Scott would like to blame his actions on the alcohol, but considering even Sam had laughed when he suggested he was getting a slight buzz, he doubted he was exactly drunk. Scott would like to blame his actions on his brain being fried from all the cigarette smoke that had billowed around the mansion's kitchen, but realized Hank would quickly disprove that certain line of defense.

Scott, for lack of a better explanation, could only assume he was a hopeless idiot.

It was bad enough he was having to sneak into his own home. Now he was sneaking into his own home to steal his wife's wedding ring. Again. He only wanted to make things right with her, and sleeping in the car wasn't comfortable at all. So there he stood in his house, the rising sun casting shadows across the room, debating whether or not to risk life and limb by stealing the ring. If he did, he would probably be murdered as soon as Jean found him. Or, he could bring it back and make her happy by having it restored to its original condition. On the other hand, he could go back to the mansion and be the brunt of every one of Bobby's jokes for the rest of his natural life.

So. Theft it was.

Vowing to make it up to his wife, he took the ring and tucked it safely away in his back pocket. A quick kiss to Jean's forehead and he was out the door to drive to the jeweler and wait for the next two hours for the shop to open.

******

Betsy, already having calmed down and made breakfast, was glad to see that everyone appeared to be enjoying his or her meal. Well, all but Sam. He had traipsed into the kitchen behind everyone else with an upset stomach and seated himself beside Bobby. The sight and smell of his friend's eggs done sunny side up was enough to send him groaning and whimpering back to his room.

Jean walked into the kitchen and took her usual spot beside Rogue. "Morning."

"Observant," Beast quipped with a small grin. Jean yawned.

"Hush. I'm tired." She paused, looking around curiously. "Has anyone seen Scott?"

There was a low chorus of no's, but Logan provided a bit of help. "I saw him leavin' when I got up earlier."

Remy speared one of the sausage links on Rogue's plate and popped it into his mouth, much to the woman's dislike. "He said somet'ing last night about takin' y'ring to the jewelry store."

Jean gripped the table so hard her knuckles turned a sickly shade of white. "He didn't."

Remy shrugged, trying hard to hide his smile. "Sorry, Jeannie."

Jean's right eye began to twitch. "I don't believe it. I was going to apologize for yelling at him yesterday! And I was going to tell him that after I calmed down, I actually sat down and looked at the ring, and I liked it!"

Bobby chuckled quietly. "These are the days of our lives."

******

Scott walked with proud determination into the boathouse. He wouldn't jump around the issue; rather, he would find Jean and put the ring on her finger himself. He would swing open the door with his newly acquired courage and...

Almost smack into his wife.

"Jean?" He was surprised, especially at the angry look in Jean's normally placid green eyes. "Er...I had your ring ... um...undetailed." He held it out for inspection, and Jean never flinched.

"You should have asked."

Scott clenched his jaw to keep from making the intelligible, mindless noises his mind was telling him to make. "But...You said..."

"I believe you heard me tell Gambit yesterday that I don't appreciate you sneaking around and stealing my belongings."

"But...I even spent the money I won last night to get it fixed!"

"You won...Scott, have you been gambling?"

Scott gulped. "Um...Yes."

Jean, too tired to continue arguing that point, sputtered wordlessly for a moment before blurting the first thing that came to mind. "And I liked that ring!"

"But...Jean..."

"Look, I don't really want to talk right now, Scott."

Scott gave a small whimper of protest, then dropped the ring on the table by the door and walked back out, blindly making his way into the mansion and into the male dormitory. He didn't stop until he reached the end of the hallway and knocked on a partially opened door.

"Go 'way."

The voice was muffled but undeniably what could only be classified as Kentuckian. Scott pushed the door the rest of the way open despite the young man's order.

"Sam?"

Sam rolled over on the bed, staring blearily at the team leader. "Wha...Huh?"

Scott's voice held the distinctive note only a beaten man could manage. "Do you have any beer left?"

Sam moaned loudly, falling back against the pillows and causing a few feathers to fly about his head.

"What? What'd I say? Sam?"