Sam and Terry, backdated

[x-cannonball.livejournal.com]

Sam and Terry run into each other as Sam comes in from flying, and Terry wanders about engrossed in AP English reading. They discuss various topics, including whether AP English essays are more or less fun than mission reports.



Sam toweled the back of his neck as he reentered the mansion from the flier's platform. Even though it was winter, his blast field kept him plenty warm with its chemokinetic heat. Which was why, no matter the weather, he never went out for recreational flights in much more than a T-shirt and jeans. And even in those, he tended to sweat a little bit if the flight was longer than a few minutes. In full X-Men leathers...well, his uniform had had to be discarded and replaced after Youra.

He stepped quickly and shut the door. Even though his blast field kept him warm, there was still that short amount of time between landing and getting in the door, and it _was_ still winter out. Pausing thoughtfully, he turned toward the rec room. Maybe he'd see what was on TV before heading down to the basement and seeing what paperwork awaited him. For such a small, relatively extralegal group, the X-Men generated an awfully large amount of paperwork.

Terry was perfecting her walking/reading/eating skills, an apple in one hand and a book of poetry in the other, making faces at Yeats as she walked. Normally she didn't have anything against her countryman but having to explicate his works was making her a bit cranky. She nearly stumbled into someone walking through the hall and looked up, sharp words already on her lip, "Why don't you...oh." Color flooded her cheeks as she saw who it was, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam smiled gently down at Terry, completely oblivious to the blush staining her cheeks. "Quite all right, Ah wasn't entirely payin' attention to where Ah was goin' either, Terry." He indicated the book in her hand. "Engrossin' book, Ah take it?"

"It's uh, Yeats. I've got to analyze this poem for class. The Second Coming. You know, things fall apart; the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed on the world." She smiled up at him. "I was just going back to start the essay."

"Aha. That would explain the frownin', then," Sam replied. "Ah was a mite confused by that, Ah'll admit." He chuckled. "There are days when Ah actually miss havin' to write a paper for a high school English class," he admitted. Mostly the days when the paperwork had seemed to develop into a living organism that was attempting to eat his desk.

"Oh don't say that. I have such hope that things get better after AP English not worse. Why do I have to explain the imagery and symbolism of poems anyway? It's not as though I'll ever save the word through overly complicated metaphors." Terry pouted down at the book then closed it and tucked it under her arm. "Were you out training?"

"Oh, it gets much worse," Sam confided. "AP English essays have nothin' on college political science essays, not to mention mission reports." He hung the ends of the towel around his neck. "And naw, Ah was just out flyin' for fun. It's hard ta worry about things, or be stressed when you're out flyin'."

Terry rolled her eyes, "Political science is easy. It's pretty straightforward and you never have to wonder if a bird is really a foreshadowing to the apocalypse. I wish I could read mission reports but it's sort of a members only privilege." She continued to look up at him, slight lightly blushed, "I'd also like to fly, it seems so cool."

A rich laugh came out of Sam. "Trust me, readin' mission reports ain't all that much in the way of fun. It's pretty borin', ta tell the truth. But somebody's gotta do it, and that somebody's usually me, at least as long as sitting there reading for too long gives Scott a headache." He nodded. "An' flyin's such a blessin'. It just..." he shrugged. "Ah don't really have words to describe what it's like, always."

"Mr. Summers should have a text to speech program built so that he can listen to the reports," Terry remarked idly, sighing. She shook her head, moving on. "I don't suppose I'll ever know. Not outside of a plane."

Sam smiled. "Ah'm sure ya could get one of the flyers to take you for a ride if ya really wanted to." He shrugged. "Ah know it ain't quite the same, but at least it's somethin'."

Terry blushed all over again and shrugged, trying to think of fliers other than Sam. Since the first person who came to mind was his brother--who still hated her as far as she knew--she gave up. "It's not a big deal. It's just something that I think looks like it might be fun. I'm sure someday I'll get over it."

Sam shook his head gently. "Ya shouldn't get over somethin' like that," he replied firmly. "Ya should never give up on dreams, or sell yourself short. Ah mean, that's why the X-Men exist. Because the professor has a dream, an' the rest of us believe in it." He quirked a grin to break the serious speech. "An' if ya can get that old an' still hang onto dreams, then the rest of us shouldn't be afraid to dream either."

"You're such a motivational speaker, Sam," Terry said, half-teasing. "Will you tell me how I can do anything if I just put my mind to it? Can I be president?" She grinned cheekily at him.

Sam shrugged. "Just cuz we live in a world where ya gotta deal with Magneto an' the FoH doesn't mean ya can't still dream." He looked at Terry closely, feeling like he was being made fun of. "An' ya _can_ do anythin' ya put your mind to. If ya really wanted ta be president, an' ya worked hard enough at it, ya probably could be." And wouldn't that be something to hope for someday. A mutant president.

This time she laughed outright, "Only president back home. Yeh Americans won't let non-nativeborn citizens be your leader let alone non-citizens." She let her accent fade and the sound of her natural lilt edge through. "Sure, I know how to dream. I just don't know how to fly."

Sam blushed a bit at the laugh. "Ah knew that, Ah just forgot to add that part in. Figured ya knew it for yourself, what with all the classes on American government ya have ta take for high school requirements." He folded his hands and rocked on his heels. "An' who's ta say ya might not be able ta learn ta fly with time? All Ah was tryin' ta say is that ya shouldn't give up on your dreams." Truth be told, he felt a little silly standing there and giving Terry some kind of pep talk, especially with the easy way she seemed to laugh at him.

She giggled again, enjoying just standing there and talking to him. "Aye, that I do. Plenty of American politics and history. Got a test coming up in government in fact. If I do suddenly start to fly, would you teach me? The other fliers," a quick hand gesture gathered and dismissed them all from Ororo to Jay and Warren to Haroun and everyone in between, "could I guess but I'd want you to do it."

"Well, seein' as Ah'm the one who teaches all the powered flyers these days..." Sam drawled, "Ah suppose Ah could fit ya in somewhere." He winked theatrically. "Warren helps teach the ones with wings, which makes sense, but if ya somehow managed ta use your powers in a way that ya could fly with 'em, then Ah'd most likely be your guy."

"I'll start practicing right away then." Terry responded with a grin then grimaced as she looked down. "I should probably get back and finish this essay. Time and Yeats wait for no mutant. I don't suppose you're any good with analyzing poetry?"

"Ah'd offer ta let ya crib from my notes, but that wouldn't be the proper thing for a X-Man an' role model such as myself ta do," Sam said mock-seriously before tossing a grin back at Terry. "Besides, Ah had ta do Robert Frost."