LOG: [Cain, Haller, Xavier] Almost a quiet moment

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Set after Scott's conference with Charles.





"Dave!"

Cain waved as he yelled to Haller, the younger man having to almost duck his head to avoid the low beams by the entrance to Harry's Hideaway. Of course, the waving and yelling weren't exactly necessary, since Cain was one of only six people in the small bar, counting Harry himself behind the bar and the ubiquitously unseen short-order cook in the kitchen.

Pushing a chair out from the table, Cain downed a mug of frothy beer in one long pull, then motioned to Harry for another. "Take a load off. What're you having? It's my round today."

"On tap is fine." Jim slid into the offered seat, noting that once again he and Cain were the tallest people in the room. Then again, that was true of most rooms -- and the regulars at Harry's were well used to it by now.

"So how was your trip?" Jim asked, pulling his chair up. He'd heard the groundskeeper had gone to Oregon on business, but he wasn't exactly sure what "business" was for Cain.

"Productive," Cain said with a smile as Harry deposited a large mug of beer in front of Haller, with a pitcher and an exasperated look for Cain. "Got my former financial woes straightened out, and Ramsey helped me put what's left of the money my old man left me into a spot where I can use it. Sure, it's a good bit less than what Hodge stole, but at least the matter's settled."

Some kind of embezzlement? That was certainly what it sounded like. Jim frowned slightly. You'd have to be out of your mind to steal from a man who cannot be stopped . . . well, I guess greed can make for a credible impersonation of insanity at times.

"I'm glad you got it straightened out," Jim said, taking a drink. "And frankly, I'm amazed you convinced Scott to take a few days off and come along. How'd you manage that one? Did you have to tie him up and stuff him in your carry-on?"

Cain chuckled. "Don't I wish. Nah, I just told him that I'd probably commit first degree murder without him playing Jimminy Cricket on my shoulder. The boy's got one hell of a guilt complex, but it does make him very easy to push around if you know how." He took another drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Tell you this, though. If he don't slow down, he's going to snap in a way no one around here's seen before."

"I've . . . had that thought, too," the younger man confessed, studying the foam clinging to the inside of his mug. "He already spends so much energy trying to support other people that he doesn't have enough left for himself, and this thing with Jean . . . I know he wants to help her, but he's not giving himself any opportunity to recover. It's like he thinks his pain doesn't matter as long as he can keep everything else from falling apart. And that's not enough. It can't be." Jim looked up and flushed a little at the very unprofessional sharing of his personal opinion on Scott. "I -- I think, anyway."

Cain raised his mug in a mock toast. "To us, the unappreciated, led by the insane, doing the impossible for the ungrateful."

He barely noticed when the door was opened, and the sound of barely-audible squeaking wheels stopped by the bar.

"A scotch, if you please, Harry."

The mug almost fell out of Jim's hand. It went against all conceivable reason, but the psi-print that had gently insinuated itself into the room was unmistakable. The young man turned towards the bar in shock.

"Professor?"

Cain's amazement was much less subtle, as he spit a mouthful of beer across the table, narrowly missing David. "CHUCK?"

Professor Xavier glanced from Harry to the duo at the table, one eyebrow twitching imperceptibly. "A double, Harry, if you please."

For a brief moment Jim wondered if his insanity had actually progressed to the point of hallucinations. But then, why shouldn't Charles be in a pub? As he watched the school's founder waiting patiently as the unfazed Harry readied a glass he couldn't help thinking, It's true, I don't think I can imagine anyone who must be more in need of a drink . . .

"Should -- should we invite . . ?" Jim began, glancing uncertainly at Cain.

Cain went to shake his head, then realized that the table he'd chosen was the only one near the bar, with the others separated by a small set of steps. With a barely audible growl, he reached around and pulled one chair away from the table, leaving a spot for his stepbrother.

Xavier turned his wheelchair - one of his non-powered ones - and carefully navigated his way to the table. As Harry followed him and set down the small tumbler of amber liquid, the Professor nodded in thanks. "David, Cain," he intoned with a smile. "This is an unexpected surprise. I was enjoying the weather with a small bit of exercise, and thought I would indulge myself."

Oh. Exercise, right. Yeah, Charles is capable of existing outside the walls of the school, remember? Okay, we can move past the massive reality-failure now. Say something. "Cain and I were just . . . having a drink," Jim said lamely. Nice.

Charles smiled at David, taking a sip of his scotch and giving it an approving nod. "I trust everything went well for you in Europe, then? And for your business, Cain?"

Cain just nodded, glaring at Charles over his mug.

"The conference was good. I had dinner with Dr. Allen. He seems to be doing pretty well. He's got a private practice now." Never in his life had Jim envisioned sharing a drink with Charles Xavier, and what's more, it was rapidly becoming apparent to him that relations between the two step-brothers were something less than comfortable. Small-talk was a little awkward when one party didn't seem remotely interested in contributing to the conversation. Jim made a vague gesture towards the drink in Charles' hand. "I, um. I didn't know you drank, sir. Have you been coming here long?"

Charles laughed silently, reaching out to place his glass back on the table. "Since before you were born, David. Harry and I are old, old friends. And yes, I appreciate a fine malt whiskey now and again. After a regrettable incident when I was... not much older than you are now, in fact, I learned a healthy respect for moderation."

Cain arched an eyebrow at that. "You? You got drunk." His voice was tinged with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. "Next you'll tell me you went out chasing skirts and smoking behind the hardware store."

A raised eyebrow met Cain's incredulous outburst, and slowly Charles raised his tumbler in a toast of his own. "To youthful experiences, then."

Jim, still trying to reconcile a "regrettable incident" involving alcohol with a man he'd known and respected for nearly half his life, fumbled a little in raising his own glass. "To youthful experience," he echoed, and even managed to work up a hesitant smile. Even the surreal ones. We live and learn. Wordlessly, he turned his mismatched eyes from Charles' blue to look askance at Cain.

Cain still glared over at Charles, then slowly set his glass down and reached into his back pocket. Dropping a handful of bills onto the table, he walked around without a word and stalked out of the bar.

With a sigh, Charles took another sip of his scotch. "Some bridges may never be mended," he finally said quietly. "But no less the noble fool are we that try."

Jim turned from the door to his teacher. It was always slightly jarring to see the mask slip; that professional distance was something the man had always been very conscientious about maintaining while treating David. And yet . . . "What happened?" Jim asked, his voice equally soft.

"Cain has never ceased holding me responsible for the schism between he and his father," Charles explained softly. "I had hoped time would heal the wounds, but if anything it may have only increased their intensity. His anger with his father, his anger with me, there is so much inside of him I wish that he would permit to heal."

Finishing the last of his scotch, Xavier looked at David with an odd expression, then smiled. "We all have our crosses to bear. And in time, there is hope for us all, is there not?"

Jim smiled a little. "Yeah. Things change. All the time. And . . . he's family. I think -- I think that still counts for something, whether he wants it to or not." He thought, with a brief pang: It would to me.

"One day, perhaps he will want it to," Charles said wistfully, looking out the window to watch his brother walk alone back up the road to the mansion.