A promising start to the day. Jean/Hank and Jean/Scott

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Last night, Jean comes to Hank with a problem, and he provides possibilities and a chance to rest.



Hank scowled, going over his calculations again. Gr. This was just... gr. He still couldn't work out why the machine had hurt Jono instead of working. It was all most annoying...

It was almost a relief when he heard the tap at his door, and looked up to see Jean peeking around it. "Hello, my dear," he said cheerfully. "Come to raid my stashes again? You haven't found where I hide the belgian chocolate yet, I notice."

Jean managed a small smile at this, but it was not a very solid smile. It had been a long day. "Hi, Hank. No, your chocolates are safe, for now.I came to ask a favor..."

"Of course. What is it?" He smiled at her. "I'll do whatever I can, my dear, you know I will." He was starting to really feel like she was back, now. Like she wouldn't disappear again.

"I... I've been having nightmares," she admitted. It wasn't all that surprising, really - for one thing, she now remembered in full detail exactly why she had become so terrified of water. Of course, the nightmares weren't why she was down here, or were, but only peripherally. "They're... they're about what you'd expect, but now that the inhibitor's off... Well, an uncontrolled alpha-level telepath having nightmares is not a pretty sight for anyone. Particularly when we add in the uncontrolled TK. I think I need to spend at least a night in the Box - really, until either the dreams calm down or I regain some semblence of control - and I was hoping you'd monitor? Since you've got the night shift anyway..."

"Of course." Hank shook his head. "At this rate, we may have to build another one. You're by no means the only one who's needed to sleep in there." He reached over to pat her hand gently. "Would you like a sedative as well? Under the circumstances, I certainly wouldn't deny you one."

"I think... not," Jean said slowly, mulling it over. "As much as I might like a quite night, it's more important to find out if my nightmares are trying to activate my powers. Which means I have to have them." She smiled a brave sort of smile, although it was not a terribly believable one.

Hank got up, going around his desk to rest a gentle arm around her shoulders. "I'll be right here, if you wake up and need reassurance," he said gently. "And... maybe there's something to be learned from your nightmares, if they feature... well, what happened at Alkali Lake. Do they?"

Jean took a deep breath. "Sometimes, yes," she said. "I seem to have developed a rather ... severe fear of large bodies of water. I hesitate to call it hydrophobia, as at this point it's not exactly unreasonable."

"Definitely not unreasonable." Hank patted her shoulder gently. "However, since you did not drown... even though you began to... somehow you must have gotten out. Presumably by the agency of your powers." He gave her an encouraging smile. "That may be what causes the telekinetic disruptions - some people make running motions when they dream of running away, some even walk in their sleep. It's possible that you're duplicating whatever you did, at that point, telekinetically. Only a theory, of course, but I think I will monitor you tonight to see if your telekinesis simply lashes out randomly, or seems to have a purpose."

Jean nodded, her smile firming. Trust Hank to be able to come up with a theory - and with a theory there came observations and measurements and doing something about it all. "That seems reasonable. Or at least quantifiable."

Hank nodded and returned the smile. They both liked having something to DO about a problem, even if it wound up being wrong - at least then they'd know what it wasn't, right? "If that's the problem, it... well, it won't be easy to completely resolve, given that it was a very traumatic event that's going to linger for a while, but a bout or two of lucid dreaming might let you work through it enough that your body stops mimicking what's going on in your mind."

"Thank you," Jean said. "This sounds like a plan, or at least the starting point of one." She reached up to hug him. "And even if it's not terribly restful sleep, it's reassuring not to have to worry about hurting someone."

He hugged back. "It'll be just fine. And I'll be right here if you need to talk to someone," he said gently. "You get some sleep, my dear. I'll be here."

Jean nodded, gave Hank a small smile, then turned and headed for the Box.

*****

With a start, Jean shot up in bed, awake suddenly and free from the terrors of her dreams. It took her a few second to remember where she was - most notably, not at the bottom of a towering wall of water - but when she did she glanced towards the clock through the veiwing window. Almost five am - better than usual. Not that the water had been the only nightmare of the evening, but it was the last, as always.

Hank had been monitoring, as promised. He'd tracked the sudden wild activity of her telekinesis, and then when it suddenly stopped, he grabbed the thermos of tea he'd prepared earlier and peeked into the Box. "Jean?" he said gently as she jumped and turned to stare at him. "That would be the nightmare in question, yes?" He was really glad that everything in the box was bolted down. Except her bed-clothes, which were scattered everywhere. He scooped up one of the blankets on his way over, draping it around her shoulders. "There we are..."

Jean nodded shakily, burrowing into the blanket like a little girl. It took her a second to find her voice again and when she did she winced slightly - she must have been screaming again. It was a good thing she'd shut off the intercom when she'd come in. "One of them, yes. I don't really know when my TK comes on anymore, if I'm not awake. If I am, it's pretty obvious."

He opened the thermos, filling the small plastic cup with sweet tea and handing it to her, then perched on the edge of the bed, putting a gentle arm around her. He'd had plenty of practice with nightmares, over the years... "There, now..." he murmured soothingly. "Your TK most assuredly did come on.... and I think I may have been right. You were pushing down, trying to raise yourself up, and out, presumably trying to keep the water away, but the ceiling remained untouched... presumably because you were trying to reach 'up', not push it away. You lifted right off the bed, at one point."

Leaning into him, she held the tea close, breathing in the steam and working on composing herself with little result. "That would explain the room, indeed," she said, balefully eyeing the pillow which has been crammed into the smallest ball imaginable in the far corner.

Hank nodded, holding her gently and rocking a little. "It would. And I know I always feel better if I have an explanation for why things happen." He rubbed her back a little, feeling her shiver against his side. "It's going to be all right, my dear," he said. "Eventually."

"Eventually feels like a long time," she muttered, sipping the tea. "Intelectually, of course, I know you're right." Her voice was strengthening and she slowly straightened up, not leaning so heavily on Hank. "You, and Nate, and everyone. It's just a matter of time and work, like it was before. But..." But she wanted it now. But she wanted her life back. But she was terrified that she would never find her quiet center again.

"But you hate this." He knew she did... he remembered, from when they'd been much younger and her control lapsed sometimes, how much it upset her. And to have to start over from scratch... "But you can do it. You know that, because you've already done it. That's something." He tucked the blanket closer around her. "Want me to put the bed back together for you? You could try to sleep a little more."

"But I hate this," she agreed. Hank always understood, sometimes better than Scott - they had been friends before she and Soctt had been an item. And anyways, Scott was still... "No, that's alright," she said, distracting herself from that line of thought. "I'm awake now, might as well get up and get some work done." Besides, going back to sleep with the memory of the nightmare so fresh was not going to happen.

He nodded. "How about a nice hot shower, then?" he suggested. As far as he knew, her fear of water didn't extend to that, and she still seemed cold. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd made use of the Medlab's small but efficient bathroom. "And while you do that, I can go get some coffee and pop tarts. Which I hide in my desk and sneak up to the kitchen when Lorna isn't looking, because she thinks they're Evil Non-Food."

"I'll take you up on the shower," Jean said, "and the coffee, but will pass on the pop-tarts. Not terribly hungry yet." Still wearing her blanket around her shoulders like a cloak, Jean stood up, then leaned back down to give Hank another hug. "Thank you again, Hank, for everything. I don't know what I would do without you."

"All sorts of silly things, I'm sure." He hugged her back, smiling. "I missed you terribly, my dear. And I'm glad you're home again." It was easier for him, of course... he'd been far away on a mission of mercy, when she died. As much as he'd wished he'd been there, and able to do something, he didn't have the same guilt to face as did those who'd been present.

... easier for him... when she died... the same guilt... She tried to squash the automatic invasion of her friend's mind, with little success. But Jean knew that Hank understood, which made it a little more bareable. "I'm gonna go crawl into the shower. I'll see you soon."

"With coffee." And he'd bring down some fruit or something for nibbling on, in case she got hungry. "Take care, my dear," he said affectionately, touching her cheek lightly. "And don't worry. It'll all work out somehow. It always does."

That got him a little smile as she dropped the blanket onto the bed and headed out of the box in search of copious quantities of steaming hot water.



And, now that he can't run away, Jean goes to see Scott and they talk



He was under orders to stay off the leg. So off the leg he was going to stay. To be quite honest, the knee aside, he'd gotten banged up enough getting down into and back out of that bunker that Scott was perfectly happy to follow doctor's orders and reacquaint himself with his bed. At least for today. Tomorrow, of course, was an entirely different matter, and if Hank didn't give him the crutches as promised, he was going to be very cross.

Jean hesitated outside Scott's door again, uncertain about what his reception would be. On the one hand, he wouldn't be able to claim he had anything he needed to be doing - as one of his doctors, Jean was well aware that the only thing he had to do, or was even really allowed to do, was bed rest - but on the other hand, he wouldn't have an excuse if he wanted out of the conversation. But Jean couldn't keep away, not anymore. She accepted that missions were dangerous, and it would have been beyond hypocritical of her to protest, but that didn't mean she hadn't been frightened, or that she was willing to let things go on as they were without any sort of resolution.

The soft glow of the link in her mind told her he was awake as she tapped on the door. He would be able to feel that it was her, but she called, "Scott, it's me," anyways.

Scott, trying to focus on one of the latest batch of books Shan had pushed on him - the painkillers were making him a little foggy, and the letters didn't seem to want to quite stay put on the page - froze at the sound of her voice. The link was brighter, meaning she was closer, but he hadn't noticed the change. Not paying attention, you mean... "Come in?" Scott called hoarsely, a bit hesitant. He eyed his leg, propped up quite contentedly on a pillow, and then sighed. He wasn't getting off the bed, and it was probably pretty damned silly to be vacillating at the idea of Jean in his bedroom. All things considered.

...damned silly...Jean in his bedroom... Jean quashed a bitter little smile as she opened the door and slipped into his rooms. "Hello," she said, shutting the door behind her. "How are you feeling?" It wasn't really why she had come, but the sight of his bandaged leg automatically brought out the doctor voice. "Can I get anything for you?"

"Think I'm okay, thanks." Scott leaned back against the pillow and gazed at her for a long moment, wondering whether it was the painkillers that were taking the edge off all the emotions the sight of her still provoked. They were all still there, he could feel the, but off at a distance. "You look tired," he murmured, after the silence had dragged on for a moment too longer. "Didn't mean to bring you that much business on your first day back. I'm sorry. Things got a little out of hand." His expression twisted with pain, just for a moment, as he reflected on what an understatement that was.

"Tired I can deal with," Jean said - and she was not going to say that at least part of why she was tired was the nightmares that had kept her from sleeping. Seeing him and hearing him now proved that they had just been dreams. "I'm glad I could help at all." Being a medic was not the same as being an X-Man, but it was still helping the team, still protecting Charles' dream.

"Do you... want to sit down?" he offered a little tentatively, his eyes flickering to the armchair next to the bed. Alex had dragged it over from the window earlier, muttering something about not wanting to jostle his leg and hence sitting on the bed was a bad idea. He closed the book, setting it aside on the nighttable. "It's so quiet up here," he said a bit wistfully. "Nothing to do but think..." And there was too much to think about. He hadn't even started to write his report yet. Tomorrow at the latest. Hopefully his head would be clearer by then.

Jean nodded and settled onto the chair, pulling her legs up so she could wrap her arms around them and rest her chin on her knees - something Scott had seen her do before when she was feeling particularly uncertain. ...too much to think about... "Thinking is... definitely problematic," she agreed softly. "But the other option is not a lot of fun, either."

"Mistra's been a threat for so long," Scott said softly, sighing. "Since last spring, I suppose... it's hard to believe they're gone." He studied Jean for a moment, then tentatively reached out on the link and offered her a look at his Mistra-related memories. Nathan's vanishing attack in May, the attack on Columbia, Moira's kidnapping, Nathan's reconditioning and his attempt on Charles' life, Kyle's rescue, the mission to retrieve Foley, MacInnis and his decision to lay all his cards on the table, the rescue mission in February...

Jean cocked her head, sorting through the information habitually - she might not be able to consiously use her telepathy, but the coping methods she had developed were still there it seemed. "I can see that," she said, not really thinking about what she was saying as she processed his memories. "I'm even more glad that you came back to me, then." The second after she said it her eyes refocused on him and widened. "I... I mean..." she started, but couldn't finish the thought.

"I..." His throat felt very tight, suddenly. "I wrote a letter. To you. Just in case I didn't." His eyes strayed in the direction of his desk and the laptop sitting there. "It was easier to say those things in a letter," he went on, his voice barely audible. "Does that make me a coward?" His eyes stung; he swallowed past a lump in his throat and went on. "I wrote you all kinds of letters, after you... after Alkali Lake. Charles thought it might help me... get things out."

"No," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "No, it doesn't at all. I..." She took in a deep breath. There were so many things she wanted to say and not enough words and too many to say them all. The link glowed in her mind, but she couldn't reach for it, couldn't use it, could only feel it and his pain. "At least I would have gotten a letter."

"It said..." His voice wavered a little, but he forced it back steady and went on. "It said that I was sorry. That this happened so fast... so soon after you got back, and that I wished I could have been there to help you."

Unable to find a response Jean nodded, letting her hair fall forward over her eyes simply so she could push it back, taking the time to breathe. At least that meant he did want to help.

"And it told you a little about what the last two years have been like." It hurt to force the words out. "That the world stopped making sense, when you died. That there was... so little I was sure about. So many decisions I doubted, so many mistakes, so many failures... I thought that if I didn't come back, you'd need to understand. Why... why seeing you reminded me of the person I was, the person that knew who he was and what he was doing, the Scott who wasn't running short on faith in himself and everything..."

Her arms tightened their grip around her legs. She had taken that away from him and she hated that she had hurt him, hated that it had been possible for her to forget. "I would give anything for there to have been a way to keep this all from happening," she said, her voice very small, "for there to have been another choice. But... I can't regret what I did." The look in his eyes as she left him on the plane still haunted her in her dreams, as easy to remember as if it had only been two weeks ago - which, in a way, it had - but next to him was Ororo and Charles and Marie and Bobby and little Artie, and she could not regret having saved them, even at the cost of her own life. Even, perhaps, if it had cost her Scott.

But he was shaking his head, something close to open grief on his face. "It wasn't blaming you. I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault, any of it..." He trailed off, his expression twisting with misery for a moment as he thought of that conversation with Doug, back in October. "I was so angry, for so long. It was killing me, Jean. Angry at you, angry at myself... I held so tight to everything that I couldn't do things right, and so many people suffered as a result."

A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and she reached up to brush it away. "Not at fault," she said, "just 'at cause'." She was perfectly willing to blame Stryker, but the cause of all the pain stemmed from her.

"But it's happened, and it wasn't your fault, and now it's just... up to me to deal with it," Scott said unsteadily. If he could. Just the thought was overwhelming, of trying to process two years of events from a different perspective, one that made so much of what he'd done look so pointless after all. So much worse, in hindsight.

Jean took a deep breath, unwilling and unable to pass the opportunity by. She needed to know where she stood with him. "Up to us," she said hesitantly, "if... if you want." She wasn't asking him to put his ring back on, or to let her back into every part of his life - just that he not shut her out, that he give her a chance.

It was like he was standing on the edge, ready to go one way or the other - and he was terrified of both. "I don't know what I want," he said, pain underlying every word. "I don't know what you'll want, when you know... when you figure out who I am now. When you know more about what's happened." He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. "All I know for sure is that I've missed you, Jean... I've missed you so much. "

Jean was up out of the chair and kneeling by his bed before she even realized she'd moved, the pain and fear echoing in both their minds pulling her to him. She hesistated the barest fraction of a second before gently taking his hand, aching for some physical contact but frightened he would pull away. "We can figure out what we want together..." Although Jean couldn't imagine not wanting Scott - he had changed, it was true, but nothing she had seen or heard of him since she had come back seemed to make him anyone other than the man she loved. A man who had gone through hell and back and come out shaken but still strong.

Scott took a deep, unsteady breath. "We have to," he said, admitting it to himself. Whatever did happen, it wasn't something that either of them could decide for the other. They would have to find their way through it, whatever the outcome. He squeezed her hand gently, even as his thoughts spun, trying to figure out what to do, where to start...

Jean rather felt as though that was a start, but she could feel the frentic activity in his mind, thoughts fluttering back and forth. She slowly let go of his hand and stood up, trying to recollect herself as she did so. Ghosting a hand over his hair to smooth it down she managed a small smile. "You're still on bed rest, Scott," she reminded him. "This will take... however long it takes."