Scott and Jim, Monday afternoon

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

The headmaster and the new counselor have coffee in the staff lounge, and the conversation gets very wander-y. Scott gets a semi-outside perspective on the student body, and Jim gets disturbed.


"It really is an amazing prosthetic," Jim remarked as he absently stirred his coffee. Apparently he was in the mood for milk today. "I guess Forge wasn't exaggerating about his technological prowess. That's a little worrying."

Scott smiled, then realized he was rubbing at the scars on the side of his face again. Not scratching, at least. Jean still absently swatted him every time she caught him doing that. Still, like I need a new nervous mannerism...

"No, he doesn't exaggerate, and yes, it is a little worrying. But he's also doing well at recognizing that sometimes there are and should be limits, even if there aren't many on his ability. I think his... uh, experiences this fall taught him that."

Jim winced, remembering that conversation. "Yeah . . . some things aren't so easy to get away from. But he seems to be doing pretty well, all things considered." He took a sip and experienced a brief moment of disorientation over the unexpected presence of cream, but kept drinking. That sort of thing wasn't even worth a blink anymore. "I'm keeping an eye on Jay and Marius, though. After the other week I figure either one is due for a kidnapping any day now."

"Please don't tempt fate," Scott said patiently, and knocked pointedly on the heavy wooden table they were sitting at in the staff lounge. "We don't do that around here. She has a nasty sense of humor and often takes us up on the challenge."

Jim smiled. "Sorry. I'm from simpler times. I'm not sure, but I don't think anyone was abducted back when I was a student. No demon-attacks, either." The grin widened. "And you got here, what, almost two years before I did? We really are ancient."

"See, we generally don't talk about prehistory around here," Scott said almost playfully, taking a sip of his (black, very black) coffee. "Breaks their brains, to try and imagine us in their places."

"Yeah, that's still a little surreal for me, too. Though probably less than it will be for the next generation once this batch grows up. I think the most exciting thing I remember happening back then were those very, very stupid burglars. And the one I saw didn't even have time to yell before I put him through the window." Jim took another serene sip of his coffee. "I'm glad Charles has upgraded security since then. That was sad. Home invasions just aren't worth it if they're not being performed by trained professionals."

Scott coughed on his coffee. "We also don't joke about home invasion," he said wryly, grinning a bit at Jim. "That tends to invite them too. Occasionally by trained professionals. Although, it has been almost a year..."

"Sorry," Jim said, raising a guilty hand, "I'll take full responsibility for the next one in advance, then. Hopefully Charles will forgive me. He's seems to be very understanding about that sort of thing. Possibly because there are so many staff and trainees now that an intruder probably wouldn't get more than ten feet before they were reduced to one more thing Cain has to clean up." He swished his coffee thoughtfully, trying to cool it. "I can't say I'm too upset it's been a while between outside traumas, but I gather it's kind of a rite of passage."

"Mm," was Scott's monosyllabic comment on that as he took another sip of coffee. "Eventually I suppose we'll have the kids who survived previous invasions lording that over the newbies, but really, there could be worse things." He blinked, giving the younger man an innocent smile. "Whoops, I'm sounding sour again."

Jim chuckled as he raised his mug. "Worse things than being untraumatized? Yeah, I agree. I don't know about lording it over, but I've definitely had a few students try to shock me. Luckily for me I don't break too easily anymore." He gave Scott a lopsided smile. "They'll survive a few less emotional scars. Adolescence in general has more than its fair share. Besides, I don't think this lot will have any trouble coming up with new and interesting ones of its own."

"I wonder sometimes if we don't inflict some of those scars unintentionally," Scott mused after a moment, his finger tapping idly on the rim of his coffee cup. "'We' meaning the staff who also wear black leather. We do it for the best of intentions, but I wonder how many of the kids maybe hesitate to get too close to some of us, wondering which of their teachers will come back on a stretcher the next time. Or not at all."

Jim sat back, regarding the other man. He was still new here, and he didn't want to generalize on a student body he still barely knew. However, he could hazard a few suspicions. "I don't think they think about it in that way," he said slowly, "but it does create a . . . distance. Even beyond the normal type for authority figures. You do save the world, after all," he smiled. He thought of his first session with Dani. "I get the sense some of the students have the impression that the only logical step is to become an X-Man. Not that there aren't more than a few who pursue it because they truly believe," he added hastily, "but for some there's the idea that it's just what mutants are supposed to do when they get to a certain point with their powers. That, I'm not too sure what to think about."

"That idea comes from lack of understanding of what we do, I think," Scott said after a moment, more soberly. "I don't know how to rectify it. Apart from sharing what we do more freely, and unfortunately, there's a reason to keep X-Men business sequestered from the student body in the vast majority of cases."

Jim winced again. "That's not quite what I meant. It's . . . I mean they see mutants from a skewed perspective, basically. Almost all of their adult rolemodels live here, and all of those are either staff, X-Men, or both. They don't know anything else." He fidgetted under Scott's gaze, rubbing his right hand nervously. "Some of these kids don't see a life for themselves beyond Xavier's. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but it -- it's not necessarily a good one. Not everyone is cut out for being an X-Man. Or teaching. They don't seem to see having a normal life is an option. They . . ." Exasperated, he gave up. Jim shook his head, eyes fixed on his coffee. "I'm not saying this right . . ."

"No," Scott said good-humoredly, "your point is coming across. I think you're also trying to avoid stepping on my toes, which is not something you ought to be worrying about - I'm well aware of just how myopic I am on some points. I couldn't be a role model for life outside Xavier's if I tried."

The telepath smiled apologetically. "Old habit. I'm just not used to having to say things . . . not out loud, anyway. I'm not exactly the poster-child for normalcy myself." He rubbed his forehead, less because of a headache and more to give himself something to do while he ordered his thoughts. "I worry, though. I agree mutants should try to use their powers to help people. Anyone who's got a talent should, ideally. But they shouldn't come out of this feeling like they have to. It should be enough that they can keep from hurting other people, and themselves. They can decide about the world after."

Scott considered that for a moment. "I don't know," he said after a long, thoughtful pause. "To some extent I agree, mostly because that I know the majority of people don't want to do and wouldn't be happy doing what we do. There's a reason we don't recruit, you know. Very few of us actually want to see the kids putting on gray leathers, even though we know it doesn't mean that they'll necessarily go through for full team."

Jim nodded. "I know. But that doesn't mean the kids don't think you do. When you're young sometimes it feels like everyone's got expectations of you, even if no one talks about it." He made a helpless gesture with his coffee. "Kids can try to anticipate. Especially with adults they look up to."

"So basically," Scott said dryly, "nothing short of actively discouraging them from thinking along those lines is going to work?" He waved a hand before Jim could answer. "Rhetorical question. Don't answer that."

Jim made a face. "I don't know, either. But I've worked with enough teens to know that the last thing I personally would do is turn it into the subject of a mandatory assembly." He rolled his eyes. "Can you imagine? 'Hey, kids, did you know no one expects you to grow up to punch people? Just in case you didn't, here's a forty-five minute presentation on it.' Not too condescending." He sighed and shook his head again, sitting back in his chair. "Like I said, it's not all of them, or even most. But it's enough that I worry. I just . . . try to catch it, when I can."

"Well, this is what you're here for," Scott pointed out, smiling. "To catch these things. And thankfully, I am well past the point where I take contemplation or even critique of where we could do better personally. It took me a while. I think," he admitted, "because I was too young when I started this job. Funny as that might sound."

"How old were you when you got named headmaster?" Jim asked. Inwardly, he was relieved the other man was taking this so well -- he was still a little nervous around Scott. Not so much because there was anything inherently nerve-wracking about him, but because Charles had spoken so fondly of him over the years. Jim had desperately wanted things to go well between them.

"Twenty-four," Scott said. "Once I'd gotten my permanent teaching and administrative certificates... there was extra coursework and the like to do, obviously." He shrugged. "I may have rushed through it," he said ruefully. "A little more seasoning might have been in order..."

Jim blinked, then smacked himself on the forehead. "Charles . . ." he muttered, aggrieved. At times he really did wonder about that man. He lowered his hand and gave the older man a sympathetic smile. "And people keep saying I'm coming in on a rough job. That's insane."

"I was almost twenty-five," Scott pointed out. "And hell, I was twenty-one when Charles put me in charge of the X-Men..."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Not really helping his case," he informed him. "Don't get me wrong, I owe Charles -- everything, really, but sometimes what you're capable of handling isn't exactly what you'd choose to put yourself through. It doesn't always make for the easiest time. Or decade." Then he barked a short laugh. "Okay, now I sound like the sour one. That was ungrateful of me. Obviously he didn't overestimate us on either of account -- I mean, we're both still here." Jim shrugged, smiling ruefully at the headmaster. "Life is hard. I didn't need Charles to show me that. Some days I still get petulant about it, that's all."

Scott gazed at Jim for a moment, an unreadable look in his real eye and a faint smile tugging at his lips. He took another sip of his coffee before going on. "Just think about how experienced and sure of ourselves we'll be when we're forty."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," he said, though he felt the ghost of bitterness drain from his smile. Stop being a child and have a sense of humor. He obviously does. Jim raised his coffee again, then hesitated. "Oh, god," he said, the realization dawning on him, "by forty we'll be Nathan."

Scott choked on his coffee, then gave Jim a dirty look as he reached for the nearest napkin. "Now there's a horrible picture. Or, you know, possibly not. He is after all a happily married family man doing a job he believes in. Of course, on the other hand, there's all the horrible trauma and the fact that I don't know how the man gets out of bed on rainy mornings..."

Jim nodded earnestly. "I could do with less horrible trauma, and I seriously doubt I'm as solid as Nathan. And much as I love Moira, I am very slowly backing away from that particular mental image." He shuddered. "Some of my personalities used to call her 'mom'. And that's not a complex I need to add to the pile."

"Would that make you Nathan's step-surrogate-pseudo-son?" Scott asked innocently.

Jim choked on his coffee. "Thank you for that," he sputtered, wiping his mouth. "I guess I should be grateful you didn't make me choke in front of Domino -- unlike some," he added darkly.

"Were they tag-team tormenting you the other night? Congrats for surviving that intact," Scott said with a grin.

"We almost didn't," Jim winced. "One of the drawbacks of telepathy is that you can be tormented on two simultaneous planes of awareness at once."

"Domino comes and goes and occasionally sticks around for a bit," Scott said somewhat sympathetically. "I still don't know what she did to my XO this summer."

"I can probably guess," Jim said. He looked at the tabletop and muttered something that sounded like, "Bad playing."

"She's an adventure. I've played pool with her a few times... she's one of the few people around who can beat me." Scott rubbed at the scars on his face again. "Well, probably there are more of those people than there used to be, with my new lack of depth perception. Ah, well."

Jim glanced up. "You'll adjust," the younger man said, smiling slightly. "I speak from experience. One eye's better than none. One psi-power, too, for that matter. You learn to compensate. The time'll come when you barely even think about it." The smile turned wry. "Not that that makes it any easier now, but it's true -- eventually."

"So I keep hearing. Fortunately I've also developed a little patience, too," Scott said, then drained his cup of coffee. "I've got a meeting with a kid about the fact that his marks are slipping into the basement," he said wryly, glancing at his watch.

Jim laughed, although the sound contained more sympathy than humor. "Sorry. I got tired of the 'hang in there's after a while, too. But yeah, I have to find the kid who can read the emotional state of plants. Apparently there's been some drama with family lately, and I got a tip he usually heads up to the greenhouse for lunch around now." Terry is quite the little spy for justice. It is completely unethical of me to use her. Ah, well.