Scott and Ororo, Saturday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Backdated to Saturday night. After Scott's email to Sam about the Blackbird, Ororo tracks him down and actually finds him sitting in the 'Bird, in the hangar. Scott's unresponsive at first, but Ororo finds the right words, and manages to talk him into something he should have done months ago.


Entirely backward, really. To send that email to Sam and then immediately come down here to the hangar. Looks like you don't know precisely what you want, Summers, Scott thought half-derisively. He was sitting in the cockpit of the Blackbird, staring out through the canopy at the wall of the hangar. It was very quiet down here at this time of night.

Quiet enough that he could hear footsteps echoing across the hangar as Ororo made her way towards the jet, a mildly perturbed expression on her face. She had known she would find him here, despite his email to Sam. Or perhaps because of it.

Aw, crap. He'd known he shouldn't have CCed her in. Then again, Sam probably would have ratted him out anyway. How far he'd come, from the days when he'd seethed with resentment for months about Haroun taking over responsibility of the jet. That was a good thing, wasn't it?

"Scott," Ororo said as she entered the Blackbird, approaching the cockpit purposefully. "What a surprise." She sounded anything but.

"Ororo." If she could be overly casual, so could he. "Was just looking for a little space." Maybe she'd take the hint. He seriously doubted it, but he could at the very least try.

"Ah." Ignoring his hint completely, Ororo plopped down into the co-pilot's seat, looking out at the wall in front of them. "If you ask me, there are better places to find space than the cockpit of a jet, in a concrete hangar."

"I don't know. It's quiet. Empty." Or had been. "Works for me, when all is said and done..."

"I know. You have always felt comfortable here," 'Ro said, nodding. "It is good, to have a place like that you can go to. Comforting. Familiar. Safe."

Oh, now he saw her approach. "It's not my place anymore," Scott said brusquely. "It hasn't been for six months. Time I stopped pretending otherwise."

She turned, then, sitting sideways in the seat as best she could so that she could look at him. "If this isn't your place any more, where is?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusing, merely curious... and perhaps a bit worried.

Scott shrugged. "Nothing's changed, Ororo. I just need to stop being self-indulgent. The Blackbird needs more time than I can give it." He'd been proud of that phrasing in the email. "It only makes sense to ask Sam. He's the best-qualified."

"No, that is not true. You are still more qualified than he is," 'Ro pointed out logically. "You know her better than anyone. How can you say it is self-indulgent to do something you enjoy, something that brings you peace and pleasure? You deserve that, Scott..."

"It's a plane, 'Ro. It's just a piece of equipment. A very large and expensive piece of equipment, but that only makes finding someone who can devote more of his time to maintaining it more important."

Ororo blinked, staring at Scott with a puzzled expression. Who is this? "I have never heard you speak of her that way before," she said after a moment. "Never have you called her 'just a piece of equipment'. I find it hard to believe that you have felt this way all along... not after I have seen your excitement over merely being able to sit in this seat and fly with her."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Ororo," Scott said, and couldn't keep the formal edge out of his voice, because it was either that or the sense of loss crept through, "I haven't been doing much flying lately." He rubbed at the scars on the side of his face.

"It does not have to be that way. I would still trust your piloting skills over anyone else's, Scott. Please, don't give up on this... You can have more free time. You deserve it."

"I could still fly her, yes." It was the first time he'd admitted that aloud. "But I have one eye, Ororo, and that automatically makes me less of a pilot. I won't risk the team just because you're all good enough to want to indulge me..." And it wouldn't be the same. He knew that, too. That was why he hadn't recertified yet. One of the reasons, at least. "Besides, it's getting rid of something extraneous. I think my life would be easier if it was simpler."

"There is something to be said for a simple life, yes," Ororo said grudgingly. "But..." She knew how much the 'Bird meant to him. Or had meant... maybe things truly had changed. "Perhaps there are different things you could remove."

Scott ran a hand along the edge of the console in front of him. "I don't want to," he said more softly, and it wasn't clear precisely what he meant.

"You know that I will always support your decisions, Scott," 'Ro said. "Even if I do not understand them. But I do not want you to feel as if there is no other way... no alternative."

I don't have alternatives anymore, he wanted to say, but didn't. "I want to fly," he said after a moment. "I want to be able to fly, and feel like I always did doing it... but I want to stop deluding myself, more. I'm tired of the... shells of things I love."

"Have you even tried flying again?" she questioned gently.

"I've sat in the simulator a few times," Scott said tiredly. "Couldn't even bring myself to turn it on."

"How can you know that you will not feel that same thrill? How can you know it will be different? It is one thing to sit here and imagine it, but to be sure, you must try it. At least give her that, Scott, before you give her up." Ororo felt scared, almost, at the idea of Scott turning his back on the Blackbird. Today it would be the jet, and tomorrow... what? The team? The school? No, she couldn't allow herself to be so selfish. She was really and truly concerned for him, but like so often when things went wrong, she had no idea what to do.

Scott sucked in a shaky breath, shifting in his seat. "It's just... so much of it is unrecognizable, now. All the things I care about. All hollow..." He bit his lip, agitated and irritated at himself, suddenly. He sounded like a self-pitying twit.

'Ro shifted in the seat until she was able to lean closer, resting her hand on the arm of his seat. "There are still things left to you, I know it. They may be harder to see, or harder to reach, but they are still there. Don't push them away yet... try once more. Please. For yourself and no one else."

Scott's breath rasped in his chest, his features twisting with pain for a moment, but he reached out, covering her hand with his. "I don't mean to sound like this. I really don't. Not everything's hollow." I'm not going to run out on you. Or drop my share of the load. Things he should have said aloud.

"You do not need to apologize for how you feel," 'Ro said fervently, feeling the heaviness grow in her chest at his pained expression. "It is not wrong, or bad. Only, please... give it another chance."

“I'll try. I promise." He could promise that much, right? That he wouldn't... "Wait, you mean the jet?" he asked after a moment. It probably wasn't a good sign that he was having this much trouble focusing on the conversation.

"I mean... the jet, yes, and other things as well. Take time for yourself, if you need it. Do not let it build up until it makes you sick." Ororo gave him a pointed look. "Again."

His smile was a little crooked. “Bacteria, ‘Ro, remember? Stress doesn’t cause ulcers, it just aggravates them.” His gaze moved back to the non-existent view from the canopy, going distant. His free hand reached out and rested on the console again for a moment, and he thought, suddenly, that it was entirely possible that he was sitting in this cockpit with the only person he could be entirely honest with.

“I don’t know what to do these days,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I really don’t. I had this... talk, with Jean, and somehow the right words apparently came out of my mouth, but I don’t know how.”

Ororo's stomach twisted, and she cursed herself once again for not knowing the right words. "You have always known that the right thing to do is not always the easy thing... You, more than anyone else, are aware of this. And we have taken it upon ourselves to do the right thing, at all times, at the expense of our own well-being. But maybe... maybe it is time for you to stop doing the right thing for everyone else, for a while. Do what is right for Scott."

“I’m not sure what that is. That’s the problem.” His voice was calm, but tired. “I promised Jean I’d look after myself, did I tell you that? She needed me to promise, so I did, but I’m not sure I’m doing a particularly good job at it. I’m having a serious failure of imagination here, ‘Ro, and apparently the decisions that I think are sound aren’t.” His hand hadn’t moved from where it was resting against the ‘Bird’s console. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” ‘Ro shook her head, immediately regretting her earlier words. “I did not mean to question your judgment. If this is what you think is right, then of course you must do it. Perhaps I dwell too much in the past to see what is right here and now. Only… I think that you should fly again. That is all.”

“I want to. I really, really want to.” Embarassingly, his voice cracked, his real eye blurring with tears. “It seems like such a little thing, doesn’t it? And there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. I’ve been distracted the last couple of months, obviously, but I know I could recertify. Phillip keeps reminding me. And flying... it’s the only time I ever feel free.” Maybe that was why he was in no rush to get back to it? He didn’t think he deserved that? Scott winced, wiping at his eye. He didn’t like that idea. Made him sound entirely too dysfunctional for comfort.

"Oh, Scott." 'Ro was out of her seat in an instant, kneeling by him, her hand on his knee. "Then you should do it. You promised Jean you would take care of yourself - surely this is part of that."

Why was it so hard to just accept that, to tell himself that it was all right, that he wasn't being selfish to want to take the time to do this... "You know," he said, his voice still unsteady, "I bet people think I look back on flights like... the one in Libya when we were trying to get those kids out most fondly. The exciting flights, you know? But I don't need to be outflying MIGs to love flying. It's just... as good to be up over the ocean, heading home, when everything's so calm that I could switch on the automatic pilot. I almost never do."

Ororo watched his face, listened to his voice, heard everything he was saying and some things that he wasn’t. When he was done speaking she squeezed his leg, drawing his attention back to her. “Then do not throw it away. Keep the happiness that belongs to you.”

Scott looked down into her very serious eyes. "I could... I could just recertify at the local airfield." He found himself wrestling with a vague, if powerful panicky feeling, but underneath it all was something close to exultation. Just at the thought. "Get the formalities looked after. And then..." He looked back at the console in front of him, then gave a slightly shaky laugh. "I really don't have enough time to look after her the way I should." He didn't even notice the pronoun shift.

“Then I will help you make time. What else are we here for, if not to make the other’s life easier?” ‘Ro asked with a small smile. “Whatever you need, tell me and I will gladly do it. Do not forget, we have new team members and trainees coming aboard… your comm. shift times will drastically lessen.”

The tension in Scott’s posture, the tension that was so much a part of his every movement these days, was visibly easing. He wrapped one hand around the stick, the other still resting on the console. “I lied. I don’t have a failure of imagination, not on this.” He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath and imagining the familiar vibration beneath his hands. The vibration, all the familiar sounds. The pressure of the wind on the skin of the plane. He could reconstruct it in his memory perfectly. “I want this,” he said unevenly. “Just... remind me that’s okay, if I forget?”

“Of course. That is the other thing I am here for – to hammer the important things into your head if you begin to forget.” ‘Ro smiled, wider this time, looking up at him. “And I will never hesitate to do so.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you have this... thing about being stubborn.” It was a feeble joke, but definitely an attempt at humor. “One of your more infuriating qualities. And occasionally one of the more endearing.” Scott opened his eyes and took a deep, steadier breath. “We’re sitting in a concrete box,” he pointed out. “You’re right, there are better places.”

“Thank you,” ‘Ro said with an appreciative smile. “It is late, as well. Perhaps you should go find Jean. Tell her of your plans. I am sure she will be happy to hear them.”

As they got up, Scott shook his head, then stepped forward and gave her a quick hug - or what was meant to be quick, but turned into something a little more lingering. “Thanks,” he said very quietly.

“You are welcome, Scott. Always,” ‘Ro murmured, returning the hug. Just don’t ever scare me that much again.