I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this story.
Lovesick
"I
am never, ever, eating anything from that place again," Jean groaned, as
she sat back against the bathtub. She was sweat-soaked, hair stuck to her face.
"No, hang on – I'm never *eating* again. Period."
"Here,
let me," Scott motioned towards her forehead with a wet cloth, eyes
crinkled in loving amusement. He carefully didn't tell her how cute she looked
when she was ill; especially in the tattered Daffy Duck robe he'd given her
three years ago. She'd made it very clear that she wasn't interested in
endearments around 4:00, when the third bout of vomiting had hit.
She
nodded, giving permission, and he wiped her face. She closed her eyes. "Mm,
that's good."
Noting
that the cloth was no longer cool, Scott stood. "I'll wet it again."
Something scratched at the other side of the bathroom door. He grinned, then
kissed Jean lightly on the top of the head. "As soon as I take care of
this."
He
opened the door and Nevoso bounded inside, leaping into his arms. She licked his
face, tail wagging enthusiastically. "I'm happy to see you, too," he
told her seriously.
".
. . but Daddy has to take you to stay with Uncle Hank for the morning,
Nevoso," Jean finished. "Mommy isn't feeling very well."
"I
don't want to be 'Daddy' to a dog," Scott protested. "Isn't that kind
of sickening?"
"Scott,"
Jean murmured, "I love you, but please get her out of here before *I'm*
sickening again. It's hard enough to clean myself up without having to worry
about her, too."
"All
right," Scott walked out of the bathroom, clutching the struggling Nevoso.
"Take care. I'll be back soon."
Jean
nodded in response and bent over the toilet bowl again. He closed the door,
giving her some privacy.
Scott
put Nevoso on the floor and grabbed her lead, fixing it to her collar.
"Come on," he said, setting off. She bounded ahead of him. He gave her
more slack on the lead. "Heel," he instructed. She ran back to his
side, sniffed his feet, then raced joyously ahead again. He grinned. "I'd
better take you outside, first, I think."
He
took her to the oak tree near the front courtyard. It was her favourite. After
she did her business while he shivered in the cold morning air, he half-led,
half-carried her back inside to Hank's room.
Hank
opened the door in his boxer shorts. "Scott!" he said, surprised. He
ran his hand through his blue hair. "And Nevoso. I'm pleased to see you
both. Come in, come in!"
"I
can't stay," Scott said regretfully. "Jean's sick. She had bad curry
last night. Could you look after Nevoso for me, please? Just for a few
hours."
Hank
took the lead from Scott's hand. "Of course." Nevoso sniffed his feet
enquiringly, then looked up at Scott.
Scott
bent down next to her. "You'll be fine. I'll –" She bounded into
Hank's room, forcing Hank to let go of the lead. "I guess she *will* be
fine," Scott laughed, standing up.
"But
Jean's not," Hank said. "What's wrong with her? She's been sick more
than once in the past month."
"It
hasn't gone on that long," Scott countered instinctively. Then he thought
about it. He crossed his arms over his chest, getting worried. "Actually,
you're right. It's been a couple of weeks. She never really recovered from that
bad seafood at Dave's. That was horrible. We were both sick for days."
"Perhaps
you should ask her to see me," Hank suggested. Scott nodded slowly. He
thanked the furry man and headed back to his rooms.
He
pushed the door open gently, mindful of the effects of noise on delicate
stomachs. Jean was sitting on the bed, looking peculiar. She had a hand placed
on her midriff. "Jean?" he asked cautiously. "Are you all
right?"
"Scott,"
she breathed, turning to look at him with an expression of bemused awe.
"You have to feel this."
"Hank
wants you to get checked out, Jean," Scott told her gently. He walked
towards her and sat carefully beside her. "You don't look well."
"I
found out what's wrong, Scott," she said, smiling slowly. "Or what's
*right*. I heard our baby."
He
spun so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Our *what*?!"
"Our
baby, Scott. I had no idea."
Scott
grinned. "Are you sure? How do you know?" His cheeks ached, but he
didn't want to stop grinning.
"I
felt his mind, Scott. He's. . . awake. He's strongly telepathic, though of
course he doesn't have much to say just yet." She laughed shakily.
"It's amazing, Scott."
"How
do – when did you – how far along are you?" Scott managed finally.
"About
six weeks, I think. I didn't know. My period is so inconsistent. You have to
feel it."
She
took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He closed his eyes. He inhaled
sharply when Jean made the connection for him, and he felt the tiny presence
inside her womb. The other mind was full of soft shapes, basic emotions, needs,
blurring colours, and. . . now that they were in contact. . . comfort.
His
baby felt comfort. His baby was soothed by his presence.
He
opened his eyes, wiping tears from his face unashamedly. "I felt him, Jean!
I felt our baby!" She fell into his arms, laughing and crying.
"I'm
gonna be a dad," he said wonderingly, when the first shock had subsided.
She
nodded, smiling. "We have to tell everyone!"
