FIC: Altitude
Author: likeadeuce aka Karabair
Title: Altitude
Recipient: noafterglow
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Marvel & Fox and other people who aren't me.
Warnings/Rating: PG
Characters: Scott/Jean
Summary: Movieverse. Scott attempts to use his newly developed teaching skills on Jean. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
Recipient's request: Flying, freedom
"Don't take this the wrong way," said Scott, "but I don't really feel like your heart is in this."
"Oh no, honey," Jean assured him. "This is great. I love doing this with you."
"That's nice to know." Scott's hand flicked over the control panel of the Blackbird, throwing a series of switches. "Because we're losing altitude, but your positive outlook will be really comforting when we slam into the side of that mountain."
"Oh my God!" Jean looked up to see the stone face of the cliff hurtling towards them. "I crashed us! I'm a very bad girlfriend!"
"Don't be silly," Scott answered, with his usual icy calm in the face of danger. You're a very good girlfriend. You're just a very bad pilot."
"Well, maybe -" She blinked, jumped out of the stiff tall command seat, and landed on her feet, in the woods behind the mansion. She looked back at Scott, still seated, with his legs crossed, on a large table-shaped rock. "Maybe I'd be better if you'd let me practice in the actual plane."
"My knowledge and memories, combined with your telepathy, make a perfectly good flight simulator. Besides --" Scott leaned forward, frowning, balancing both elbows on his knees. Jean wondered if he realized how well the pose, along with black 'Triumph motorcycles' T-shirt, brought out the tight muscles of his forearms. "After that display, you'll be lucky if I let you pretend to fly my plane in the Danger Room."
My plane, Jean noted, biting back a smile. She wondered if he knew that Ororo referred to the Blackbird the same way. He probably did. When she wasn't around, the two of them probably got in dominance fights over the damn jet - among other things. Sometimes, Jean was glad she didn't live here anymore.
Still, she was perfectly happy to be visiting. It was spring break, her second year of medical school. She would be starting rotations in the summer, and so this was her last real week of freedom before responsible adulthood kicked in. Most of her friends had elaborate plans to visit foreign countries or exotic climates. But Jean had been content to take a commuter train to Westchester, and the school, so that she could spend a relaxing week with the man she loved.
Of course, the man Jean loved had his own ideas about what constituted a relaxing week.
"Scott, I really don't need flying lessons. If there's an emergency where I have to pilot the Blackbird, then I can find somebody who knows how and suck the knowledge out of their head." He gave a skeptical little snort - his nose twitched in such a cute way - and Jean protested. "What? I could do that."
"You tried to get it out of my head. We crashed into a mountain."
"Well, maybe your brain isn't as good at this as you think." She crossed her arms and jutted her chin at him. "Maybe you wanted me to screw up, so you can prove you're a better flier."
"I don't have to prove that to anyone. Because there is no way that anyone would ever think -"
"-that I could ever learn, because you're not very good at teaching --"
"-I can't teach someone who refuses to pay attention to - oh, God." Scott slumped back on the rock. "This really was a bad idea. We're going to end up hating each other."
"I don't know about hate -" Jean hoisted herself back onto the rock and leaned back, brushing his shoulder with one hand. "But it doesn't exactly seem like the best relationship builder."
He tilted his chin back and looked up at her. "I taught you how to drive the stick shift on the Professor's car. I remember that being nice."
"I remember," Jean smiled down at him. "I remember you were wearing shorts. I remember how whenever I reached for the shift, I'd sort of brush your leg. And I remember the way you were blushing -"
"I don't blush," he said.
"Well, your brain was blushing." She lay back against him, resting her head on his tight, hard stomach. "I always see that memory in a mild shade of rose." She reached down to the waist of his blue jeans, and slid her hand further down against his thigh. "You know, Mr. Summers, it is no longer necessary for you to put me behind the wheel of a piece of heavy machinery in order to convince me to touch your legs."
"That's good to know. "He reached down to squeeze her hand. "So if you're not coming back, it's all right to tell me."
"Not coming where?" she said lazily - enjoying the spring sunshine on her face, his long fingers twining between hers, the rise and fall of his chest.
"To the school. To the X-Men. You have your medical career to think about, and you've never been as into what we do here -"
"Scott!" She sat bolt upright and shook her hand out of his. "Because I don't want to take pretend flying lessons, you're accusing me of abandoning you --?"
"No!"
" - and of not caring about the school --?"
"No!" He sat up and put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but let him lean in to touch her. "I'm trying to tell you that - you're going to have a lot of opportunities. You shouldn't let what we're doing here set limitations for your life." His words sounded very rehearsed - which was probably, Jean guessed, because they had been. She wondered if he had planned this from the first time he mentioned flying lessons.
"Scott," she said. "Sweetheart. I don't feel like doing this right now, because this is my last week of freedom. Because I want to spend it relaxing, and not thinking about the future. I want to spend it enjoying you. But the X-men are my family. I'm in medical school because I want to study ways to help people like us. If you could have gone to someone about your eyes - or Hank when his fur started growing out - or your brother when his body started to shake so hard everybody thought he was having seizures. That's what's important to me. Getting fitted for leather pants and -- flying lessons and code names - they can all wait. But I'm part of this school. Of this family. I'm always coming back here. Understand?"
"Yes, I -" He looked up at her, staring for a long moment, then put his hands on her back and pulled her down into an embrace. "I'm sorry," he said, speaking - laughing - into her hair. "I got a little hung up on the leather pants" Scott slid his hands down the curve of her hips. "Those would definitely have to wait?"
"Well, if decking me out in leather is that important to you," she answered solemnly, "I’m sure something could be arranged."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said and then, as he started to kiss her, "Thank you. I love you. I miss you when you aren't here."
"I love you," she answered. "And for the record - that psychic visualization thing we were doing? It doesn't only work as a flight simulator."
"Ahh-" Between kisses, he said, "That's interesting, I guess -" Then, understanding, he looked down at her. "Oh. Well - so - I trust you won't crash us this time."
"There's almost no chance," she assured him.
"Almost?"
"Well, Mr. Summers. You wouldn't want life around here to get boring."
"Oh no," Scott answered. "There's almost no chance of that."
END
Title: Altitude
Recipient: noafterglow
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Marvel & Fox and other people who aren't me.
Warnings/Rating: PG
Characters: Scott/Jean
Summary: Movieverse. Scott attempts to use his newly developed teaching skills on Jean. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
Recipient's request: Flying, freedom
"Don't take this the wrong way," said Scott, "but I don't really feel like your heart is in this."
"Oh no, honey," Jean assured him. "This is great. I love doing this with you."
"That's nice to know." Scott's hand flicked over the control panel of the Blackbird, throwing a series of switches. "Because we're losing altitude, but your positive outlook will be really comforting when we slam into the side of that mountain."
"Oh my God!" Jean looked up to see the stone face of the cliff hurtling towards them. "I crashed us! I'm a very bad girlfriend!"
"Don't be silly," Scott answered, with his usual icy calm in the face of danger. You're a very good girlfriend. You're just a very bad pilot."
"Well, maybe -" She blinked, jumped out of the stiff tall command seat, and landed on her feet, in the woods behind the mansion. She looked back at Scott, still seated, with his legs crossed, on a large table-shaped rock. "Maybe I'd be better if you'd let me practice in the actual plane."
"My knowledge and memories, combined with your telepathy, make a perfectly good flight simulator. Besides --" Scott leaned forward, frowning, balancing both elbows on his knees. Jean wondered if he realized how well the pose, along with black 'Triumph motorcycles' T-shirt, brought out the tight muscles of his forearms. "After that display, you'll be lucky if I let you pretend to fly my plane in the Danger Room."
My plane, Jean noted, biting back a smile. She wondered if he knew that Ororo referred to the Blackbird the same way. He probably did. When she wasn't around, the two of them probably got in dominance fights over the damn jet - among other things. Sometimes, Jean was glad she didn't live here anymore.
Still, she was perfectly happy to be visiting. It was spring break, her second year of medical school. She would be starting rotations in the summer, and so this was her last real week of freedom before responsible adulthood kicked in. Most of her friends had elaborate plans to visit foreign countries or exotic climates. But Jean had been content to take a commuter train to Westchester, and the school, so that she could spend a relaxing week with the man she loved.
Of course, the man Jean loved had his own ideas about what constituted a relaxing week.
"Scott, I really don't need flying lessons. If there's an emergency where I have to pilot the Blackbird, then I can find somebody who knows how and suck the knowledge out of their head." He gave a skeptical little snort - his nose twitched in such a cute way - and Jean protested. "What? I could do that."
"You tried to get it out of my head. We crashed into a mountain."
"Well, maybe your brain isn't as good at this as you think." She crossed her arms and jutted her chin at him. "Maybe you wanted me to screw up, so you can prove you're a better flier."
"I don't have to prove that to anyone. Because there is no way that anyone would ever think -"
"-that I could ever learn, because you're not very good at teaching --"
"-I can't teach someone who refuses to pay attention to - oh, God." Scott slumped back on the rock. "This really was a bad idea. We're going to end up hating each other."
"I don't know about hate -" Jean hoisted herself back onto the rock and leaned back, brushing his shoulder with one hand. "But it doesn't exactly seem like the best relationship builder."
He tilted his chin back and looked up at her. "I taught you how to drive the stick shift on the Professor's car. I remember that being nice."
"I remember," Jean smiled down at him. "I remember you were wearing shorts. I remember how whenever I reached for the shift, I'd sort of brush your leg. And I remember the way you were blushing -"
"I don't blush," he said.
"Well, your brain was blushing." She lay back against him, resting her head on his tight, hard stomach. "I always see that memory in a mild shade of rose." She reached down to the waist of his blue jeans, and slid her hand further down against his thigh. "You know, Mr. Summers, it is no longer necessary for you to put me behind the wheel of a piece of heavy machinery in order to convince me to touch your legs."
"That's good to know. "He reached down to squeeze her hand. "So if you're not coming back, it's all right to tell me."
"Not coming where?" she said lazily - enjoying the spring sunshine on her face, his long fingers twining between hers, the rise and fall of his chest.
"To the school. To the X-Men. You have your medical career to think about, and you've never been as into what we do here -"
"Scott!" She sat bolt upright and shook her hand out of his. "Because I don't want to take pretend flying lessons, you're accusing me of abandoning you --?"
"No!"
" - and of not caring about the school --?"
"No!" He sat up and put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but let him lean in to touch her. "I'm trying to tell you that - you're going to have a lot of opportunities. You shouldn't let what we're doing here set limitations for your life." His words sounded very rehearsed - which was probably, Jean guessed, because they had been. She wondered if he had planned this from the first time he mentioned flying lessons.
"Scott," she said. "Sweetheart. I don't feel like doing this right now, because this is my last week of freedom. Because I want to spend it relaxing, and not thinking about the future. I want to spend it enjoying you. But the X-men are my family. I'm in medical school because I want to study ways to help people like us. If you could have gone to someone about your eyes - or Hank when his fur started growing out - or your brother when his body started to shake so hard everybody thought he was having seizures. That's what's important to me. Getting fitted for leather pants and -- flying lessons and code names - they can all wait. But I'm part of this school. Of this family. I'm always coming back here. Understand?"
"Yes, I -" He looked up at her, staring for a long moment, then put his hands on her back and pulled her down into an embrace. "I'm sorry," he said, speaking - laughing - into her hair. "I got a little hung up on the leather pants" Scott slid his hands down the curve of her hips. "Those would definitely have to wait?"
"Well, if decking me out in leather is that important to you," she answered solemnly, "I’m sure something could be arranged."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said and then, as he started to kiss her, "Thank you. I love you. I miss you when you aren't here."
"I love you," she answered. "And for the record - that psychic visualization thing we were doing? It doesn't only work as a flight simulator."
"Ahh-" Between kisses, he said, "That's interesting, I guess -" Then, understanding, he looked down at her. "Oh. Well - so - I trust you won't crash us this time."
"There's almost no chance," she assured him.
"Almost?"
"Well, Mr. Summers. You wouldn't want life around here to get boring."
"Oh no," Scott answered. "There's almost no chance of that."
END