Sure Enough (Scott/Jean, X1, PG) 1/1
- Title: Sure Enough
Pairing: Jean (Scott/Jean)
Archive: XMMFF okay, everyone else please ask.
Summary: A Fourth of July picnic and a question. No spoilers for
An HTML-version is available here: http://seema.org/xmen/sure_enough.html
By Seema (seemag1@...)
Author's Note: One thousand words on the nose exactly in response to
an X_Men100 fic challenge. My five chocolates go to Jean, because she
hardly gets any. Many thanks to Liz for looking this over. This is set
before the first movie.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel Comics, not me.
Mother and I don't see eye to eye on Scott Summers. She thinks he's
too young for me, not educated enough; his family didn't come over on
the Mayflower nor was any Summers blood spilled during the Revolution.
She doesn't care for his clothes ("Does he *always* wear button-down
shirts and khakis?") so she's bewildered I've decided to throw my lot
in with a man whose greatest desire is to become the best damn math
teacher this side of the Mississippi.
At the annual Fourth of July picnic at my parents' house, shortly
after Scott proposed to me, my mother approached me cautiously. I took
the glass of lemonade she held out to me, acknowledging it as a peace
offering. There had been tension between us since I'd announced I was
marrying a man whose eyes I'd never really seen.
"I haven't had a chance to talk to you," Mother said cordially. She
glanced toward the grill where Father and Scott stood chatting; other
guests milled about the backyard. Music by The Beach Boys played in
the background. "I'm glad you could come."
I eyed her. "It's a family tradition I wouldn't miss."
Mother nodded. "Jean, come sit down."
"Is something wrong?" I asked casually as I followed her to the picnic
"You've been quiet today and I want to know you're all right," Mother
"It's nothing," I said edgily. "I've had a hard few days at work. I
just need some rest."
"Can I do something?"
"Not really," I said. I looked over at Scott. Ninety-eight degrees out
and he was dressed in what else but a blue button-down shirt and
khakis. "No one said being a doctor would be easy. I can take care of
"What about Scott?" I asked defensively.
"Does he take care of you?"
"He supports me," I corrected Mother sharply. "That's what I need and
want from him."
"Are you sure about him?" A sideways question, yes, but trademark
Mother; her indirect way of phrasing drives me absolutely insane. On
occasion, I want to grab her and tell her to just spit whatever it is out.
"Yes. Sure enough that I want to spend the rest of my life with him,"
I said coolly. Mother turned away. I considered going after her to
figure out exactly what she wanted from me. I dismissed the idea and
instead, enjoyed my lemonade. A few minutes later, Scott joined me,
his face flushed from the heat. He sat across from me, a beer in one
hand, the other covering mine.
"Hey there," he said. Scott has this way of softening his voice and
pushing a word out on the curve of exhaled air. It's an inflection
hard to describe but one I know is reserved for me and only for me.
This Scott is different than the one who commands the X-Men. *That*
Scott is confident, unflinching and serene. "Want to consider heading
"I like the way you think."
We left after an hour, fortified with leftovers Mother packed for us.
I sighed, relieved, as we pulled out of the driveway.
"Thanks for hanging in there," I said. "I know it wasn't easy."
"Your dad and I get along great," Scott answered. I smiled at him.
What a diplomat he could be.
"I'm sorry about Mother." Yes, Mother *had* behaved politely to Scott
but one didn't have to be a telepath to sense the disapproval which
lay behind her Emily Post etiquette.
"It's not your fault." Scott shrugged. It was a casual, fluid gesture.
I admit it: I love the way Scott moves. He has a grace I've always
admired. Whereas I'm always stumbling over my own feet, Scott has his
planted solidly on terra firma. "You're not your mother."
"No." I stared at the passing scenery pensively. "She doesn't think I
should marry you."
This wasn't news to him, but even so, Scott's lips tightened into a
thin line. Maybe I couldn't get a sense of the man in his eyes, but
his every other facial feature displayed expression. I reached over to
clasp his hand in mine.
"What do you think?" Scott asked. He didn't take his eyes off the
road. Scott isn't the type. He doesn't hold the steering wheel with
one hand ("Ten and two o'clock, Jean!") nor does he fiddle for his
cell phone while driving.
"You know what I think." I held my hand up, flashing my engagement
ring at him.
"But you're sure? Absolutely?"
"Yes, of course. You?"
"There's never been any question in my mind, not since the moment I
I loved the tone of passionate certainty tinged with idealistic
romance in his voice. Scott never goes halves on anything; it is total
commitment for him, all or nothing. As much as that black-and-white
attitude of his drives me insane on occasion, I also know I love him
"Looks like we're stuck with each other," I said softly.
"How romantic." But he smiled.
We finally reached the school after ten. We stumbled upstairs in the
dark almost like we were teenagers sneaking around on our parents
and collapsed on the bed in our room. He pressed his lips to the curve
of my neck. His hands warmed my skin as I melted against him.
I've never told my mother that when not in front of the classroom,
Scott moonlights as the head of the X-Men. No need to tell my mother
how my heart drops to my knees when Scott appears in his black leather
uniform or how his calm battle persona soothes my nerves. Any mention
of the dangers we face battling mutants intent on world domination or
humans who want to rid the world of us, and my mother would
automatically assume Scott was trying to get me killed; she wouldn't
understand the truth is something else entirely. I don't need pilgrims
or Revolutionary war generals as my heroes; I sleep next to one every
~ the end