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Fic: Be My Baby 1/2 [G, romance]

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  • avimara
    TITLE: Be My Baby 1/2 (Jean s POV) AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass AUTHOR S E-MAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate. PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE:
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 25, 2002
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      TITLE: Be My Baby 1/2 (Jean's POV)
      AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
      AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fishfolk@.... Feedback is better than
      PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know.
      CATEGORY: Gen, S/J romantic fluff
      SUMMARY: "By the end of most weeks, if Magneto offered to babysit I'd
      probably say yes, as long as he promised to wait until later to
      conquer the world."
      DISCLAIMER: The X-Men and the X-Men movieverse belong to Marvel and
      Twentieth-Century Fox and other entities with expensive lawyers. I am
      making no profit from this story.
      NOTES: This takes place some unspecified time after "To Tame a
      Wolverine," but it's really a sequel to "Don't Wake the Baby." Thanks
      to Avi for explaining some things about guys, and making this more
      accurate. Any remaining misunderstandings of how guys think are
      entirely my own. Thanks to Askani'daughter for the beta, valiant
      spotting of unintended double entendres, and deletion of sickly sweet
      description above and beyond the call of duty. I promise *someday*
      I'll try a Scott/Warren fic as a thank you :)

      In case you're keeping track, stories in this series are: 1) She's
      Having a Baby...Maybe, 2) Don't Wake the Baby, 3) To Tame a Wolverine
      (interlude), and 4) Be My Baby.



      I originally went to our bedroom to take a nap. Scott was in
      conference with the Professor, and Jubilee and Logan had agreed to
      take Rachel off my hands for a few hours. I know Friday afternoon's
      supposed to be my mother-daughter bonding time, but it's not as if I
      don't see her all the time.

      Logan muttered something about how well babysitting worked out the
      last time, but, honestly, I was so tired I wasn't listening. By the
      end of most weeks, if Magneto offered to babysit I'd probably say yes,
      as long as he promised to wait until later to conquer the world.

      It had been an especially abominable week, filled with disasters large
      and small. If John wasn't burning down a garden shed, then Toad and
      Sabretooth were attacking postal workers. (I'm not kidding, postal
      workers, I still don't know why. Maybe they were bored.) And Scott and
      I were barely speaking to each other.

      It was a stupid fight, brought on more by exhaustion than anything
      else. Who knows the last time we had a full night's sleep, *and* we're
      trying to teach, *and* we're running around being the X-Men. But damn
      it, I was sick of being the one who always apologized, so I was going
      to wait him out.

      In any case, I wanted a nap. When I opened the door to our bedroom, I
      was determined to lie down and not move until dinner time. But one
      look around the room convinced me sleep wasn't going to happen. It was
      a disaster.

      I leaned against the doorway, assaulted by the smell of dirty laundry
      and dishes never taken back to the kitchen. I wanted to cry. You know,
      it's not as if I expected everything to be perfectly neat all the
      time, but surely the ability to see the floor wasn't too much to ask?

      There was no way I'd be able to sleep until I'd sorted through some of
      this mess. But where to start? Well, maybe if I sorted out the laundry
      and dumped it into the baskets, I'd feel better.

      I gathered up the dishes first, averting my eyes from the bluish-gray
      mold growing inside one glass. Ugh, I'm all for penicillin, but I
      prefer to buy it, not grow it.

      The more I sorted, the more annoyed I got. What did Scott think? That
      I was his personal maid? To hell with him, once this was done and I
      got my nap, he could sort out his own damn laundry. I made it to the
      window, and started clearing off a chair that I vaguely recalled was
      blue. I threw t-shirts onto the bed, uncovering a stack of books that
      never made it to the bookshelves. It was then I realized the futility
      of trying to clear everything out in one afternoon. I slumped to the
      floor and leaned my head against the soft cushion of the chair,
      accidentally dislodging the books.

      One bumped my head and landed in my lap, dropping a leather bookmark
      on the floor next to me and leaving something sticking out from
      between the pages. Curiosity made me open the book, where I found
      several small dried pink and white, three-petaled flowers, still
      emitting a summery fragrance.

      //Flowers?// I stared at the blooms in my hands in confusion. //Where
      did these come from? Oh, right, hiking in Northern California.// I
      lifted the flowers to my nose and inhaled, remembering that afternoon.


      Scott and I were out west so I could attend a medical conference and
      somehow we found a few hours to get out of the city.

      Well, really he dragged me out of the hotel forcibly, because I kept
      insisting I was working. But once I got a look at where we were going,
      I was hooked.

      The sky was a shade of blue I thought only existed in paintings, so
      bright it almost outshone the sun, shimmering and nearly cloudless.
      The sun was high in the sky as we drove, and the air was so clear I
      could pick out individual pine trees on the mountain range in front of

      Scott drove the rental car through the twisty roads and I navigated.
      We wound up bickering amicably as I tried to figure out how the road
      matched our map. (You'd think a tactics whiz would know the map is
      *not* the territory.) Finally, we pulled into a half-empty parking
      lot, grabbed our water bottles, and strolled along the path through
      the redwoods.

      The air was cool, fresh, and smelled a little damp. The humidity was
      wonderful on my skin after the dry temperature-controlled hotel. I was
      a little cold and I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, but the cold
      didn't seem to bother Scott. (Men really do generate more heat than
      women, you know.) He put his arm around my shoulders and we walked
      like that for a long time, not really talking about anything in
      particular. We snacked out of a well-stocked knapsack, enjoyed the
      scenery, and soaked up the serenity that redwoods exude.

      As we wandered up and down hills and across streams, we saw a deer
      grazing, marveled at the age of the trees, and generally acted like a
      sappy couple in love.

      Scott fairly oozed contentment as we settled on a handy log to enjoy
      an especially lovely view, the sun slanting through a gap in the trees
      to fall on a small brook below us. I leaned my head against his and
      let my eyes wander. A small patch of pink down the steep slope caught
      my attention.

      I leaned forward to get a better look, surprised to see flowers in the
      dense woods. I pointed out the delicate blooms to Scott.

      "I'll get some for you," he said.

      "Honey, it's a park, you're not supposed to pick anything." I was
      surprised at the suggestion from my law-abiding spouse.

      He grinned that irresistible grin of his. "I know, but just this once,
      let's be reckless super-villains."

      He climbed down a fallen redwood, propped on the hill like a
      guardrail, about three feet off the ground. He inched his way down
      while I hovered up above. He made it to where the flowers grew,
      perhaps thirty or forty feet downslope, and leaned down to pick a few.
      I saw him pause, his hand amidst the flowers.

      "Jean?" he called quietly.


      "That sign we were looking at in the ranger station? Did it say that
      black widow spiders *do* appear in this forest?"


      He yanked his arm up, holding a few of the flowers. I heard a ripping
      sound, but it looked like he'd made it safely onto his redwood perch.
      Unfortunately, he was off balance and teetered right over the other
      edge. I automatically reached out with my mind and grabbed him,
      dropping him back on top of the log, and he held on tightly when he

      He stared up the slope at me and I stared down at him. His hand still
      contained the small handful of flowers, which he waved at me. Then, I
      started to laugh and he started to laugh and he crawled up the log to
      land in my waiting arms. We giggled together for a long time, giddy
      with the silliness of it all.

      I pointed out the brand-new rip in his sleeve. "I hope this is your
      only injury."

      "Darn, I like this shirt." He frowned. "Oh well, it was for a good

      "You'd sacrifice a concert t-shirt for me? I'm touched."

      His face became serious, and he stroked my cheek. "I'd sacrifice
      anything for you."

      I had to close my eyes, and we leaned against each other, minds linked
      so we could savor our love.

      I swore at that moment that I'd treasure those flowers, just as I
      treasured my relationship with Scott. That's why I pressed them into a
      medical volume I'd brought on the trip, so they would dry on the way
      back to Westchester.


      //How could I have forgotten that trip?// I asked myself, looking at
      the pressed flowers in my hand. So many things had happened in the
      intervening time, so many troubles, so much danger, and we hadn't
      always taken the time to remind ourselves we were in love.

      Rachel was born because we loved each other and wanted to share that
      love with a child. I sniffed as I carefully slid the flowers back into
      the book, and put it back on the chair. I reached out with my mind and
      found Scott was still with the Professor. I set out to grab a few
      things to ambush him with when he came out of the meeting.

      --continued in part 2 (Scott's POV)--
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