Scott and Pietro, Monday evening

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Scott checks in on Pietro, who's been keeping to his suite a little too much for Scott's taste. He finds Pietro growing at CNN, and they talk about what's going on in Prague. Then Scott lures him out of the suite for - *gasp* - socializing.


Scott was firmly of the opinion that Pietro was spending far too much time in his room. He was also perfectly aware of the fact that voicing that opinion would a) do not one bit of good and b) provoke some likely withering sarcasm. There were more subtle ways, he thought with a very slight, crooked smile as he stopped in front of the door and knocked lightly.

The door opened a crack. "Ah. Summers. Come in, I suppose." As the door swung wider, Pietro waved a hand at the television, making a disgusted face. "Have you heard what this self-important idiot has to say about the Smichov situation? American news is a cesspit."

"We've actually gotten some more direct news," Scott said, sparing a glance for the aforementioned CNN idiot. "From Smichov, I mean. You know, we do get the BBC... it's marginally better, at least..."

"I know, that's mostly what I'm watching. I just switched to CNN to see what the idiots were spewing; it's usually valuable to know what all the other idiots will be thinking tomorrow." Pietro threw himself down in a chair and flipped the channel, then looked back at Scott. "More direct news, you said?"

"Nathan called in, night before last," Scott said, sitting down in one of the other chairs. "He came across a small, spontaneous demonstration and ran into Mystique."

"Surely you're not surprised," Pietro shot back with a cynical look. "The Czechs might as well have hung out signs advertising Brotherhood recruitment as soon as they locked the doors." He shrugged easily. "Still, at least now we know where she is, which is always the trouble with her. Good hunting, and give her my very best."

"I wish it were that simple. Charles has been on the phone more or less ever since, trying to get us permission to go in and get her. The Czechs are flat-out refusing." Scott sighed, rubbing at the scars on his face. "Hell, apparently the President called his Czech counterpart and got told 'Thank you but no'."

That got Pietro's full and arrested attention. "You're joking. Those bloody fools . . ." He snorted suddenly. "Oh, I bet she's just loving this. She does so appreciate a helpless enemy."

"Nathan apparently tracked her down to a meeting she was having with some of Smichov's local militants. Where she was trying to convince them to take a non-violent approach." Scott let the comment hang there, waiting for Pietro's response to that little tidbit.

"Relatively novel approach, for her," Pietro replied thoughtfully. "Still, it plays well--peaceful Ghandi-esque mutants, cut down by the human government in full view of the international press." He quirked an eyebrow. "Cue outrage, beating of chests, increased tension between human and mutant, humans seen as oppressors . . . grist for my father's mill, all of it. I'd look for her to have an identity somewhere in the Czech military command, to make sure things go productively wrong."

The possibilities had certainly occurred to him, and Scott's lips twitched in a faint smile as he realized something else. Charles was getting permission for 'us' to go in, was he? So do you call that falling back into old habits, Summers, or something else? "This is perhaps the first time I've kind of half-wished that Nathan wasn't wrestling successfully with that little impulse-control problem of his."

"Ha. From what I've read about Dayspring's impulse control problems, I would bet money--if I had any available--that provoking him into a nice combustible fury is on her list of backup plans." Pietro chuckled humorlessly. "All the results of the original, with that little extra frisson that comes from making Dayspring kill his own brainchild. I don't know if she'd be able to resist even given the probability that she wouldn't walk away."

"Nathan won't lose it. Not with Rahne and Angelo within range." There were some things that were absolutely iron-clad truths. Scott shrugged. "In any case. We're stuck waiting to see what happens. There's apparently going to be a very large rally tomorrow. Flashpoint in the making, I imagine."

"I've never known you to be happy on the sidelines." Pietro's lips twisted. "Misery loves company, is that it? Waiting, powerless to affect events . . . well, you've certainly come to the right store."

Scott opened his mouth - and then closed it again, giving Pietro a long, thoughtful look. "I've been sitting on the sidelines for three months now," he said quietly. "Funny thing is, there are times I hate it and times that I don't."

"I suppose there's a certain relief to it, on some levels," Pietro allowed. "Waking up in the morning knowing you're not likely to hold anyone's life in your hands today. No more slippery slopes." He glared at the television. "But then I remember that that's the whole point. If those lives aren't in my hands, they're in hers. They're in my father's. And there are so many of them." He shook his head. "You don't know how many, not by half. I only called you in after everything else failed."

Scott didn't ask. Not yet. There'd be time enough for that later, although part of him wished that Lorna and Forge and hell, even Clarice could be here to hear this. "I always suspected," he said, in that same low voice. "A few things you said, at times. The subjects you avoided."

"You never pressed, which is in large part why I kept working with you. A flawless cover--and mine had to be, between Sabretooth's nose and Mystique's experience with deception--has no room for self-doubt or self-examination. Forward motion, or nothing at all." Pietro's light chuckle sounded only a little forced. "Now, do you suppose Dayspring will throw me into the lake, if the situation over there really does blow up and I make a note of it when he gets back? I hear that happens a lot, here."

"Actually, he'd be more likely to ostentatiously not throw you in the lake and leave you wondering exactly what he is planning to do. Nathan's a little evil. I think it's the law degree." Scott let his hands rest on his knees, eyeing Pietro. "So answer me one question - are you spending this much time in here because you're still resting up, or are you trying to be discreet?"

"I don't actually require very much sleep." Pietro shrugged. "And I'm not spending all my time in here," he added a little petulantly. "You just don't see me when I leave."

"Okay then. Just so long as you're not spending all your time in here. Or, you know, avoiding human contact because you're afraid you might run into anyone with whom conversation might be awkward." Scott met Pietro's eyes, the look in his real eye bland and utterly guileless.

"If I'm avoiding anything," Pietro retorted, stung, "it's the pack of unruly teenagers I have neither the patience nor the inclination to deal with. They're noisy enough as it is."

"Mm." Scott got up and went over to the window, gazing down at what appeared to be a pick-up football game on the lawn. "They do after all eat new people from time to time. But you know," Scott said before Pietro could respond to the deliberately inane comment, "we do have this very nice little place by the name of Harry's not too far away. Not at all far away for you. And it doesn't let teenagers in. What would you say about getting out of here for a few hours? Your suite smells like scorched circuitboard."

Pietro snorted. "If you expected me to be satisfied with the glorified abacus I found in here when I moved in, you're more deluded than I generally give you credit for. I overestimated the heat sinks, it's a minor setback." He sat back, giving Scott a look that was just short of skittish. ". . . Fine. As long as there's something other than alcohol to drink; it'd take the whole bar to get me drunk and there's no point to the stuff otherwise."

"Did I say anything about alcohol? You and I can abstain together. And maybe play pool." Scott turned, starting for the door. "Coming?"

"Like I don't know better than to play pool with you. Yes, all right." Pietro stood, clicking off the TV. "Not as if this coverage is going anywhere, unless this whole thing is really a game of International Incident One-Up and my father decides it's his turn."