A/N: A strictly Scott/Jean chapter, but I promise more Evan/Arisnoe,
Lance/Kitty, and Kurt/Amanda is coming up!!!
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There's something soothing about suppertime. How the Institute settles into a peaceful routine; Professor Xavier at the head of the table, Ororo and Logan on each of his sides, Scott and Jean across from each other, Kitty next to Kurt and across from Rogue and Evan, and then the whole mess of new recruits, all settling into their seats at the far end of the table. It feels as though, amidst the quiet commotion, each person has their own place, their own sense of belonging. True, the one end of the table was more orderly and sophisticated than the other, and maybe the freshmen may at times feel a little out of place crammed between the adults and the chattering preteens, but everyone eventually felt secure in their place.
This was why Scott loved dinnertime; to him it was the lull in a perpetual storm. After school the restless mutants would return to the Institute, turning the sparkling mansion into a frenzied madhouse. For hours Scott would have to step over preteen bodies sprawled out in all angles scattered upon the many floors, forgotten homework, and opened chip bags as he wandered around the mansion in search for a quiet place to study. But then, for one glorious hour, they would be called to the table to take their meal together. And for that hour, there would be a strange calming in the atmosphere, until seven when all heck broke loose in the scrambling to be the first to the remote, to finish the delayed homework, and the insane preparations and hogging of the bathrooms before bed. It was usually at this time that Scott felt most at ease with himself, but not tonight. Tonight he felt restless and irritated. How he would like to retire to his room! But something kept him glued to his chair, rigid in his seat, as he forced himself to listen to another one of Kurt's humorous, yet pointless, stories.
As Kurt finished up his long-winded tale, the other members of Bayville High released bursts of comical laughter. Hearing the sounds of everyone else's enjoyment, Scott strained himself to laugh as well, trying to appear as though nothing was wrong. But he apparently wasn't very convincing. . .
*Scott, are you ok?* The thought popped into his head.
'No, not again, someone's in my head, just like last night.' Scott panicked, not quite sure how to react.
*Scott? Scott, calm down. It's me, Jean, remember?* The voice was calm, delicate, soothing. Scott felt himself begin to relax. The heart that had beat so fast only moments before was slowing to its normal pace, ad his pallid face began to flush with warmth and embarrassment.
*Jean?* He asked slowly, concentrating his mind on her.
*Yeah, it's Me.* A relieved emotion washed over Scott and it took him awhile to realize that the emotion was Jean's, not his own. *Is everything all right?*
*Of course, why wouldn't it be?*
*Scott Summers, don't you dare lie to me!*
Scott slid his gaze of his cooling food and onto Jean. Her perfect red hair shimmered like strands of silk in the phosphorescent lights. Her sparkling green eyes - at least everyone said they were sparkling green, to him they appeared a fiery red - were full of concern. Her full lips were pursed as she concentrated on him, waiting for his response. 'D***, she's beautiful,' the thought slipped from his grasp.
*I heard that* her lips had turned up ever so slightly as a wave of heat fled to Scott's cheeks.
*That's what you get for reading my mind.* He shot back at her. *It's not fair, I can't read yours!*
*Don't try to change the subject on me, Scott.*
He pouted, using the same face he had always used to win his mother over . . . before the crash.
*Don't do that! You're too cute when you pout!*
*Only when I pout? Then I guess I'll have to do it more often.* He joked.
Jean hesitated, unsure of what to say. Scott Summers was flirting with her, and part of her wanted desperately to flirt back, but she knew she couldn't, she shouldn't. *Scott, seriously, is everything okay?*
He sighed, *It's too complicated to talk about now. If you really want to know, meet me in my room tonight.*
*What time?*
*Whenever you can come, don't hesitate to wake me.* And with that, Scott severed their connection, too choked with emotion to say anymore.
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Peeling off his sweat-soaked gym shirt, Scott tossed it deftly into the hamper, pulling on a clean and baggy t-shirt over his bare chest, a t-shirt that just barely covered his progressing abs, covering the waistband of his blue boxer shorts. He'd given himself a hard workout after dinner, trying to release some of his building stress and now his muscles were screaming. All he wanted to do was to crash onto his bed and fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep. But he knew he couldn't; Jean would be coming tonight.
If it had been anyone else they would have blown Scott off completely, but not Jean. Even though she may have no romantic interest in him, Scott knew that Jean would always be there for him. She always had been. Ever since they had first laid eyes upon each other it was as though an unbreakable bond had risen up between them. Sure they had an occasional fight, but Scott was the one jean ran to for comfort, and Scott knew he could always count on and confide in jean. That's just the way they were, and nothing was ever going to change that.
*****************************A few hours later*****************************
It was almost 11 by the time Jean finally made it to Scott's room. She hadn't meant to come so late, but she'd got caught up in training with the Professor and tonight was Logan's night to patrol the halls so she had had to wait for a safe time to sneak to Scott's room. She wasn't sure why she was so afraid of being caught, she'd sneaked to Scott's room plenty of before when they were younger, and even a few times earlier this year whenever she'd been feeling down, but on those occasions it had been more of an impulse, never a planned thing like tonight. She felt guilty, for some odd reason, as though she was breaking a rule of some sort.
When she finally did make it to Scott's room, she hesitated before the door, knocking softly before letting herself in. "Scott?" she whispered into the darkness, almost afraid to turn on a light. Taking a deep breath, she strolled across the room, turning on a miniscule reading lamp rather than flicking on the bright, overhead lights. A deep pool of light flooded the desk, providing just enough light to comfortably see Scott stretched out on his bed. His covers fell loosely below his shoulder, revealing his pale bicep that extended out of his white sleeve. He was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his right arm, his glasses still fastened to his head. Not wanting to disturb him, Jean almost left, but Scott's last words still lingered in her mind, "Don't hesitate to wake me." She knew that she needed to talk to him about what had been bothering him, and if she waited until tomorrow, Scott might have lost his nerve.
Placing her cool hands firmly on his warm shoulder, she shook him gently. "Scott?"
He woke with a start. It took Scott a few moments to realize where he was, who had woken him. He'd been dreaming about his family again, about the days before the crash. He knew the dream would have ended in a flurry of tears as the plane came crashing down, he should be thanking whoever had woken him up. Looking up at his rescuer, a gasp caught in his throat. With the bright light shining out behind the dark, silhouetted figure, Scott could have sworn he was in the presence of an angel. Sitting up, not taking his gaze from the girl, Scott's eyes grew more accustomed to the light. "Jean?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry it's so late, but you said not to hesitate to wake you. . ." she trailed off, smiling apologetically at him.
"No, it's ok, I'm glad you did, wake me up, I mean. . ." he rambled on, not quite sure of what he was saying.
Jean giggled as he babbled. "I'm glad it's okay. I don't think I would have been able to stand it if you were mad at me."
'She really is quite pretty,' Scott thought to himself, careful to block out his thoughts. Jean was sitting, curled really, at the foot of his bed. Her long hair spiraled down over her silky green lounging pajamas that matched the color of her eyes.
Meanwhile, as Scott was still in a daze over Jean, Jean herself was trying to think how best to bring up the reason of why she was here. "Scott?" she questioned tentatively.
"Hm?" He hated to admit it, but Scott wasn't paying all that much attention to the words coming from Jean's lips, but more to her lips themselves. Ever since the advancement of Scott's powers, he had learned to distinguish certain colors by their shade of red. His favorite color, he assumed, was green, for his favorite color was the shade of red he saw when he looked into Jean's eyes. It was so vivid, so joie de vive, he had loved Jean since the moment he's laid eyes on her, probably even before.
"Scott Summers, are you listening to me?" her irritated voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Thinking of you? Yes. Listening to you? No." He replied calmly.
Jean's cheeks flushed, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Slim."
He heaved on over exaggerated sigh, "All right, alright, what were you saying?"
"I was wondering what was bothering you earlier. You looked so. . ." she searched for the right word, "I don't know, upset."
"How is it that you can always see right through me?"
"I'm a mind reader." She laughed, but quickly stopped, seeing his serious visage. "I've known you a long time, Scott, you were my first real friend. Now, are you going to abuse that friendship, or will you tell me what's wrong?"
Scott averted his eyes. "She was in my mind last night.
"Who?" This was clearly not what Jean was expecting.
"The Dream Walker," and those three words were all it took, after that, Scott was a flood of information, spilling out how he'd felt her presence and how he'd blocked his mind, forcing her out. "I could feel her Jean! I could hear her thoughts. 'So this is the mysterious Mr. Summers,' that's what she said!" Scott felt like he was five-years-old again. Jean draped her lanky arms around him, pulling him close, comforting him. Scott wanted to bury his face in her think mane of fiery hair and cry, but instead, he settled for lying in her arms as she murmured reassuring words in his ears.
"Oh, Scott!" Jean whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to get things sorted out first," Scott started slowly, "I knew I'd eventually have to tell Professor X and I guess I figured I'd let him decide what to do next."
"You still should have told me, you shouldn't have had to go through that alone."
"I didn't want to drag you into this; you shouldn't have to bear my problems."
"Their not your problems, Scott, They're all of ours. This Dream Walker, as you called her, is a threat to all the X-men. You and I are in this together whether you like it or not." Scott had to grin at Jean's set determination.
"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Red?"
"Hey Slim, anything you can handle is a piece of cake."
Scott's laugh turned into a groan as he glanced at the time. "Geez, it's late. You should be getting some sleep, Miss Grey."
Jean's face filled with unmasked apprehension at the thought of making another journey through the dark hall.
"What's wrong?" Scott noted the fear in her face.
"Logan's on patrol." She offered a weak smile.
Scott sucked in his breath and deliberated her possible choices. A slow smile crept across his face. "Why don't you spend the night here?"
"What?!" A look of incredulity spread across her face, "Scott! You know we can't, I'd be in worse trouble if Logan found out we'd slept in the same room than if he caught me now!"
"Jean! Calm down! Look, you can sleep in my bed, I'll be on the floor, Professor X can read our minds if he doesn't believe us, we've got nothing to hide. Think about it, we can tell him you were comforting me and fell asleep here. It's going to be more suspicious if you're caught sneaking around the hallways after midnight."
After a bit more pleading on Scott's behalf, Jean finally relented, and though she refused to take Scott's bed at first, he eventually won her over on that as well, assuring her he'd be more comfortable on the floor.
Jean snuggled deep into the covers, inhaling the spicy scent of Scott's soap. She felt safe in his bed, it felt almost as if she were lying wrapped up in his arms . . .
"Jean?"
"Yeah?"
"Good-night,"
"Night, Scott."
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There's something soothing about suppertime. How the Institute settles into a peaceful routine; Professor Xavier at the head of the table, Ororo and Logan on each of his sides, Scott and Jean across from each other, Kitty next to Kurt and across from Rogue and Evan, and then the whole mess of new recruits, all settling into their seats at the far end of the table. It feels as though, amidst the quiet commotion, each person has their own place, their own sense of belonging. True, the one end of the table was more orderly and sophisticated than the other, and maybe the freshmen may at times feel a little out of place crammed between the adults and the chattering preteens, but everyone eventually felt secure in their place.
This was why Scott loved dinnertime; to him it was the lull in a perpetual storm. After school the restless mutants would return to the Institute, turning the sparkling mansion into a frenzied madhouse. For hours Scott would have to step over preteen bodies sprawled out in all angles scattered upon the many floors, forgotten homework, and opened chip bags as he wandered around the mansion in search for a quiet place to study. But then, for one glorious hour, they would be called to the table to take their meal together. And for that hour, there would be a strange calming in the atmosphere, until seven when all heck broke loose in the scrambling to be the first to the remote, to finish the delayed homework, and the insane preparations and hogging of the bathrooms before bed. It was usually at this time that Scott felt most at ease with himself, but not tonight. Tonight he felt restless and irritated. How he would like to retire to his room! But something kept him glued to his chair, rigid in his seat, as he forced himself to listen to another one of Kurt's humorous, yet pointless, stories.
As Kurt finished up his long-winded tale, the other members of Bayville High released bursts of comical laughter. Hearing the sounds of everyone else's enjoyment, Scott strained himself to laugh as well, trying to appear as though nothing was wrong. But he apparently wasn't very convincing. . .
*Scott, are you ok?* The thought popped into his head.
'No, not again, someone's in my head, just like last night.' Scott panicked, not quite sure how to react.
*Scott? Scott, calm down. It's me, Jean, remember?* The voice was calm, delicate, soothing. Scott felt himself begin to relax. The heart that had beat so fast only moments before was slowing to its normal pace, ad his pallid face began to flush with warmth and embarrassment.
*Jean?* He asked slowly, concentrating his mind on her.
*Yeah, it's Me.* A relieved emotion washed over Scott and it took him awhile to realize that the emotion was Jean's, not his own. *Is everything all right?*
*Of course, why wouldn't it be?*
*Scott Summers, don't you dare lie to me!*
Scott slid his gaze of his cooling food and onto Jean. Her perfect red hair shimmered like strands of silk in the phosphorescent lights. Her sparkling green eyes - at least everyone said they were sparkling green, to him they appeared a fiery red - were full of concern. Her full lips were pursed as she concentrated on him, waiting for his response. 'D***, she's beautiful,' the thought slipped from his grasp.
*I heard that* her lips had turned up ever so slightly as a wave of heat fled to Scott's cheeks.
*That's what you get for reading my mind.* He shot back at her. *It's not fair, I can't read yours!*
*Don't try to change the subject on me, Scott.*
He pouted, using the same face he had always used to win his mother over . . . before the crash.
*Don't do that! You're too cute when you pout!*
*Only when I pout? Then I guess I'll have to do it more often.* He joked.
Jean hesitated, unsure of what to say. Scott Summers was flirting with her, and part of her wanted desperately to flirt back, but she knew she couldn't, she shouldn't. *Scott, seriously, is everything okay?*
He sighed, *It's too complicated to talk about now. If you really want to know, meet me in my room tonight.*
*What time?*
*Whenever you can come, don't hesitate to wake me.* And with that, Scott severed their connection, too choked with emotion to say anymore.
************************************************************************
Peeling off his sweat-soaked gym shirt, Scott tossed it deftly into the hamper, pulling on a clean and baggy t-shirt over his bare chest, a t-shirt that just barely covered his progressing abs, covering the waistband of his blue boxer shorts. He'd given himself a hard workout after dinner, trying to release some of his building stress and now his muscles were screaming. All he wanted to do was to crash onto his bed and fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep. But he knew he couldn't; Jean would be coming tonight.
If it had been anyone else they would have blown Scott off completely, but not Jean. Even though she may have no romantic interest in him, Scott knew that Jean would always be there for him. She always had been. Ever since they had first laid eyes upon each other it was as though an unbreakable bond had risen up between them. Sure they had an occasional fight, but Scott was the one jean ran to for comfort, and Scott knew he could always count on and confide in jean. That's just the way they were, and nothing was ever going to change that.
*****************************A few hours later*****************************
It was almost 11 by the time Jean finally made it to Scott's room. She hadn't meant to come so late, but she'd got caught up in training with the Professor and tonight was Logan's night to patrol the halls so she had had to wait for a safe time to sneak to Scott's room. She wasn't sure why she was so afraid of being caught, she'd sneaked to Scott's room plenty of before when they were younger, and even a few times earlier this year whenever she'd been feeling down, but on those occasions it had been more of an impulse, never a planned thing like tonight. She felt guilty, for some odd reason, as though she was breaking a rule of some sort.
When she finally did make it to Scott's room, she hesitated before the door, knocking softly before letting herself in. "Scott?" she whispered into the darkness, almost afraid to turn on a light. Taking a deep breath, she strolled across the room, turning on a miniscule reading lamp rather than flicking on the bright, overhead lights. A deep pool of light flooded the desk, providing just enough light to comfortably see Scott stretched out on his bed. His covers fell loosely below his shoulder, revealing his pale bicep that extended out of his white sleeve. He was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his right arm, his glasses still fastened to his head. Not wanting to disturb him, Jean almost left, but Scott's last words still lingered in her mind, "Don't hesitate to wake me." She knew that she needed to talk to him about what had been bothering him, and if she waited until tomorrow, Scott might have lost his nerve.
Placing her cool hands firmly on his warm shoulder, she shook him gently. "Scott?"
He woke with a start. It took Scott a few moments to realize where he was, who had woken him. He'd been dreaming about his family again, about the days before the crash. He knew the dream would have ended in a flurry of tears as the plane came crashing down, he should be thanking whoever had woken him up. Looking up at his rescuer, a gasp caught in his throat. With the bright light shining out behind the dark, silhouetted figure, Scott could have sworn he was in the presence of an angel. Sitting up, not taking his gaze from the girl, Scott's eyes grew more accustomed to the light. "Jean?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry it's so late, but you said not to hesitate to wake you. . ." she trailed off, smiling apologetically at him.
"No, it's ok, I'm glad you did, wake me up, I mean. . ." he rambled on, not quite sure of what he was saying.
Jean giggled as he babbled. "I'm glad it's okay. I don't think I would have been able to stand it if you were mad at me."
'She really is quite pretty,' Scott thought to himself, careful to block out his thoughts. Jean was sitting, curled really, at the foot of his bed. Her long hair spiraled down over her silky green lounging pajamas that matched the color of her eyes.
Meanwhile, as Scott was still in a daze over Jean, Jean herself was trying to think how best to bring up the reason of why she was here. "Scott?" she questioned tentatively.
"Hm?" He hated to admit it, but Scott wasn't paying all that much attention to the words coming from Jean's lips, but more to her lips themselves. Ever since the advancement of Scott's powers, he had learned to distinguish certain colors by their shade of red. His favorite color, he assumed, was green, for his favorite color was the shade of red he saw when he looked into Jean's eyes. It was so vivid, so joie de vive, he had loved Jean since the moment he's laid eyes on her, probably even before.
"Scott Summers, are you listening to me?" her irritated voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Thinking of you? Yes. Listening to you? No." He replied calmly.
Jean's cheeks flushed, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Slim."
He heaved on over exaggerated sigh, "All right, alright, what were you saying?"
"I was wondering what was bothering you earlier. You looked so. . ." she searched for the right word, "I don't know, upset."
"How is it that you can always see right through me?"
"I'm a mind reader." She laughed, but quickly stopped, seeing his serious visage. "I've known you a long time, Scott, you were my first real friend. Now, are you going to abuse that friendship, or will you tell me what's wrong?"
Scott averted his eyes. "She was in my mind last night.
"Who?" This was clearly not what Jean was expecting.
"The Dream Walker," and those three words were all it took, after that, Scott was a flood of information, spilling out how he'd felt her presence and how he'd blocked his mind, forcing her out. "I could feel her Jean! I could hear her thoughts. 'So this is the mysterious Mr. Summers,' that's what she said!" Scott felt like he was five-years-old again. Jean draped her lanky arms around him, pulling him close, comforting him. Scott wanted to bury his face in her think mane of fiery hair and cry, but instead, he settled for lying in her arms as she murmured reassuring words in his ears.
"Oh, Scott!" Jean whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to get things sorted out first," Scott started slowly, "I knew I'd eventually have to tell Professor X and I guess I figured I'd let him decide what to do next."
"You still should have told me, you shouldn't have had to go through that alone."
"I didn't want to drag you into this; you shouldn't have to bear my problems."
"Their not your problems, Scott, They're all of ours. This Dream Walker, as you called her, is a threat to all the X-men. You and I are in this together whether you like it or not." Scott had to grin at Jean's set determination.
"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Red?"
"Hey Slim, anything you can handle is a piece of cake."
Scott's laugh turned into a groan as he glanced at the time. "Geez, it's late. You should be getting some sleep, Miss Grey."
Jean's face filled with unmasked apprehension at the thought of making another journey through the dark hall.
"What's wrong?" Scott noted the fear in her face.
"Logan's on patrol." She offered a weak smile.
Scott sucked in his breath and deliberated her possible choices. A slow smile crept across his face. "Why don't you spend the night here?"
"What?!" A look of incredulity spread across her face, "Scott! You know we can't, I'd be in worse trouble if Logan found out we'd slept in the same room than if he caught me now!"
"Jean! Calm down! Look, you can sleep in my bed, I'll be on the floor, Professor X can read our minds if he doesn't believe us, we've got nothing to hide. Think about it, we can tell him you were comforting me and fell asleep here. It's going to be more suspicious if you're caught sneaking around the hallways after midnight."
After a bit more pleading on Scott's behalf, Jean finally relented, and though she refused to take Scott's bed at first, he eventually won her over on that as well, assuring her he'd be more comfortable on the floor.
Jean snuggled deep into the covers, inhaling the spicy scent of Scott's soap. She felt safe in his bed, it felt almost as if she were lying wrapped up in his arms . . .
"Jean?"
"Yeah?"
"Good-night,"
"Night, Scott."
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