Scott and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Scott and Jean-Paul test out the roofcouch and talk control issues, boredom, and parents.



Breathing hard, Scott lowered himself onto one of the stairs, stretching his bad leg out in front of him carefully - and attempting to not drop his crutches in the process. Goddamned stairs, he thought balefully. He was in good shape! Why were they so difficult? The shoulder he'd landed on in the Danger Room still ached, which wasn't helping.

His left eye alerted him to a skitter of movement coming up along side, and he looked down just in time to see a small, black rat scurrying up beside him. Nicodemus planted his forepaws expectantly on Scott's left hand and squeaked imperatively.

"What the devil are you doing out?" Scott asked, confused, as he lifted the little rat carefully. "You're too small to be wandering the halls, little guy. Someone might step on you."

"They would be doing me a favor." Jean-Paul rounded the corner, looking less than pleased with his wayward pet, who was now bruxing contentedly in Scott's palm. "I have decided -- that rat has mutant powers. That is the only way I can think to explain how he keeps getting out of the room." Jean-Paul noticed that Scott was on the floor and frowned. "Your knee did not give out, did it?"

"No, just... taking a break," Scott said, not quite meekly. He considered the situation, then set Nicodemus carefully on his shoulder and picked up his crutches again. "I hate the lack of mobility. And I'm starting to pine for the sun."

Jean-Paul smirked. "Well, if your dignity can take it, I can offer you a lift to the sunroom or the rooftop. Captain's choice."

Scott blinked, then grinned crookedly. "My dignity can take a great many things. Rooftop?" he said hopefully. Direct sun for a few hours would probably take care of some of the minor aches. "And do we need to drop my passenger back at your room beforehand?"

"Probably best for all concerned. At least that way we can leave from the window and may be spared the inevitable jokes that would come if I were to carry you through the halls. I can live quite happily without ever hearing the theme from 'The Bodyguard' again."

...............

"It appears to be holding up well, all things considered." The trip from the suite to the roof had been short and had involved pausing just long enough to drop off the rat and grab bottles of water. Jean-Paul leaned back against the arm of the newly re-installed couch, relaxing. "After two trips to the roof, I would have expected more wear and tear."

"They're not quite that destructive," Scott joked. He'd managed to prop up his leg quite acceptably. The sun was better than acceptable; the clouds were clearing, and it was actually pretty warm. "Give it a week or two. Although I find myself cringing a little at the thought of what some might decide to do on this couch..."

"What comes naturally, I would imagine." Jean-Paul seemed faintly amused by the idea. "And we, of course, must pretend that we have never heard of such a thing unless we trip over it in progress."

"God forbid." Scott looked over at the older man, raising an eyebrow. "So. How are things?" He made it deliberately vague; Jean-Paul could decide on which specifics, if any, he wanted to share, that way.

Jean-Paul picked at the label of his water bottle. "Things have been worse. Therapy is not killing me. I have not killed my therapist. I sleep through one out of every three nights these days. I have a date for prom. I have a crush on yet another uninterested party, but that is not keeping me from admiring the scenery. I am trying to convince Xavier that no, really, I will not run off my teaching assistant if I am allowed another one. My students remain brilliant up until they start tossing themselves off of the roof, then they are Nathan's students. So...about average, non? And you?"

The litany provoked a helpless laugh from Scott, who let his head sag back against the arm of the couch and sighed. "I'm bored. Overwhelming, painfully, terminally bored."

"I would suggest fishing, but any fish who have managed to survive in that lake can probably take us."

"There's something about fishing I could never quite grasp. Maybe because I'm not really all that crazy about fish." Scott shrugged. "It's my own damned fault. My boredom, I mean. I find I can be sanguine about it most times, but every so often..."

"The fact that you do not not feel as if you are actually doing anything begins to chew on you?" Jean-Paul rested his fist against his cheek. "Or worse, there are things happening that you might not be aware of while you are lying back and willing your connective tissues to mend?"

"Both," Scott confessed laconically. "I'm something of a control freak. Not that you'd know anything about that, of course..."

"Careful, mon brave," the Quebecois drawled back. "I am not above rolling invalids off of the roof and blaming gravity. But it does pass, or at least get better. You have a time table for that, at least. I think I am where I want to be, and I still get the urge to just do something some days. Like punch certain parents in the head."

"Mmmm. Johnny's?"

"I am still not convinced that the man is human." Jean-Paul sighed. "I work very hard at being a jaded ex-superhero, but that sort of thing still gets under my skin."

"I hate to be this practically-minded sometimes, but with situations like this - sometimes it's best to do what we can to mitigate the damage now, and then hope for a reconciliation later." Scott shrugged, his mouth twisting briefly. "Anything's possible."

"And you would be the authority on that." Jean-Paul stretched out a bit, feline lazy in the sun. "And if not, there are worse things to be than a role model." A slight smirk. "Or so I am told."

"Well, I can hope for a slightly less eventful sort of reconciliation for Johnny. More reconciling. Fewer pirates. You know."

"Fifteen year old with an indifferent stump of a parent. He probably dreams of finding out that his real father is a pirate." Jean-Paul twitched. "This reminds me. Mother's Day is coming up. I have to think of an excuse not to go north."

"Not to go north?" Scott asked, curious.

"I do not get on well with Anne-Marie's family, but she will not believe it. So I make excuses, send flowers, and visit a month late."

"I see. Well... claim a workplace related injury, after prom?" Scott's eye gleamed with mischief. "We could probably convince a couple of students to tackle you, or drop a chandelier on your head, or something along those lines..."

"When you hit the ground, I am claiming it was mind control."