Scott and Jean-Paul, Monday evening

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott makes good on his offer, and finds out what's troubling Jean-Paul (prior to beating him at pool).


It was early evening, and Harry's regular clientele were still trickling in, leaving the bar mostly empty.

Jean-Paul had opted to arrive on his own and had procured a booth to wait for Scott. He was feeling entirely anti-social so much as self-conscious and, either way, he didn't care for it in the least. He knew perfectly well that this thing that had so shaken him had taken place long enough ago that it was likely beyond trivial to anyone else who might know. Probably better if he kept his mouth shut about it. That would be a first, wouldn't it?

Scott, on his way in, got a drink at the bar first. "Time with my mother-in-law," he explained as he joined Jean-Paul at the booth. "It kind of provokes the urge to dive for cover along with the nearest source of alcohol."

"I suppose I got off easy. I had to spend less than half a day with my family stand-in, all told." Jean-Paul had a glass of cranberry juice in front of him. "But you enjoyed yourself more than not?"

Scott paused, considering that. "... I suppose there were some good moments in Alaska," he conceded, his lips twitching. "Although I would have been drinking heavily there, too - my father deigned to show up -if my grandmother hadn't given me a sorrowful look and talked about how much more she'd enjoy Christmas if there wasn't any paternal smacking on my part. Manipulative old woman."

Jean-Paul chuckled softly. "There are other kinds? But at least your father is trying mend things. Or was he actively looking for a beating?"

"He's never stopped trying to mend things," Scott said, somewhat grudgingly. "He tries very hard. And constantly." And if he wasn't careful, it was too easy to get sucked in. Pushing the thought away, Scott gave Jean-Paul a wry smile. "Holidays are always such an entertaining time, aren't they?"

"Nothing quite like a blanket memo to be social and grateful to make you want to lock yourself in your room with perhaps one other person and sufficient supplies, then barricade the door." Jean-Paul considered for a moment. "Or run for the hills."

"Mmm." Scott leaned back, eyeing the cranberry juice. "I'm guessing that's non-alcoholic," he said. "Your way of telling me that plying you with alcohol isn't going to work as a method to get you to tell me what happened?"

"My way of reminding myself that I've gotten drunk too many times in the last few weeks for comfort. It was edging over from social lubricant to crutch and it seemed a good idea to step back a little." Jean-Paul shrugged. "It could be an overreaction, but it hurts nothing to test. As for what happened..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I found out that it is true, if you repeat lies often enough, you come to believe them yourself. Shiro and I decided to run some trials, to see just how fast I am on the slopes without my powers. It was...not impressive."

Scott's first impulse was to ask Jean-Paul exactly what he'd been hoping to prove to himself with that, but thankfully, he'd had long practice at not going with his first response in conversations like this. "You've never talked much about this part of your life," he said. "I didn't know that it was something that still bothered you."

"Occasionally. I did not entertain it as a serious possibility that I had cheated. I did not remember making the decision and so many other things about those days are so clear in my mind..." He sighed. "I had manifested by the time I was winning championships. I thought maybe I could have pushed myself. Unconsciously. But I had so much else going on the tail of the Olympic scandal that it was a long time before I even had time enough to wonder about it, and then it seemed unimportant."

"What brought on the experimentation after all this time?" Scott asked.

"Shiro and I ran into an old rival of mine when we went skiing. He reminded me that I'm best remembered for being in disgrace and it reminded me that I had doubts. I could not leave well enough alone, I suppose."

"Yeah, that sort of thing always seems to end in tears, doesn't it? Metaphorically, of course." Scott paused, sipping at his drink. "I don't know," he went on after a moment. "If you didn't make the conscious choice to use your powers, I don't think you can call it cheating. Cheating involves intent. I also feel the need to point out that you're quite a bit older than you were back then, and possibly haven't been spending quite so much time training. At least on the slopes. There are a number of factors here."

"My intent was to win, Scott. At any cost. Success meant I could support myself, and that meant that I would never wind up in another foster home. I knew the word 'mutant' later, but I had manifested. I was different. At some point, I had to have made the choice. And, for the life of me, I cannot recall doing so. If I chose to lie, then I lied. I can see myself doing so, for so many reasons. That is not my issue." He frowned at his glass. "Pursuing skiing gave me my security yet cost me dearly, and I still gave it up when I joined Alpha Flight and went public with my mutancy. I'd like to think that I remember all of that and my motivations for doing so clearly."

"You may not ever be able to answer that to your own satisfaction," Scott said after a moment, almost tentatively. "Hindsight can obscure things, too."

"Perhaps. Either way, it gives me a reason to reevaluate, non? Whatever the truth, I am obviously still dwelling on it. I need to indulge in some dissection of self."

"Can I make a suggestion that will possibly have you rolling your eyes at me?" Scott took another sip of his drink, then went on. "Talk to Charles. He actually does a really good sounding board."

"If anyone else were making the suggestion, I would be. I respect Xavier but..." He glanced away, then snorted. "I was going to say something about it being hard to talk to telepaths, but I suppose all the time I spend with Nate puts the lie to that. I will think on it, anyway."

"If it helps, he doesn't do the 'ooh, I am a master telepath, I know more about you than you do about yourself' schtick that some of the kids claim he does," Scott said with a smile. "It's more... nudging you in the direction necessary to see things for yourself. Although admittedly he's had to use a club with me a few times."

"And why should I be the only one beating myself about the head and shoulders for being an idiot when there are trained professionals under the same roof?" At least he was smiling in return, wry as the expression was. "I notice that the pool tables are unoccupied. Would you care to deliver my beating now, or should I order you another beer just to make it interesting?"

"A mere two beers aren't going to make it interesting," Scott said, rising. The smile had turned into a rather alarmingly shark-like grin. "It usually takes... oh, eight. Unless you're a telekinetic."

Oh, wonderful.

"'Boy Scout' my entire ass," Jean-Paul snarked, signaling the waitress.