Shiro and Scott, Tuesday evening

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Scott and Shiro finally sit down to Talk. It's not something either of them particularly wanted to do, but it doesn't go at all badly.


Shiro's mental list of why he was the biggest idiot on the east coast was steadily growing longer. The latest addition is that he's taking classes in Gramercy and without flight or a driver's license needs to take public transportation all the way from Salem Center into Manhattan. Five hours of buses and trains, not to mention his perpetual exhaustion, left him near dead. It was a wonder he didn't collapse the moment he stepped into the main foyer.

"Shiro." It was Scott's voice, coming from the hall to the left, where the main administrative offices were located. He was in fact standing in the doorway of his own office, eyeing the obviously exhausted younger man with an unreadable expression on his face. "Spare me a few minutes?" It didn't come across sounding precisely like a question.

If school didn't kill him, then this would. And like school, it wasn't like Shiro had much of a choice here, so he nodded and slowly dragged himself down to Scott's office. He all but fell into one of the chairs and dropped his bag next to him. He cringed as his stomach growled loudly, though he didn't feel much like eating. Let Scott say his piece and Shiro would go straight to bed. Tomorrow is another long day.

"How are you feeling?" Scott asked quietly, moving back around to the other side of his desk with a visible stiffness that was still far too frequent a problem. He wasn't sure why he felt like he needed his desk between them. He hadn't called Shiro in here to call him on the carpet. It was more like he felt he needed the distance. And that is sad, Summers...

The need was mutual, in a way. It had been bad enough sitting so closely to Ororo when he woke up a week ago. It had made him feel like a "special" child. He needed - craved, really - a clear pupil/mentor setup here. And there was no better person for this than Cyclops. "Miserable," answered Shiro, eyes cast down. "I had to excuse myself to the restroom for half of my Storytelling class."

"That should... get better. Eventually. From what I understand," Scott said, lowering himself into his chair. "And eventually you should even stop looking like you've been hit by a truck," he said, a little too lightly.

"Is that before or after I even begin to imagine a way that I could possibly make amends?" Let's just do this, he said to himself. "There is no excuse. I do not think that I know how to even remotely explain myself."

"I don't remember asking you for an explanation. You already gave us all the basics of one, in your post," Scott pointed out quietly. "And if you want to get technical, I put you in the position of making that first wrong choice. Remember 'We need to stop this tidal wave'?"

"You are not the one who told me to bring the cartridge with me in the first place," Shiro retorted. "Even when I had seen what it could do to someone, I still thought that I was better." He took a deep breath and then bit his lip to keep from crying out. Even the memories made him sick.

"And you weren't. You thought you could handle it, and you couldn't. That doesn't mean that you're... less than you thought you were," Scott said after a longish pause. "It just means that you misjudged."

"And nearly killed other people in the process. I thought that I had learned from past mistakes and grown up. I guess not." Shiro forced himself to look up, although the blank expression on Scott's face made him wince. "What's wrong with me?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"Right now? You're going through withdrawal." Scott was silent for another moment. "If you mean in general... you wanted too much, expected too much of yourself, and were unlucky enough to be presented with what looked like an easy way to live up to your own standards. That you chose to try it... it was a wrong choice, but it doesn't mean you made it for the wrong reasons."

"The road to Hell," Shiro muttered, face falling again. "I violated your trust and lost your respect. There are no 'right' reasons if that is the outcome."

Scott took a deep breath and looked away, trying to think of what to say to that. "You violated my trust, yes. But lost my respect? No. Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Shiro. I have... habits that may not be as physically unhealthy, but they're not any less psychologically destructive." He looked back at the younger man, his expression very level. "The only way you could lose my respect is if you don't come back from this. I always thought you had the potential to be an exceptional member of the team. How you deal with this is going to be the measure of that potential, I think."

"Now am I going to try to live up to this, and end up even sicker in the process." It was a weak joke, but it was all Shiro had. At least he managed to almost smile.

Scott's smile was faint, almost sad. "Look... to me, Shiro is more important than Sunfire. And when it comes right down to it, there is not going to be a Sunfire without a well and healthy Shiro. Concentrate on getting better for yourself, before you worry about the team?"

"~What's the point of Shiro without Sunfire?~" Shiro muttered to himself in Japanese. Good thing Scott didn't speak that language. At least Shiro hoped he didn't.

"What was that?" Scott asked patiently. The words had been incomprehensible. The slightly rebellious tone was a clue, however.

"Nothing. Just agreeing with you." In a way. Shiro yawned, and his stomach grumbled again. "I should go get some dinner and then go to sleep," he said, scooting back his chair but waiting for a dismissal before getting up.

"Yeah, you should. Sleep and food are only going to be good for you." Scott watched Shiro get up, hesitating for a moment, but then smiled again, still a bit faintly. "If you need to talk... or rant, or do something to get your mind off it all, just ask, okay?"

That brought a genuine smile to Shiro's face, but it didn't stay up long as he fell into a short coughing fit. "Thank you," he said as he recovered. If he couldn't count on himself, then at least he could count on the Summers boys.