Sins of the Father

Sins of the Father Chapter Fifteen (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta...*packing a box * *eg * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are extra loverly for archiving/hosting. :) ProPhile is a quiet smutmuse. ;) Readers/Reviewers: Thank you!!! And the ducks do a dance of feathery thanks in your honor...


"What's the deal?" Scott asked around a yawn. "You look...pissed." He was almost too sleepy to care but he managed not to yawn again as Jean dropped her books on the sofa next to him. "Really pissed."
Jean rolled her eyes, shoving a loose hank of hair back behind her ear. "I emailed my professor about the paper..."
"Already?" Scott groaned, struggling to sit up. The sofa really was too comfortable. Jean had moved to stand between him and the light from the lamp, her face thrown into shadow so he could not divine her expression. "I thought you were going to wait a few days to calm down. And aren't you supposed to be at work right now?" He was slowly coming more awake, the clock behind her on the wall snapping into focus. "It's not even seven yet."
Jean vented a soft snort. "I got fired." She shoved the books to one side and, lacking her usual grace, flopped down on the sofa where her text books had been.
Scott blinked. "Cecilia? But..."
Jean made an impatient noise. "No, the part time at the hospital. Cut backs, they said. Can't afford to keep me on...they fired almost all the aides." She sighed and closed her eyes, letting Scott lay his arm across her shoulder and pull her into an embrace. "Today sucks."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, fighting an ill-timed yawn. He had still not shaken the lethargic tendencies that had resulted from their last brush with the vestiges of the Pantheon project. He knew that Jean had taken to drinking far too much coffee than could possibly be healthy since that fateful week. He did not get a chance to say anything towards that point as Jean leaned back and smacked his arm. "What was that for?"
"You're not listening to me," she insisted. "I said I emailed my professor about the paper."
"Oh..." His head spun briefly at the idea a silly paper was bothering her more than losing a job. "And?"
She settled back against him and replied tersely, "He says I have no basis in foundation for my assertions, my research is heavily flawed and he accused me of making up my survey sample!"
"You surveyed us," he remembered aloud. "How's that made up?" He slid his other arm around her waist and leaned back, pulling her with him. She sighed and settled against his chest, not protesting the position. "Sounds like this guy is kind of a tool."
She laughed quietly. "Kind of. I might get the Professor to verify the surveys for me, just to raise my grade..."
"And I wouldn't worry about the job, either. It's not like we need it really. I mean, I get some money for keeping up with the garage here and I can pick up some extra hours on my part time job if the Professor says we need to chip in more..."
Jean stiffened. "Scott, I don't care about the hospital job. It was just to look good on my resume when I graduated." She relaxed enough to shrug. "I just hate failing at something!"
"You didn't fail! You did...average..." He smiled sheepishly as she gave him an evil glare. He was saved from any s scathing response by a knock on the boathouse door. "I'll get that."
Jean sat up, still glowering. "Yeah, you do that." She closed her eyes as Scott hurried to the front door and tried to relax some more, but a sudden spike of pain and an almost perverse pleasure in it washed through her. _Amara, _ she thought wearily. _Don't project... _
"Jean," said girl's voice rang through the room. "I need your help."
Jean opened her eyes, her access to Amara's mind abruptly cut off before she could do much more than get the feeling her friend was both scared and excited. "What is it? Is that...blood?" She found herself getting to her feet and holding out her hand, motioning for Amara to lay hers atop her palm.
Scott raised both brows and made a "leave me out of this," motion, heading for the stairs. Amara nodded. "Yes, it's blood. I think I need some stitches," she said abruptly. "Maybe...three?" She winced as Jean pushed her long sleeve up to her elbow. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Jean stared. The wounds were not so much cuts as gouges, like she had been trying to remove chunks of flesh but only succeeded in letting blood. "Amara," she said quietly, "what is this?" She reached for the Nova Roman's other hand but Amara jerked it away, hiding it behind her back. "How bad is the other one?" she asked softly with a clinical detachment.
She licked her lips and seemed to be debating several answers before saying, "About the same. I think. It does not hurt as this one does." She lowered her eyes, looking at the still-seeping wound near Jean's manicured thumb. "I don't want Beast to know about these. He'll tell the Professor and I'll never hear the end of it..."
Jean looked up sharply. "Amara, are you asking me to give you medical attention and lie about it?" Her fingers tightened involuntarily on Amara's arm. "I can't do that."
"You know damn well what I'm asking," she snarled, suddenly full of vinegar1. "And not lie just not...say anything." She shrugged and extricated herself from Jean's grasp. "I'll bandage them myself," she added, turning to stride towards the door. "Ooooh..."
Jean surged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. "How much blood was there?" she demanded. "Where did it go?"
"None of your business," she snapped weakly. "There was not much. A bowlful, perhaps..." She looked wan now, and slightly sweaty. "I think I'm just hungry is all."
Jean helped her to the sofa and propped her feet up to keep her from fainting.2 "I'll go get the first aide kit from the kitchen but Amara...no stitches until you talk."
1 The actual saying is "piss and vinegar," lol. Means...snappy, in a way.
2 Keeps blood flowing to the heart and head and helps alleviate fainting spells.