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xp_logsScott finds himself back out of jail almost as quickly as he found himself there in the first place as the Black King of the Hellfire Club shows up to have the charges dropped and to offer him a ride home - and a deal.
He'd been absolutely cooperative since the police had put him in the back of the car. Scott may have been perfectly okay with the idea of breaking significant numbers of Hellfire Club employees, but he wasn't about to start doing the same with New York's finest. One of the cops had asked him rather bemusedly what had happened, as if he hadn't been able to square Scott's current behavior with numerous injured bouncer-types, but Scott had been clear-headed enough at that point to know that he needed to keep his mouth shut.
It wasn't until he was alone in the holding cell, having been allowed to make a brief phone call to the Institute - Nathan was on his way over, and Scott was almost certain he was never going to hear the end of this from the older man - that Scott started to realize just what an idiot he'd been.
He hadn't accomplished anything. And he'd done enough damage that it was going to be awfully difficult to avoid getting the book thrown at his head. And more importantly, he hadn't accomplished anything, Scott thought again, bleakly, as he paced the holding cell. That stung worse than the rest of it, it really did.
"Summers?" It was the bemused officer, stopping in front of his cell. If anything, he just looked even more perplexed - and was unlocking the cell door, Scott thought, raising an eyebrow. "Come on out of there, we're releasing you."
Scott's eyes widened. "You're what?" It slipped out before he could stop himself.
The cop snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "Charges aren't being pressed. Gentleman from the Hellfire Club just showed up and told the staff sergeant that it had been just a 'misunderstanding'." He opened the door. "I'd buy that if I hadn't seen the mess you left behind."
Scott held his tongue, somewhat bewildered himself. It took surprisingly little time to reclaim his personal belongings and sign what needed signing. Still, by the time he walked out into the public part of the station, he was expecting to see Nathan there.
Instead, Sebastian Shaw was standing by the door, accompanied by two large men who looked like bodyguards, and clearly waiting for him.
"Scott!" Shaw spread his arms wide in a gesture of amusement. "There you go surprising me again, old friend. If you'd have come by next week like we'd discussed, I'd have had you on the guest list. Officers, I do apologize for the inconvenience. Mister Summers and I are old friends, we've been looking to catch up on business." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, a detail lost on the policemen who were more impressed with Shaw's impeccably tailored custom Armani suit, a slight departure from the Victorian formal wear he favored while at the Club.
Flanked by his bodyguards, Shaw stepped over next to Scott, although not going so far as to make physical contact. "We should talk, Scott. I have a car waiting outside, we can discuss matters on the way back to your... school."
He'd have to apologize to Nathan later, Scott thought. Whatever Shaw wanted, he needed to know. "My fault entirely," Scott said, loudly enough for the curious onlookers to hear, and mustered up a slightly tight apologetic smile. "Lead on," he invited Shaw, and following him out to the car that was indeed waiting just outside the door.
He couldn't help but feel a little edgy, getting in. Especially when the two bodyguards got in as well. "No charges?" he finally asked, once the chaffeur had closed the door behind them and they were on the road. "So... what is it that I can do for you that appeals to you more than the idea of me in jail for aggravated assault?"
Shaw simply loosened his tie, pouring himself a glass of brandy and downing it in one gulp. Breathing deeply, he frowned as he looked up at Scott. "Your wife seems to have taken it upon herself to fill the role of Black Queen," he said dramatically. "Until today, I had assumed this was yet another transparent attempt at some Machiavellian power play. After your man Wisdom... decimated... our Inner Circle, we have been regrouping for lack of a better term. Jean Grey's presence threatens to unbalance that, and it is a presence I would personally see ourselves rid of."
Scott's eyes narrowed. He was glossing over things. Had to be. "'Taken it upon herself'?" he asked skeptically. "That's not how it works, is it?" He didn't let Shaw answer. "Let me guess, you took her in thinking she was Wisdom redux... to what, hopefully turn it around on us at some point?" He wouldn't have put that past the man. "Believe me," he said, some of his frustration slipping into the words, "this was not us trying to play that game the second time. Although what she's doing makes little enough sense to anyone sane that I can understand you thinking that."
Shaw agreed, leaning back in his seat, eyes on Scott. "So if it can be inferred from your actions that she is not acting in her former interests, then she is simply acting in her own. It seemed wise at first to allow her to begin this duplicity to, as you so wisely assumed, turn it around. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well, you know how the aphorism goes."
Twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers, Shaw looked out the window as the limousine left the city limits, heading down the highway for Westchester. "I propose a deal, Summers. I find myself in a precarious position once more, not unlike the one your Mr. Marko placed me in months ago. I wish to be rid of Jean Grey, by whatever means necessary, without suffering further damage to my reputation or status. You seem to still care for her, yes?"
Scott wasn't going to answer that question as asked. And there was much more here than Shaw was saying, there had to be. Details that were missing. Well, at least Charles will know where to look for her now... Maybe they didn't need the Black King to fill in the blanks.
"The only logical conclusion I can come to is that she's ill," he said tightly. "Given her psychological history these last few years, it's not that much of a stretch. That being said, the only one who's liable to be able to help her is Professor Xavier. So yes... if you want to be rid of her and you want our help, you've got it." He refrained from any comment on repercussions for the school. If the Inner Circle was in enough disarray that Shaw had to come looking for help, he wasn't in a position to easily turn this around on them.
"Oh, I know that, Summers," Shaw gave a small smile. "Because you know as well as I, there are few lines I will not cross when I find an obstacle in my path. And your dear wife is very quickly becoming a rather persistent obstacle." He let the veiled intimation hang in the air before turning his attention to his cigar. He perused it for a moment, then tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, leaning forward to Scott.
"Allow me some unsolicited advice, Summers. You came into the Hellfire Club tonight to... what? Stage a daring rescue? Win back the heart of your beloved? You weren't acting out of heroism, or any attempt at righting a great wrong. You walked through my doors a man driven by nothing less than love." Shaw spread his hands and shrugged. "Such are the follies of youth. I myself was married once, but of course, you know that. I found it socially suitable, but in the long run, tiresome and not greatly missed. Should my departed wife have been so problematic, well... a moot point, nonetheless." He pointed at Scott with a look of mixed amusement and concern. "Your love leads you to do very brave things, Summers. Very brave, and very stupid. I would urge you to focus more on the former and less on the latter. I am certain I do not need to impress upon you the lengths that your wife is willing to go these days to achieve her ends."
"I came to your Club," Scott said tightly, "to drag my wife back home for a long overdue psychological assessment. My only regret is that I didn't start off with an appropriately low-powered optic blast to her head. Would have made today a lot simpler. But," he said, biting off each word, "you can be assured that I'm not about to make the same mistake twice. The next time I'll have the backup I need." He stared at Shaw, thinking. "I'd prefer to minimize the complications of a return visit. I suspect you would, as well."
Shaw laughed out loud at that, reaching one large hand to clap Scott on the knee in an unexpected gesture of camaraderie. "Decisiveness! That is the spark that so many men lack in this day and age. Ah, Summers, given a proper pedigree and education, what an addition you would have made to Hellfire!"
The grinding of the car's wheels as the road surface changed notified both Shaw and Scott that they were approaching the school. Shaw glanced briefly out the window, then nodded sagely. "But let us not reminisce about pasts that might have been, Summers. I encourage you to move with haste to retrieve Jean Grey, for whatever purposes you have for her, I care nothing. I will give you my word on this - remove her from my life and you may consider any affairs between mine and yours to be concluded. But make haste, Summers. The thorn must not remain in this lion's paw long, lest it cause the king of beasts to become enraged and rash."
... king of overblown metaphors, rather. "As soon as I can get a team together," Scott said brusquely. And possibly, before Jean could get too much of her balance back after today's confrontation. He'd shaken her. He'd seen that much, however she'd tried to hide it. "I'm assuming we're not going to have to fight our way through your security?"
Shaw chuckled to himself. "Dress appropriately, and I'll have invitations engraved for you, Summers." The limo slowed to a stop in front of the mansion, and the door was quickly opened for Scott. Shaw smiled and removed his cigar from his pocket.
"However," he said as he lit a match and held it to the end of the cigar, "once our business is concluded, if I see you cross my threshold uninvited once more, I will simply have you shot."
"If events ever conspire to put me in a position where I have to cross your threshold again, after this," Scott said evenly as he got out, "you won't see me coming." He straightened, looking back into the car for a moment. "We'll be as discreet as possible. You have my word," he said, turning to head towards the gate.
Inwardly, he was feeling considerably less frustrated. This whole thing wasn't such bad strategy after all... Of course, that just brought back the old saying about how God loved fools.
Ah, well.
He'd been absolutely cooperative since the police had put him in the back of the car. Scott may have been perfectly okay with the idea of breaking significant numbers of Hellfire Club employees, but he wasn't about to start doing the same with New York's finest. One of the cops had asked him rather bemusedly what had happened, as if he hadn't been able to square Scott's current behavior with numerous injured bouncer-types, but Scott had been clear-headed enough at that point to know that he needed to keep his mouth shut.
It wasn't until he was alone in the holding cell, having been allowed to make a brief phone call to the Institute - Nathan was on his way over, and Scott was almost certain he was never going to hear the end of this from the older man - that Scott started to realize just what an idiot he'd been.
He hadn't accomplished anything. And he'd done enough damage that it was going to be awfully difficult to avoid getting the book thrown at his head. And more importantly, he hadn't accomplished anything, Scott thought again, bleakly, as he paced the holding cell. That stung worse than the rest of it, it really did.
"Summers?" It was the bemused officer, stopping in front of his cell. If anything, he just looked even more perplexed - and was unlocking the cell door, Scott thought, raising an eyebrow. "Come on out of there, we're releasing you."
Scott's eyes widened. "You're what?" It slipped out before he could stop himself.
The cop snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "Charges aren't being pressed. Gentleman from the Hellfire Club just showed up and told the staff sergeant that it had been just a 'misunderstanding'." He opened the door. "I'd buy that if I hadn't seen the mess you left behind."
Scott held his tongue, somewhat bewildered himself. It took surprisingly little time to reclaim his personal belongings and sign what needed signing. Still, by the time he walked out into the public part of the station, he was expecting to see Nathan there.
Instead, Sebastian Shaw was standing by the door, accompanied by two large men who looked like bodyguards, and clearly waiting for him.
"Scott!" Shaw spread his arms wide in a gesture of amusement. "There you go surprising me again, old friend. If you'd have come by next week like we'd discussed, I'd have had you on the guest list. Officers, I do apologize for the inconvenience. Mister Summers and I are old friends, we've been looking to catch up on business." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, a detail lost on the policemen who were more impressed with Shaw's impeccably tailored custom Armani suit, a slight departure from the Victorian formal wear he favored while at the Club.
Flanked by his bodyguards, Shaw stepped over next to Scott, although not going so far as to make physical contact. "We should talk, Scott. I have a car waiting outside, we can discuss matters on the way back to your... school."
He'd have to apologize to Nathan later, Scott thought. Whatever Shaw wanted, he needed to know. "My fault entirely," Scott said, loudly enough for the curious onlookers to hear, and mustered up a slightly tight apologetic smile. "Lead on," he invited Shaw, and following him out to the car that was indeed waiting just outside the door.
He couldn't help but feel a little edgy, getting in. Especially when the two bodyguards got in as well. "No charges?" he finally asked, once the chaffeur had closed the door behind them and they were on the road. "So... what is it that I can do for you that appeals to you more than the idea of me in jail for aggravated assault?"
Shaw simply loosened his tie, pouring himself a glass of brandy and downing it in one gulp. Breathing deeply, he frowned as he looked up at Scott. "Your wife seems to have taken it upon herself to fill the role of Black Queen," he said dramatically. "Until today, I had assumed this was yet another transparent attempt at some Machiavellian power play. After your man Wisdom... decimated... our Inner Circle, we have been regrouping for lack of a better term. Jean Grey's presence threatens to unbalance that, and it is a presence I would personally see ourselves rid of."
Scott's eyes narrowed. He was glossing over things. Had to be. "'Taken it upon herself'?" he asked skeptically. "That's not how it works, is it?" He didn't let Shaw answer. "Let me guess, you took her in thinking she was Wisdom redux... to what, hopefully turn it around on us at some point?" He wouldn't have put that past the man. "Believe me," he said, some of his frustration slipping into the words, "this was not us trying to play that game the second time. Although what she's doing makes little enough sense to anyone sane that I can understand you thinking that."
Shaw agreed, leaning back in his seat, eyes on Scott. "So if it can be inferred from your actions that she is not acting in her former interests, then she is simply acting in her own. It seemed wise at first to allow her to begin this duplicity to, as you so wisely assumed, turn it around. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well, you know how the aphorism goes."
Twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers, Shaw looked out the window as the limousine left the city limits, heading down the highway for Westchester. "I propose a deal, Summers. I find myself in a precarious position once more, not unlike the one your Mr. Marko placed me in months ago. I wish to be rid of Jean Grey, by whatever means necessary, without suffering further damage to my reputation or status. You seem to still care for her, yes?"
Scott wasn't going to answer that question as asked. And there was much more here than Shaw was saying, there had to be. Details that were missing. Well, at least Charles will know where to look for her now... Maybe they didn't need the Black King to fill in the blanks.
"The only logical conclusion I can come to is that she's ill," he said tightly. "Given her psychological history these last few years, it's not that much of a stretch. That being said, the only one who's liable to be able to help her is Professor Xavier. So yes... if you want to be rid of her and you want our help, you've got it." He refrained from any comment on repercussions for the school. If the Inner Circle was in enough disarray that Shaw had to come looking for help, he wasn't in a position to easily turn this around on them.
"Oh, I know that, Summers," Shaw gave a small smile. "Because you know as well as I, there are few lines I will not cross when I find an obstacle in my path. And your dear wife is very quickly becoming a rather persistent obstacle." He let the veiled intimation hang in the air before turning his attention to his cigar. He perused it for a moment, then tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, leaning forward to Scott.
"Allow me some unsolicited advice, Summers. You came into the Hellfire Club tonight to... what? Stage a daring rescue? Win back the heart of your beloved? You weren't acting out of heroism, or any attempt at righting a great wrong. You walked through my doors a man driven by nothing less than love." Shaw spread his hands and shrugged. "Such are the follies of youth. I myself was married once, but of course, you know that. I found it socially suitable, but in the long run, tiresome and not greatly missed. Should my departed wife have been so problematic, well... a moot point, nonetheless." He pointed at Scott with a look of mixed amusement and concern. "Your love leads you to do very brave things, Summers. Very brave, and very stupid. I would urge you to focus more on the former and less on the latter. I am certain I do not need to impress upon you the lengths that your wife is willing to go these days to achieve her ends."
"I came to your Club," Scott said tightly, "to drag my wife back home for a long overdue psychological assessment. My only regret is that I didn't start off with an appropriately low-powered optic blast to her head. Would have made today a lot simpler. But," he said, biting off each word, "you can be assured that I'm not about to make the same mistake twice. The next time I'll have the backup I need." He stared at Shaw, thinking. "I'd prefer to minimize the complications of a return visit. I suspect you would, as well."
Shaw laughed out loud at that, reaching one large hand to clap Scott on the knee in an unexpected gesture of camaraderie. "Decisiveness! That is the spark that so many men lack in this day and age. Ah, Summers, given a proper pedigree and education, what an addition you would have made to Hellfire!"
The grinding of the car's wheels as the road surface changed notified both Shaw and Scott that they were approaching the school. Shaw glanced briefly out the window, then nodded sagely. "But let us not reminisce about pasts that might have been, Summers. I encourage you to move with haste to retrieve Jean Grey, for whatever purposes you have for her, I care nothing. I will give you my word on this - remove her from my life and you may consider any affairs between mine and yours to be concluded. But make haste, Summers. The thorn must not remain in this lion's paw long, lest it cause the king of beasts to become enraged and rash."
... king of overblown metaphors, rather. "As soon as I can get a team together," Scott said brusquely. And possibly, before Jean could get too much of her balance back after today's confrontation. He'd shaken her. He'd seen that much, however she'd tried to hide it. "I'm assuming we're not going to have to fight our way through your security?"
Shaw chuckled to himself. "Dress appropriately, and I'll have invitations engraved for you, Summers." The limo slowed to a stop in front of the mansion, and the door was quickly opened for Scott. Shaw smiled and removed his cigar from his pocket.
"However," he said as he lit a match and held it to the end of the cigar, "once our business is concluded, if I see you cross my threshold uninvited once more, I will simply have you shot."
"If events ever conspire to put me in a position where I have to cross your threshold again, after this," Scott said evenly as he got out, "you won't see me coming." He straightened, looking back into the car for a moment. "We'll be as discreet as possible. You have my word," he said, turning to head towards the gate.
Inwardly, he was feeling considerably less frustrated. This whole thing wasn't such bad strategy after all... Of course, that just brought back the old saying about how God loved fools.
Ah, well.
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