Maybe, Baby, We Were Doomed From the Start

     Adrenaline coursed through his body as he fought with everything he had, just as they all did. The sounds of police sirens in the distance, car alarms, fighting, and screams, all echoed through the streets– it was brutal, but one scream cut through all the commotion and caught Scott's attention: Jean's. It's as if everything else went silent besides the blood curdling scream of his girlfriend, and he was suddenly very confident that Jubilee could handle the remaining three guys they were fending off.

     Sprinting in the direction from which the scream came, he saw her lying limp on the ground. Quickly kneeling beside her, he lifted her head into his lap and brushed her almost ruby red hair out of her face. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, audibly wheezing with each intake of air, and her eyes, the ones that, despite seeing everything in a shade of red, he had fallen in love with, were uncharacteristically clouded fear, with tears spilling out. He scanned her body, assessing the damage, to which he saw blood seeping through her uniform from her abdomen, coming from a gash at least five inches long and cutting deep into her skin. Taking one hand, he applied pressure to the injury, earning a hiss of pain from the girl, so he kept his other hand atop her head, comfortingly petting her hair. The tears spilling from his own eyes were dropping onto the inside of his glasses, soon to cloud his vision.

     "You can't die! Please, don't die!" He choked out, trying to stay composed, for Jean's sake.

     "Hey, Scott, baby, I'm with you, okay? Always," she whispered back, trying to reach her hand up to cup his cheek, but finding she lacked the strength to do so. Rather, Scott reached across her chest and held it, chuckling dryly when she faintly squeezed in reply.

     She was still breathing, but her eyes began to close. Scott quickly took initiative to remove her head from his lap and carefully lift her up bridal style, warning her that it'll hurt beforehand. Supporting her body close to his chest, he began making his way towards the jet, taking the safest path he could, though, he took note that the battle was pretty much won at this point.

     If she were to die, Scott wasn't sure how he'd continue on. Jean's the one that keeps him grounded, keeps him sane, being the leader of the team is hard, their entire life is hard, and he needs her. As we walks, he recalls fond memories that make more tears fall out of his eyes, as if in waves. Such as, after a particularly tiring day of training, after he had showered, he had entered his room to find the redhead propped up against the headboard, reading a book, so he laid his head in her lap and let her play with his hair as she read to him, lulling him to sleep. Or the time that she had had another nightmare, so he gave her a shoulder massage and trailed kisses all along her back. But his favorite is how every Sunday, they try to fit inside the bathtub together, her back pressed up against his chest, body between his bent legs with his knees out of the water. They'd wash each others' hair, giggling and talking about their future; it was such an innocent and stress free activity, and he won't ever be willing to give it up.

     So, as he carried his unconscious girlfriend to the jet, with her blood staining his own suit, he kissed her head and whispered, "Maybe, baby, we were doomed from the start."