Scott and Jean-Paul - Backdated to the night of the 30th

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul stops by to discuss his lesson plan with Scott. The two share beer, are optimistic for all of two seconds, then get back to normal.




"I stocked up on beer for this weekend," Scott said, opening the
fridge. "Really, the thought of my wife running around with Nathan in
Africa makes me want to drink something considerably harder, but, you
know. Have to be ready to respond when they blow up a small
country..." He grabbed two bottles, handing one to Jean-Paul as he
turned around. "Jean claims I have no faith in her. I prefer to think
of it as realism."

The older man leaning against the kitchen's small breakfast bar nodded
his thanks for the drink. The lesson plan he'd come in to discuss had
joined a small mountain of papers and folders on the Summers' coffee
table in the living room behind them, still unopened. "Just let her
know that it's not her you need to worry about, non? She came back
from the dead. Not everyone is so resilient. And I will be put out if
my climbing partner comes back minus any limbs."

"Nonsense. The thing about her having come back from the dead is that
I can't hope for a repeat performance," Scott said, not quite in
amusement as he emerged from the kitchenette. "Plus they have my
brother with them. They're probably teaching him all kids of bad
habits as we speak."

"Tell her you're worrying for your workload, then -- if I get upset
with her, you'll have to train a new teacher while what's left of me
recovers in medlab." The Quebecois flashed Scott a nearly impish grin
over his beer; something had him in a good mood tonight. "But how is
Alex?"

"Taller than I am. Training as an X-Man. Occasionally referring to the
drones in the Danger Room as 'dude'." Scott repressed a smile.
"Seriously, he's good. Hasn't even been kidnapped recently."

"Sane, happy, and not currently being treated as a damsel in distress.
What more could an older brother ask for?"

"He's had his ups and downs, the last couple of years. But who of us
haven't?" Scott gestured Jean-Paul to a seat, and sat down in one of
the armchairs himself. "Tell me, is it at all like tuning back into a
soap opera after having not watched for a couple of years? Coming back
here, I mean."

The lack of an instant, glib retort showed that the speedster was
giving the matter actual thought. "Frustrating, frightening, and
vaguely guilt-inducing," he finally decided. "And also satisfying.
Surprisingly so, actually."

"Good to hear," Scott said, and actually did stop for a moment to
process the real satisfaction he felt at Jean-Paul's answer. He
supposed it was just nice to see someone coming back and... well,
enjoying their return. How often did that happen? "I get the sense
you're eager for the new term to start."

"The new students are an interesting bunch, the children and the older
ones; I do not think I will be bored." Jean-Paul sipped his beer. "And
yes, I am. But I do tend to forge ahead when I have something to
prove."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm unfamiliar with the impulse...
but who are you proving what to?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Myself, mostly. I detest leaving a thing half-done. How am I supposed
to keep up my overinflated self-image with loose threads scattering
the path behind me?" The glibness was back and the accompanying smile
a more polished, close-lipped affair.

"Well, I'm all for tying up loose ends," Scott said, not missing the
change in tone. He took a sip of his beer, to give them both a moment.
"I don't miss the headmaster's job," he said finally. "Even with less
teaching to be done in general. I actually have spare time these days,
can you believe that?"

Jean-Paul chuckled softly, the mask he'd ducked behind receding.
"I can believe it, but I cannot guess what you would do with it."

"There are all kind of machines that go fast around here. I get to
spend quality time with them - it's very nice. Plus, you know, there's
more than enough to keep me busy with the team," Scott said wryly.
"Which is beginning to resemble a small army lately."

"Not such a bad thing, I think. It means a wide variety of role models
for the up and coming students." Jean-Paul glanced down at his wrist,
playful again. "I even managed to say the words without breaking out
in hives. I must be having a good night."

"The X-Men? Role models? You must be joking. We're the anti-role
models," Scott snorted. "Like I told you, Charles had to invent a
whole new program so that the students didn't try to make like us." He
made a face, sipping at his beer.

"You are more than the sum of your spandex, but that is not what I was
referring to anyway. Having someone who has already had to cope with
being a mutant or from a broken or intolerant family or whatever
miserable point of commonality you like is something I would wager
most of these students need."

"You think we'll ever see a world where being a mutant isn't ranked
alongside all those other miserable points of commonality?" Scott
sighed, raising both eyebrows. "I sometimes wonder if Charles is
really as optimistic as he claims to be, or if it's just pure
stubbornness in the face of overwhelming evidence."

"Absolutely not. Difference is always a difficulty, and mutations make
for unique difficulties atop that. But I believe the degree of
difficulty must decrease." Jean-Paul set his beer down atop his lesson
plan. "I only just avoided adding 'homosexual' to the list because I
am in a good mood, but I could go home, find some stupid and beautiful
young man, and get married tomorrow if I wished it. Ten years ago,
that would have been fiction. Go back twenty and it would have been
unmentionable. Thirty, unthinkable. Mutants, well...teenagers being
able to crush cars barehanded is even more frightening than having to
admit that the faggot next door is an equal. It has taken and will take
longer, but I think living as a mutant will come down to the level of ordinary
human unhappiness in most cases."

"We're going to be alarmingly old men if it takes thirty years," Scott
said wryly. "Sitting out on the back porch, smacking each other with
our canes and talking about the good old days. Boring the kids." Yet
it was an appealing mental image, for all of that. "See, now, you have
me thinking positively. Next I'll be dreaming about getting the chance
to die in bed."

"If it makes you feel more normal, my answer ten years ago would have
been considerably less positive and more profane. And to further ruin
your night, you get the joy of trying to follow my logic in regards to
pedagogy. That should be enough to put that stoic set back to your
jaw."

"Dear God, we can't have that." Scott eyed him for a moment, taking a
sip of beer to buy himself a moment. "There's something you haven't
mentioned, since you got back - and just to put a disclaimer on my
intentions here, if you haven't mentioned if for a reason, I'm fine
with that. As I said, the team is turning into a small army
anyway..."

Jean-Paul waved off Scott's caution and eyed the rest of his beer. "It
is fine. My distance from the subject is mostly a case of having been
there, done that, and having the scars to prove it. I know the X-Men
are not Alpha Flight, but still...I have never been especially good as
a team player and I am not certain that I wish to attempt it again,
particularly while I'm still feeling my way around here." A slight
smile. "And then there is the matter of things being done halfway.
Even if it's for the sake of saving the world, I think falling behind
on my papers would put me out of sorts. Do you need an answer
immediately?"

Scott shook his head instantly. "No," he said quietly, and his smile,
though slight, was still somehow warm. "And whatever the answer is in
the end, Jean-Paul - I'm fine with it. I wanted to ask, that's all. I
don't doubt that if Magneto came knocking on the door tomorrow, you'd
be right there along with the rest of us defending the kids, whatever
you decide re the X-Men." He sighed, shaking his head and then lifting
his beer again. "That would have been a more amusing image a month
ago."

"Oh, yes?" The words had the distance of distraction to them.
Something in what Scott had said, it had taken Jean-Paul's thoughts
out of the room.

"Well," Scott said a bit helplessly, "it was always my ultimate
hypothetical nightmare image, you know? Magneto, showing up for
tea..." He shrugged, not missing Jean-Paul's distraction but letting
it pass, since he had no idea what had caused it.

Jean-Paul's eyes narrowed a bit as he came back to the present and
finally retrieved his beer. "If he does, then odds are I'll be
explaining to you why I saw fit to go through the man instead of just
hitting him. He is a primary reason that it may take us thirty years
to make anything like decent progress on the mutancy front. I thought
for a time that he might be the impetus behind all of you in the
States being tracked down and sewn into jackets with double-helix
badges on them. Well, until last month, he would have been the main reason,
but now I suppose he gets to share the infamy." He drank deeply. "But
I know -- X-Men do not kill. And I suppose that even if I do not take
on the training, the association with the school is enough that I
count."

Scott's smile was humorless, and the look in his real eye had gone
distant; his turn, apparently. "X-Men don't kill," he said abruptly,
"until we do."

Jean-Paul went silent a moment, whatever irritation he'd been building
snuffed by that quiet bombshell.

"Desole. When did it happen?"

"New York. And then, New York. It's not been a great fall." The corner
of Scott's mouth curled upwards in what was most definitely not a
smile. "The rules haven't changed," he said. "It just seems like
circumstances get ahead of us, sometimes. The stakes are higher.
There's less room for doing things carefully. No breathing room."

"Nothing but waiting for the world to fall in if you misstep and no
notice for getting it right." Jean-Paul stood to replenish their
drinks, stretching slightly. "For all the problems I had with Alpha
Flight, they at least got credit when they did good. You here have no
luck at all in that respect."

"We don't do it for recognition," Scott said, a bitter edge to his
voice. "Contrary to the belief of some. None of us got up one morning
and decided we wanted to be Heroes, with the capital H."

"No sane man does," Jean-Paul responded mildly, "but you do well
enough in the role. Of course, this does come from the one who was
gone far longer than he was here."

"I do my best. I hate doing it from the sidelines," Scott
muttered. "There were all kinds of ways I could have justified going
with the team to Wakanda. But the reasons not to go were better." He
smiled thinly, picking up his beer again. "Anyway. You don't need to
listen to me stew. Give me a second and I'll have it all safely
internalized again - yep, there we go."

Jean-Paul returned with fresh beers and made an exaggerated show of
sizing Scott up. "Hm. The smile is not quite convincing; it does not
reach the eyes -- but I suppose that is excusable. Those shoulders
will never do, far too stiff to be truly at ease. But don't worry, you
are young yet. Plenty of time to get it right."

"Well, I get loads and loads of practice. And when I slip, I go beat
on the heavy bag until my knuckles are bloody. As self-destructive
behavior goes, it's infinitely preferable to some of my past
practices." There was a gleam of humor in Scott's real eye. "Also,
it's good practice for the times I actually need to thump people."

"You should come climbing with Nate and I sometime. Abundant stress
relief and less wear-and-tear on the knuckles." Jean-Paul glanced back
down at the folder and mentally shrugged. Later.

Scott intercepted the look, though. "Shall we?" he asked. "If we're
productive, then we can reward ourselves with more beer." He gave
Jean-Paul a crooked grin.

"So good to be back. Let's."