Rumblings
Note from Alicia: Too much fun. Entirely. This one's set between X1 and X2. These two weren't always cute even before she went and died on him.
The pictures on the dresser were lying face down. Scott stared down stonily at them for a moment as he righted them, one at a time, moving very deliberately. He could both hear and sense Jean in the bathroom, getting ready to face the day as if nothing had happened and she hadn't actually caused a localized earthquake in their suite last night.
Jean had locked down the link somewhat after the nightmare, not wanting Scott to see it, but even without it she'd have been able to tell what sort of a mood he was in. She tried to distract herself from the dream by imagining what he was thinking, couched in that uniquely 'cranky Scott' tone of thought that he got sometimes, but it didn't work. Once more images from her nightmare came unbidden and she shoved them away. Her morning rituals completed, Jean steeled herself and opened the door. Marie had a check up this morning and she wanted to go over the results from her last few before the girl came in.
He heard the bathroom door open. "A couple of these are broken," he said in his best conversational tone. "You're being very hard on the knick-knacks lately, Jean. Are we dealing with a subconscious dislike of clutter here or something?" One of the broken pictures was one of them stealing a kiss standing in line at the Ferris wheel, on a field trip to the fair a couple of years back. Terry had taken it, if he remembered correctly. The shattered glass had actually scarred the picture, a white gash running... well, right across his head. Imagine that.
Yeah, cranky Scott was really not what she needed this morning, and the fact that he was doing it in a 'just making small talk' sort of way didn't help. "Given everything ends up in a big mess," Jean said, sitting down on the bed to put her shoes on, "I'm surprised you don't ask if it's a subconscious dislike of the neatness, cleanliness and order." All of which, of course, their room had in plenty.
"Ah. Logic." Selective logic, because of course it applied to him but not to her. "So," Scott said, righting another picture, "how long are you going to pretend?"
Jean's eyes narrowed, but since she was looking at her shoes it was hard to tell. "I'm not pretending, there really is a six foot tall white rabbit named Harvey following me around." When all else failed, turn to sarcasm. Last bastion of the weak.
He was tired of this. Yet another example of how she maybe didn't trust him as much as he'd thought, Scott reflected briefly, behind the wall he erected firmly on the link. "Ah, so that's what happened to the carrots."
"Yep, so glad that's finally been cleared up." Standing up, Jean headed towards the door, but hesitated with her hand on the knob. She glanced over her shoulder at him, worry clearly written on her face, but he was looking at the mess on their dresser and she looked away. "I'll see you later..."
"I think I might take the bi--the car out for a drive after my engineering class is done," Scott said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice after he made the amendment.
Oh, so that was what this was really all about. Forget being worried about her, he was just being possessive and male. The more rational part of Jean knew better, but the more rational part of Jean was not calling the shots. "Have fun," Jean said, opening the door. "I'll be working through lunch anyway."
And what's the means of avoidance today? Scott thought sourly. "You've got a Danger Room session scheduled, I noticed," he said tightly. "Do me a favor and make sure you get full tape on it? Your use of telekinesis is getting a little fast and loose, I've been noticing."
Jean decided just pretending she hadn't heard that thought was the easiest. Things were on edge enough and she wasn't going to be the one to start a fight. As it was, the implication that she was getting sloppy came through loud and clear. "Will do," she said with a short nod.
"And maybe we could even talk about it in sentences of more than two words, after." It came out before he could stop it, and Scott bit his lip, hard. Aw, crap. Now he'd thrown down the gauntlet.
Jean did not slam the door. That would have been cliched. She shut it firmly before turning to face him. "Fine, we could do that too." Jean kept her voice perfectly level, but her eyes were flashing with restrained temper. "Would you like to start with why you seem to be convinced I'm going to run off to wherever the hell Logan's gone?" He might insist they have a conversation, but she was not going to let him set all the terms.
"Oh, fine. Let's change the subject, then," Scott snapped right back at her. "I mean, God forbid that we should stick to only one major relationship issue. Although in a way, it's oddly fair. You don't trust me at all on one issue, and I can't quite shake some doubts about you on another."
She seriously considered walking over there and slapping him, but wasn't sure getting anywhere near him in this mood was a good idea. "Because, clearly, not wanting to talk about my dreams is on par with thinking I'm cheating on you, or going to cheat on you, or whatever it is you've locked away behind that wall in your mind."
"Your dreams? Try the fact that you're obviously losing control of your telekinesis, and your telepathy is--" Scott stopped, his jaw clenching. "You want to know why I'm keeping up a wall, Jean? It's not got anything to do with that smug bastard. The link goes... incandescent, when you have your dreams. It hurts. It's like someone's jabbing a red-hot poker into my brain."
"I'm doing the best I can!" Oh, she hadn't meant to start yelling. Fighting to get her voice back down to something level she went on, "Do you think I don't know that something's wrong? I'm trying, ok. I'm trying to keep control and figure out what's going on, and what do you want from me? I'm sorry to hear my nightmares are giving you headaches. Maybe I'll just start wearing an inhibitor to bed, and then everything will be peachy." And the sarcasm was back...
"I want you to talk to me!" It was a pained cry, slipping out before he could stop himself. "Why is this something that you've got to do by yourself? I don't get it, Jean... I don't understand why you're shutting me out, and it makes me wonder..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. "It makes me wonder what's gone wrong," he continued, more dully. "What I did, or didn't do."
"I don't know what's happening. I don't understand what's happening in my own mind. I don't know where these dreams are coming from and I..." I'm terrified. "I just can't tell you what I don't understand myself."
"I don't have to understand," Scott said more softly, but a bit wildly, still. "I don't take the engineer's approach to everything, Jean. I know I can't just... fix this. But how is it going to solve things to keep it to yourself and hope it all solves itself?"
Wrapping her arms around herself, Jean looked away. Even when he admitted he couldn't fix it, he still thought there must be a solution. "And what if it never gets better? I don't think it's going to solve itself, and I'm trying but..." She trailed off. The dreams had been getting worse - they came almost every night now - and she rarely left the school unless it was important, because her telepathy was getting so out of control.
"Please tell me you're talking to Charles, at least. Even if you're not talking to me."
"I am." She didn't look up, afraid of what she might see written in his face, and what she wouldn't.
"Good." And he meant that, even if it still hurt that she wouldn't talk to him. Her choice, in the end, he supposed. "I'm glad to hear that."
Jean risked looking up at him. "I really do have to get down to the medlab," she said, voice quiet.
He wasn't looking at her. "And I've got to get to class," he said, just as softly. "I'll see you later, I guess."
Jean nodded and started to turn towards the door, but turned back. "I love you, Scott. Always. Please don't doubt that." Please don't doubt me.
"I love you too," he said, almost inaudibly. That she loved him wasn't what he'd doubted.
Jean bit her lip, and then turned and opened the door. She couldn't afford to break down, not now.
