Bobby and Scott, Tuesday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

After a Danger Room session, Bobby and Scott talk. Yes, really. Actual conversation. Well, sort of.


It hadn't been Bobby's best run, but he was still pleased with his performance. He felt he was getting better at thinking on his feet, making the right decisions without thought or guidance, although he still had a long way to go before he felt comfortable leading a team, nevermind anyone else feeling comfortable with it.

He headed for his locker, unzipping the leathers to the waist as he started pulling out street clothes. God, a shower would feel good right about now--he was going to have a few bruises from that fall.

Scott had made it to the locker room a few minutes ahead of him - he'd do his post-scenario debriefing once the nice, hot weather meant he could move without looking like he was an old man again. Lots of exercise didn't always do good things for the muscle aches. Stepping out of the shower, he pulled on the sweatpants he'd taken out of his locker when he changed out of his leathers - and stopped, frowning in exasperation as he realized he'd forgotten to grab a t-shirt, too. Damn it. He left the shower area, heading back out into the locker room proper, and ignored Bobby, still standing at his locker.

Bobby glanced over and bit his lip, the conversation with Terry from a couple of weeks ago weighing heavily on his mind, struggling with his instinct to just pretend nothing was wrong--years of ingrained behavior, on that side of the equation.

Finally, just before Scott turned and left again, Bobby cleared his throat and called out, "Hey. Scott."

"Yes?" was Scott's less than encouraging reply. Oh, his tone was perfectly level, even professional, but there was a frosty little edge to it. Or perhaps a cranky edge. He was awfully sore at the moment.

Okay, so Scott clearly wasn't going to make any of this easy, not that Bobby had expected him to. Or thought he deserved it. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and went on, "Look. Ter--I mean, I think we should talk. About...stuff. Y'know." Oh, smooth, Drake. You're really good at this shit.

"Stuff. Okay, I'm listening." Scott pulled out a t-shirt, wincing as he pulled it on. It hit him, then, what 'stuff' could potentially be, and he tried not to grimace as he sat down on the bench, staring at his locker as if there were terribly interesting things inside.

He was listening, but Bobby wasn't sure what to say. "I just--" His shoulders slumped and he sank down onto the other end of the bench. "I want things to be okay again, Scott. I don't know how to do that, but God, there has to be some way they can..." He gave Scott a hopeful look that made him seem about a decade younger than he was.

Oh, cripes, there were the puppy-dog eyes... "This is where I get to be the ogre, I suppose, and not say that I want that too and I've just been waiting for you to say something."

"...Oh." There was a cold, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Bobby's stomach that had nothing to do with his mutation. So that was it, then. One strike and he was out. Granted, it'd been a big strike, but Scott was like a brother...and Bobby'd already lost one of those. He'd been hoping to not lose this one, too. On the other hand, he wasn't going to beg. He could take this like a man.

He took a deep breath and stood up, grabbing his clothes again. "Sorry to have bothered you, then. See ya 'round."

Scott's eye narrowed. He leaned forward, grabbing his glove out of the locker. Leaning back, he threw it at Bobby's head. It connected, just as he'd meant it to. Hurray for mutant powers of geometry and spatial awareness... A one-eyed man shouldn't have been able to manage that.

Bobby clapped a hand to the spot and turned around, glaring. "What the hell was that for?"

"Oh, I don't know. Let's see. For being the biggest insincere chickenass in the world?" Scott snapped at him, getting up to come over and retrieve his glove. "'I really want to work things out, Scott.' 'I'm still angry at you.' 'Okay then, nevermind.'"

Bobby leaned against the lockers, still glaring. "You know, there's a world of difference between 'I'm still angry at you' and 'I don't want things to be okay', you dick." Okay, the last part had just slipped out, but it had taken a lot of courage to approach Scott, and to be immediately shot down and then called a chickenass? Even Bobby had his breaking point.

"Oh, do I detect a shred of a backbone peeking through there?" Scott demanded crossly, his conscience twinging just a little. Bobby did have a point. Not that he was admitting that aloud, because... well, because he was still pissed. He bent to pick up his glove, trying not to wince as he straightened again. "And watch it, or you'll start sounding like Logan. You don't want to have that much in common with him."

Wait, why had Bobby wanted to smooth things over with Scott? He was really hard-pressed to remember at the moment. "You're a jerk, Scott. I don't know why I even bothered. You know what, though? You're right." He held his clothes tucked under one arm and stood up straight, eyeing Scott coldly, the temperature in the room dropping a few degrees. "Screw. You." he intoned firmly. "I'm done."

And with that he headed for the showers.

He was the jerk? He was the jerk? "Coward," Scott said bitterly, after him. "I should have known better - all I just did was give you another excuse to pretend it never happened."

Bobby stopped and glanced back at him. "Hey, if you want to hold a grudge for the rest of your life, that's your choice, Scott. I personally don't think I'm a coward just because I don't want to waste my time beating my head against a brick wall." His voice was low, emotionless, just like his expression. "But if it makes you feel better, blame this on me, too. It doesn't matter."

"If there's a brick wall, it's because you ignored the issue for six months," Scott snapped, his tone in complete contrast to Bobby's. "I didn't think you gave a damn, one way or the other. And yeah, I know, her being back changes things, forces the issue..." His head was just pounding. "But don't expect me to jump at the chance to mend fences, not after you made it all about your guilt and then pretended it didn't happen for months. I was an afterthought when it happened, and I'm feeling pretty much like an afterthought right now." He'd meant to say it angrily, but some of the pain had snuck through, and he turned away from Bobby, going back to put his glove in his locker.

"You think I wouldn't like to pretend that it never happened?" he asked after a moment, when Bobby didn't say anything. "Hell, I suppose that a lot of this isn't even about you, Bobby. You're not Logan." He felt a stab of guilt at how casually he'd likened the two of them. "I just wish you'd come to talk to me before now," he said, and it came out heavily. "I don't know why I had to find out from Terry that you hadn't just... glossed over it all and moved on."

Bobby wasn't really sure what he was supposed to have made it about, other than his guilt. That was what gnawed at him, what else would he concentrate on? "I wasn't--I didn't mean to pretend it didn't happen. The last time I tried to talk to you about it, it was too fresh, so I...gave you some space." Too much space, apparently, and the longer it went on, the harder it had been to find a way to bring it up. It had felt like bringing up something that shouldn't be stirred up again--until Jean came back, anyway. "And I didn't know how...I didn't know what to say. I've said I'm sorry so many times, you don't need to hear it again. It doesn't make any difference, it doesn't erase what I did. Nothing can, and I know that, but--" His shoulders slumped. "Scott, you're like family to me. Or you were...and I--I don't want to lose that. Not if I can help it." There. Honesty deserved more honesty in return.

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it again, not sure what the immediate reply would have been, but fairly positive that he didn't want to go with it. Reacting on instinct didn't do anyone any good, did it? Especially when he wasn't sure where those instincts were coming from, what was really behind them. "You know," he said a bit unsteadily, "in a way, it's not just you, leaving it this long. I told Jack... my therapist, that I'd put Jean and our marriage in a box while she was gone, so that I didn't expect anything. I think what happened between us went into that box, too... but I can't wish I'd done anything differently there either, Bobby. I was having too much trouble trying to... pull myself back together."

"Although I'm not sure that isn't just me being a coward retroactively. I should have tried," Scott said, knowing he was contradicting himself, but there was just no other way to say this. "Because now it's all just part of this whole... mess of anger I'm carrying around, and I don't know how to separate it from everything else. I see Logan watching Jean, the way he does, and the next thing I know, I'm glaring at you the next time you happen to cross my path." He was not making much sense at all, Scott thought. "It's not fair, but I don't know how to stop."

Bobby nodded, swallowing hard. It was sorta fair, in a way. I mean, it wasn't as if he was completely blameless. "So now what?" he asked quietly with a helpless shrug. "Any ideas? Do we just go on not talking and feeling uncomfortable around each other indefinitely?"

"You could always wait a few more months and see if more therapy for me does the trick?" Scott asked, with something that was almost a real smile. The idea didn't seem to appeal to Bobby, judging by his lack of reaction, and Scott sighed and shrugged. "Look, I don't actually want you to get hit by a truck or anything, Bobby. Actually, I would be perfectly happy to see you and Terry prove my initial reaction wrong and be so blissfully happy that you put everyone around you into diabetic shock. And when it comes right down to it, it's hardly fair of me to have forgiven Jean and not you. I don't know, maybe I ought to have given in to the urge to beat the crap out of you when it happened and gotten it out of my system."

"I did tell you to hit me," Bobby pointed out with a faint, hesitant smile. Joking was untested waters, but it was also what Bobby did, after all.

Scott shrugged again, his answering smile brief and rueful. "Yeah, but that would've been the simple, direct way to approach the problem. Besides, at the time it would have made you feel better and I was so not in the mood." The off-hand comment almost achieved flippancy, but Scott's voice was serious again as he went on. "I don't want to make you feel worse now. But I'm... trying so hard to keep moving forward here, Bobby, and not obsess over what's in the past. Only I keep getting echoes of the stuff that fucked up my life this year, and the thing that's awkward is that I don't get anxious and internalize it all anymore. I want to hit things. And occasionally people."

"Hey, if you need me to give you some more space, it's cool. I understand, you've got a lot of shit on your plate," Bobby said quickly. "I just...don't want to be accused of pretending it never happened if I do." He shrugged, unconsciously hugging his jeans and t-shirt to his chest. They were talking, at least. And not yelling. It was progress, right?

"Just... bear with me, okay?" Scott's mouth twisted a little. "And I'm not going to accuse you of pretending it never happened. Not now that you've actually talked to me." Instead of letting Terry do it. "But it's not your fault - okay, it's partly your fault, but not entirely your fault, that I'm still angry about... stuff. I just need to either find a way to let it out, or, you know, go a couple of months with my wife without anything or anyone screwing up our marriage. I even know that you aren't going to ever do anything like that again," Scott conceded. "Just give me some time. I'm sure eventually that will win out over the lingering desire to break your jaw." He offered Bobby a crooked smile. "I've been a little crazy this year, in case you hadn't noticed."

Hadn't they all? But it was enough for Bobby to smile and nod. "Sounds fair to me," he said, and then fell silent for a few awkward, uncomfortable moments, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm gonna...go shower now," he added with a sheepish grin. "Just...take all the time you need, Scott."

"Mmm," Scott said, as Bobby vanished into the showers. Shaking his head, he got up and closed his locker door. "Really would've felt good to hit him," he muttered under his breath, half-amused, half-in a sigh.