of you' was so not the right answer. "He's very charming," Jean said after a few moments. "Too bad you didn't get any of that..." she smiled, clearly teasing.

"It's a pity I didn't keep the eyepatch. I could have out-pirated him," Scott said, then made a face. "And I'm sorry, but the mustache is ridiculous. Smack me if I ever try to grow facial hair." The physical resemblance between him and his father was undeniable, and he really didn't feel like being sulky enough to argue it.

"Oh, trust me, you are not allowed any form of facial hair. I refuse to deal with the face-burn. Not that you don't look rather amazingly hot with scruff at times, but it's just too uncomfortable to be worth it."

"Yes, ma'am," Scott said, finally sliding off the bench. He kept hold of Jean's hand, though, pulling her up with him. "I still can't believe I stomped down to the garage and took off on the bike like that. He told me I was acting like a teenager... and then I went and proved him right."

"So, this is not when I point out that the last time you did that you were rather more than eighteen, right?" Jean slid an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Just look at it as giving him a chance to experience some of what he missed out on."