One Week
Author: Mi-chan17
Title: One Week
Recipient:
st_aurafina
Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, do you really think I'd let you lot play with them?
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for some language
Summary: All Scott wanted to do was plan his anniversary, but everything that could go wrong did...
Recipient's request: "I always enjoy fic that shows me something of day-to-day life, maybe something to do with Scott's working day at the school. I'm just as fascinated with Scott away from the school/team environment, and how he deals with the rest of the world at large. I'm happy with any of Scott's canon relationships in movie or comicverse, I like slash or gen too. (I don't like Scott/Charles or Scott with students - I count movieverse Rogue and Bobby as students)."
A/N: Uber thanks to
jen1703 and
frozencatnip for their beta-ing expertise and to James for helping me try and find my inner-Logan. Apologies to st_aurafina for the lateness. Long story short: Fell into a glass door, back muscle injuries, midterms. I hope you like it. :)
This fic entirely ignores X2 and X3.
Edit: I'd forgotten this, but just now remembered! I knew I'd seen Logan call Scott a rugrat Somewhere. All credit for my attempt at a Logan goes to
ridesandruns.
Scott was not entirely sure which was worse. The fact that he had fifty papers to grade, or the fact that one of them was St. John’s. Probably the latter, just based on what little of the boy’s paper he’d seen so far. Though Scott was vaguely curious as to how John had managed to work Playboy centerfolds into a report on the novel Pride and Prejudice.
Had it been any day but this one, Scott wouldn’t have been this frustrated already. Any other day, and he would’ve been better equipped to handle book reports with dubious content. But his week had been too hectic, and this was the only day left.
Where had his week gone?
Monday:
“Mr. Summers, what does it matter if I don’t read Pride and Prejudice? Can’t I just watch the movie?!”
Scott rubbed his temples. “No, Jubilee, you can’t just watch the movie. There are several things in the novel that the movie had to leave out for time’s sake,” he repeated for what felt like the four hundred and fifty-seventh time.
“But, like, if they left it out it’s not like it’s totally important or something.”
“Still no,” Scott informed her, rolling his eyes behind his glasses where they couldn’t be seen.
Sighing dramatically, the young Asian girl sulkily went back to her desk. She was sitting next to Bobby and St. John. More trouble than Scott really wanted to think about, so he chose to ignore it. The next ten or so minutes went by entirely pleasantly, and he was finally able to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could get to the end of the period without too much trouble.
Not that Scott didn’t like the older class of students. He did. But he really wanted to finish grading their tests in class so that he might be able to work on his plans for his and Jean’s anniversary the next Sunday. He really wanted, no really needed, this to be special.
“Mr. Summers, John’s doing it again!”
Now, Kitty’s outburst could have meant anything from, “John is lighting his worksheets on fire” to “John is putting porn on the class television again”. This time it was a lovely mixture of both.
John had managed to light one of his Playboys on fire. Bobby, next to him, waved a hand over the magazine and flung some frost at it. Some of which missed and happened to hit Jubilee who, in her surprise, flung her little fireworks into the ceiling and the walls.
One of said fireworks hit the fire extinguisher.
It took hours to clean up, and Scott never got to working on the anniversary plans that night. No reservations, no thoughts on the flowers or on what he would say. Nothing.
Tuesday:
Of course the Brotherhood couldn’t have waited until the following Tuesday to bomb a naval base. Because then they wouldn’t have had Scott up at 3:00 am on a Wednesday morning fixing the Blackbird. And where would have been the fun in that?
There wouldn’t be serious cracks in the heat-resistant plating, there wouldn’t be copious amounts of God-only-knew-what on the wings and tails, and there wouldn’t be graffiti saying “X-Men suck ass” courtesy of Quicksilver.
Granted, if Scott hadn’t had to spend his whole day grading exams that he had wanted to grade the night before, and explaining to Logan exactly how he could get around his metal skeleton and healing factor to kill him (something he really wanted to try out. Just a little. As long as Jean wouldn’t find out), it wouldn’t have mattered. He would have finished with the exams long before, instead of putting them off until that evening, when everything had gone wrong that could.
Why the new Brotherhood had thought that blowing up a naval base would get them negotiating power, Scott would never know.
But they had and so here he was at 3:00 am fixing up the Blackbird rather than sleeping with Jean upstairs. And he’d not gotten a single moment to finesse his plans for their anniversary.
Scott vaguely wondered if it was a sign.
“A sign of what?”
Ah the joy of having a telepathic girlfriend. One who could drop into your thoughts with less than a moment’s notice while you were trying to figure out how to surprise her.
“A sign that the universe hates me,” he offered wryly, smiling tiredly over at her as she strolled towards him, crossing the hanger, dressed in her nightgown.
.
“Scott, just come to bed. The Blackbird will still be here, demanding your time and attention, tomorrow.” Her smile off-put any venom in the statement.
Of course the Blackbird would be there later in the day, after his classes, but he’d really, really wanted to do some more planning for their anniversary. Scott wanted it to be phenomenal. Scott double-checked his mental shields.
“Please, Scott?”
Now she was pouting, and that was so unfair. Jean’s mutant abilities had less to do with her famed telepathy and telekinesis, and more to do with her ability to get Scott Summers to do whatever she wanted.
“I really shouldn’t put it off,” Scott told her, attempting to stand his ground and be strong. This was an important battle in the war for the Best Anniversary Ever.
And it was a battle he lost the moment her lips touched his neck.
Wednesday:
There was a reason that the US Air Force never had a crew of one maintaining the SR-71 Blackbirds. A very good one.
Thursday:
“Scotty!”
Even if Scott hadn’t been able to identify the owner of the voice coming through the receiver, he only knew one person (Jean when she was joking aside) who called him that regularly and who did so over the phone.
“Alex! What’s up?’
“Lorna and I are going to be in town, just for the day, thought I might try and look you up. After all, who knows the next time I’ll be allowed back in the city after all my hijinks today?”
Scott snorted a little. “I cannot believe you just used hijinks in an actual conversation.”
“So, dude, what time works best for you?”
Well, if Scott were entirely honest, any time after the following Sunday would work best for him. But Alex was only there for the one day, and, well…after far too many years spent apart, Scott could not miss an opportunity to see his younger brother. He’d catch up on Friday.
Friday:
Or at least catching up Friday was his original plan. Sadly, though, spending an hour locked in the DR after a session with Wolverine had not been in his original plan, and that threw things out of whack.
“Look, Commander Tightass! If you hadn’t opened your dumb-fuck mouth, Chuck wouldn’t have locked us in here!”
Scott just rolled his eyes. “He didn’t do it until you announced that only a moron would leave this ‘pansy-ass kindergarten group’ under the leadership of a ‘rugrat with the same amount of sense as a dead rat’s ass’. Him being the moron in question that put me in charge.”
Wolverine glared back at Cyclops, his middle claw flicking out in a familiar gesture.
“Original,” Scott offered dryly, rolling his eyes behind his opaque visor. “Is your next shot going to be…”
“Fuck you,” the two said in unison.
When they finally got out, just in time for Scott to be late to his first class, the day did not get any better.
Saturday:
Mutant manifestation of a kid who killed anything organic that he touched.
Enough said.
Sunday:
And so, here Scott was on Sunday, a stack of papers on his desk and tension in his shoulders and the muscles of his jaw. Any other week. It could have been any other week.
But no, he was Cyclops and he was magic, so naturally it had all happened the one week he had actually needed free time.
“Hey.”
Scott spun in his desk chair to find Jean, wearing a tight black skirt and a shirt he thought might be green (hard to tell when all he ever saw was red). She was smiling and, despite all his frustration, he couldn’t help but smile back. Jean walked with her usual grace over to his desk where she perched atop all the papers he should have been grading.
“Busy week?” she asked, an eyebrow raised and a slightly mischievous smile on her face.
“Could say that,” Scott nodded. When Jean grinned in response, Scott’s eyebrows went up. When she grabbed his hands and pulled him out of his chair, leading Scott down to the hangar, he could have sworn his eyebrows had gone so far into his hair that he’d never see them again.
“Uh, Jean, what’re we doing?”
Rather than replying, she just grinned and lowered the ramp to the Blackbird, leading Scott onboard.
“Jean..?”
“I know you wanted tonight to be special,” she shrugged, still smiling widely. “So I thought I’d make it easy on you. C’mon flyboy, take me somewhere nice.”
Five hours later, two very happy people found their way back onto the Blackbird. One was sporting sand from the beach. The other?
A diamond ring on her left ring finger.
Title: One Week
Recipient:
st_aurafina
Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, do you really think I'd let you lot play with them?
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for some language
Summary: All Scott wanted to do was plan his anniversary, but everything that could go wrong did...
Recipient's request: "I always enjoy fic that shows me something of day-to-day life, maybe something to do with Scott's working day at the school. I'm just as fascinated with Scott away from the school/team environment, and how he deals with the rest of the world at large. I'm happy with any of Scott's canon relationships in movie or comicverse, I like slash or gen too. (I don't like Scott/Charles or Scott with students - I count movieverse Rogue and Bobby as students)."
A/N: Uber thanks to
jen1703 and
frozencatnip for their beta-ing expertise and to James for helping me try and find my inner-Logan. Apologies to st_aurafina for the lateness. Long story short: Fell into a glass door, back muscle injuries, midterms. I hope you like it. :)
This fic entirely ignores X2 and X3.
Edit: I'd forgotten this, but just now remembered! I knew I'd seen Logan call Scott a rugrat Somewhere. All credit for my attempt at a Logan goes to
ridesandruns.
Scott was not entirely sure which was worse. The fact that he had fifty papers to grade, or the fact that one of them was St. John’s. Probably the latter, just based on what little of the boy’s paper he’d seen so far. Though Scott was vaguely curious as to how John had managed to work Playboy centerfolds into a report on the novel Pride and Prejudice.
Had it been any day but this one, Scott wouldn’t have been this frustrated already. Any other day, and he would’ve been better equipped to handle book reports with dubious content. But his week had been too hectic, and this was the only day left.
Where had his week gone?
Monday:
“Mr. Summers, what does it matter if I don’t read Pride and Prejudice? Can’t I just watch the movie?!”
Scott rubbed his temples. “No, Jubilee, you can’t just watch the movie. There are several things in the novel that the movie had to leave out for time’s sake,” he repeated for what felt like the four hundred and fifty-seventh time.
“But, like, if they left it out it’s not like it’s totally important or something.”
“Still no,” Scott informed her, rolling his eyes behind his glasses where they couldn’t be seen.
Sighing dramatically, the young Asian girl sulkily went back to her desk. She was sitting next to Bobby and St. John. More trouble than Scott really wanted to think about, so he chose to ignore it. The next ten or so minutes went by entirely pleasantly, and he was finally able to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could get to the end of the period without too much trouble.
Not that Scott didn’t like the older class of students. He did. But he really wanted to finish grading their tests in class so that he might be able to work on his plans for his and Jean’s anniversary the next Sunday. He really wanted, no really needed, this to be special.
“Mr. Summers, John’s doing it again!”
Now, Kitty’s outburst could have meant anything from, “John is lighting his worksheets on fire” to “John is putting porn on the class television again”. This time it was a lovely mixture of both.
John had managed to light one of his Playboys on fire. Bobby, next to him, waved a hand over the magazine and flung some frost at it. Some of which missed and happened to hit Jubilee who, in her surprise, flung her little fireworks into the ceiling and the walls.
One of said fireworks hit the fire extinguisher.
It took hours to clean up, and Scott never got to working on the anniversary plans that night. No reservations, no thoughts on the flowers or on what he would say. Nothing.
Tuesday:
Of course the Brotherhood couldn’t have waited until the following Tuesday to bomb a naval base. Because then they wouldn’t have had Scott up at 3:00 am on a Wednesday morning fixing the Blackbird. And where would have been the fun in that?
There wouldn’t be serious cracks in the heat-resistant plating, there wouldn’t be copious amounts of God-only-knew-what on the wings and tails, and there wouldn’t be graffiti saying “X-Men suck ass” courtesy of Quicksilver.
Granted, if Scott hadn’t had to spend his whole day grading exams that he had wanted to grade the night before, and explaining to Logan exactly how he could get around his metal skeleton and healing factor to kill him (something he really wanted to try out. Just a little. As long as Jean wouldn’t find out), it wouldn’t have mattered. He would have finished with the exams long before, instead of putting them off until that evening, when everything had gone wrong that could.
Why the new Brotherhood had thought that blowing up a naval base would get them negotiating power, Scott would never know.
But they had and so here he was at 3:00 am fixing up the Blackbird rather than sleeping with Jean upstairs. And he’d not gotten a single moment to finesse his plans for their anniversary.
Scott vaguely wondered if it was a sign.
“A sign of what?”
Ah the joy of having a telepathic girlfriend. One who could drop into your thoughts with less than a moment’s notice while you were trying to figure out how to surprise her.
“A sign that the universe hates me,” he offered wryly, smiling tiredly over at her as she strolled towards him, crossing the hanger, dressed in her nightgown.
.
“Scott, just come to bed. The Blackbird will still be here, demanding your time and attention, tomorrow.” Her smile off-put any venom in the statement.
Of course the Blackbird would be there later in the day, after his classes, but he’d really, really wanted to do some more planning for their anniversary. Scott wanted it to be phenomenal. Scott double-checked his mental shields.
“Please, Scott?”
Now she was pouting, and that was so unfair. Jean’s mutant abilities had less to do with her famed telepathy and telekinesis, and more to do with her ability to get Scott Summers to do whatever she wanted.
“I really shouldn’t put it off,” Scott told her, attempting to stand his ground and be strong. This was an important battle in the war for the Best Anniversary Ever.
And it was a battle he lost the moment her lips touched his neck.
Wednesday:
There was a reason that the US Air Force never had a crew of one maintaining the SR-71 Blackbirds. A very good one.
Thursday:
“Scotty!”
Even if Scott hadn’t been able to identify the owner of the voice coming through the receiver, he only knew one person (Jean when she was joking aside) who called him that regularly and who did so over the phone.
“Alex! What’s up?’
“Lorna and I are going to be in town, just for the day, thought I might try and look you up. After all, who knows the next time I’ll be allowed back in the city after all my hijinks today?”
Scott snorted a little. “I cannot believe you just used hijinks in an actual conversation.”
“So, dude, what time works best for you?”
Well, if Scott were entirely honest, any time after the following Sunday would work best for him. But Alex was only there for the one day, and, well…after far too many years spent apart, Scott could not miss an opportunity to see his younger brother. He’d catch up on Friday.
Friday:
Or at least catching up Friday was his original plan. Sadly, though, spending an hour locked in the DR after a session with Wolverine had not been in his original plan, and that threw things out of whack.
“Look, Commander Tightass! If you hadn’t opened your dumb-fuck mouth, Chuck wouldn’t have locked us in here!”
Scott just rolled his eyes. “He didn’t do it until you announced that only a moron would leave this ‘pansy-ass kindergarten group’ under the leadership of a ‘rugrat with the same amount of sense as a dead rat’s ass’. Him being the moron in question that put me in charge.”
Wolverine glared back at Cyclops, his middle claw flicking out in a familiar gesture.
“Original,” Scott offered dryly, rolling his eyes behind his opaque visor. “Is your next shot going to be…”
“Fuck you,” the two said in unison.
When they finally got out, just in time for Scott to be late to his first class, the day did not get any better.
Saturday:
Mutant manifestation of a kid who killed anything organic that he touched.
Enough said.
Sunday:
And so, here Scott was on Sunday, a stack of papers on his desk and tension in his shoulders and the muscles of his jaw. Any other week. It could have been any other week.
But no, he was Cyclops and he was magic, so naturally it had all happened the one week he had actually needed free time.
“Hey.”
Scott spun in his desk chair to find Jean, wearing a tight black skirt and a shirt he thought might be green (hard to tell when all he ever saw was red). She was smiling and, despite all his frustration, he couldn’t help but smile back. Jean walked with her usual grace over to his desk where she perched atop all the papers he should have been grading.
“Busy week?” she asked, an eyebrow raised and a slightly mischievous smile on her face.
“Could say that,” Scott nodded. When Jean grinned in response, Scott’s eyebrows went up. When she grabbed his hands and pulled him out of his chair, leading Scott down to the hangar, he could have sworn his eyebrows had gone so far into his hair that he’d never see them again.
“Uh, Jean, what’re we doing?”
Rather than replying, she just grinned and lowered the ramp to the Blackbird, leading Scott onboard.
“Jean..?”
“I know you wanted tonight to be special,” she shrugged, still smiling widely. “So I thought I’d make it easy on you. C’mon flyboy, take me somewhere nice.”
Five hours later, two very happy people found their way back onto the Blackbird. One was sporting sand from the beach. The other?
A diamond ring on her left ring finger.