Scott and Jean, Friday morning

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Scott decides that Jean needs a little more rest than she's been getting. Jean protests, but also confesses to the nightmares that have been bothering her since coming back from Hungary.


It was mildly challenging to cook breakfast while hopping on one foot and leaning on a single crutch, but Scott liked to flatter himself that he was a generally coordinated person. Besides, he'd had plenty of practice at this point. He cracked the last of the eggs, beating them thoroughly, and pondered omelette fillings. There was some cooked ham in the fridge, and you couldn't go wrong with cheddar cheese.

It was the smell that woke Jean up. It smelled like delicious husband-made breakfast. Mmmm. But... something was wrong. The smell had woken her up, and that was definitely wrong. It took Jean almost five minutes after the first semi-coherent thought to actually roll over and peer blearily at the bedside clock, but once she did she shot up in bed. "SCOTT! You turned off my alarm!!"

"Yes," Scott called back cheerfully, "and I made an unholy bargain with Amelia to cover the first few hours of your morning shift." Only because he'd known Jean would never agree to the whole day off. "Don't ask. Really, it's too disturbing to share."

By the time she made it out to the living room the look she was giving him was almost the Look of Death, but it was slightly blunted by the definite pain tightening her face; she'd pulled a robe on, though her arm wasn't through the sleeve. "You think you can save yourself by making breakfast but you are entirely wrong."

He gave her a perfectly level look as he split the omelette in half and plated it. Nice thick slices of multigrain toast were already on the plate, and he'd put together a speedy but still perfectly acceptable fruit salad, too. And the coffemaker was nearly done. "See, this is how I assessed the situation. Either you would love breakfast and love me for getting you the morning off, or you would love breakfast and punish me for getting you the morning off. Either way you still have a good meal and get a little of the sleep you do need," stubborn woman went unsaid, "so really, win-win situation. Especially as the only punishment that really bothers me is exile to the couch, which I know you're not going to do when I'm still the one-legged wonder."

She glared at him again, pulling a chair out away from the table telekinetically and settling down before responding. "Doooooom," she intoned, aiming for baleful but mostly only managing sleepy. "Doom upon you. If I ever futzed with your alarm you'd leave me."

"Never," Scott said with all evidence of sincerity, setting the plate down in front of her. "Seriously, Jean, you needed a little more sleep. I was watching you last night."

"Hmph. Taking my lighthearted banter and going all serious on me..." Jean said, picking up a fork but simply poking at the delicious looking breakfast for the moment. "I've been having nightmares," she admitted after a moment, not that Scott needed to hear her say it to know it was true. "I just... God, I wish we'd caught the bitch."

Scott sat down beside her with his own plate, leaving the coffee for now. "What kind of nightmares?" he asked quietly, spooning some of the fruit salad onto his plate.

Jean cast a sad look the coffee's way, but it was at least partly to avoid Scott's eyes. "They span the gauntlet," she said after a moment. "Some of them might even be Nathan's - I mentioned he was bleeding into me before..." Picking up a piece of toast Jean took a bite to give her something to do besides talk, but she knew Scott would win the waiting game. "The Taygetos kids, that one's definitely his, but the Preservers somehow getting their hands on you again, that's entirely homegrown." Looking up, she caught his eyes and noticed he'd gone a little pale at that, but she couldn't stop. "The bullet that went through my arm, the one that almost went in between Jim's eyes... I've got a whole bunch to choose from."

Scott heard her out, then reached out, his hand curling around hers and squeezing gently. "Price of the job, right?" he asked with a sad little smile, the sort of expression that said 'I'm telling the truth and you know I am, but it doesn't make anything better'. "I think sometimes the outwards scars are easier. At least they do stop hurting."

"And they're easier to fix," Jean agreed, turning her hand over to lace her fingers through his. "I'm not trying not to sleep, Scott, but being useful helps. You know that."

"Which is why I didn't try to get you the whole day off." Scott chuckled softly. "I do know you. And even when I think I know what's best for you, I know when compromise is called for."

"That's because you're a clever man."

"Being linked to you for all these years has to do something to raise my IQ." He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it, then hauled himself to his feet again. "Coffee?" he asked. "I'm getting very good at carrying liquids without spilling them when I'm hopping around..."

"This would be where I don't mention being able to juggle the pot, two cups, my sugar, your milk and a car or two with my brain and instead let you be all manfully gallant, right?" He'd messed with the alarm clock. Even if he had the best intentions in the world, she couldn't let that pass entirely without revenge - mild mocking would have to do.

He gave her his best innocent look. "You're always so soliticious of my pride, Jean. Best wife ever, seriously."