David & Scott | Thanksgiving (backdated)

[x-maverick.livejournal.com]

Scott spies David smoking outside the mansion and gets suspicious. Then ends up offering the scruffy stranger a place to nap.


Tearing the plastic from his new packet of cigarettes, David jogged down the steps of the mansion and slipped around the side. With practiced ease, he packed the nicotine before drawing a stick and lighting it, glancing about to make sure that there were no children in sight. Satisfied, he hunkered down by the wall, leaning casually against it as he took a long drag, relishing in the acrid taste and burn that it left at the back of his throat.
 
Exhaustion had seated itself firmly on him and try as he might, he could not quite shake off the lethargy that had settled on him. The cigarette was, therefore, a necessity if he was to survive the drive back to the Brownstone later.
 
Scott pulled his car around to the front of the mansion ready to pick up Jean for the drive to her parents house for Thanksgiving lunch. He started up the stairs to the mansion before spotting a figure skulking furtively in the shadows of the mansion's stairs while smoking. Grimacing he stopped walking up the stairs and moved round to examine the figure. "Hey you there, what do you think you're doing?" he called.
 
David gazed semi-dispassionately at the approaching figure, flicking the ash from his cigarette as he cocked his head to the side and studied the new arrival. “Smoking,” he replied simply, and took a pointed drag. He had, quite obviously, heard the car pull up. If he were hiding anything, chances were he would have scurried off, cigarette in hand. But to pacify the man, just in case, he drew an ashtray from the pocket and offered a crooked smile. “I won’t litter. Promise.”
 
Scott blinked and tilted his head to examine David, "I don't think I've met you have I?" he asked cautiously. "Are you waiting for someone?"
 
“Marie-Ange,” David replied, by way of explanation. Placing the ashtray on a step, he took another drag from the cigarette. “I doubt we’ve met. I’m pretty much never here.”  
 
"I see," Scott replied suspiciously making a note to check the story with Marie-Ange later. "Well hi then I guess," he stuck out his hand, "I'm Scott Summers".
 
“David North,” the other man obliged, his cigarette transferring hands as he reached to grasp Scott’s in a firm enough grip. He recognised that name. Something had to be said about the level of caution the adults around here were taking. Which was to be expected, but still. “The Thanksgiving party seems to have congregated in the kitchen if you’re looking to join it.”
 
That said, he felt about in his pockets for his pills and breathed a little easier when his fingers closed about the small cylinder. David could really do with an energy boost from it. Maybe just one before he took to the road again.
 
"I'm just here to pick up my wife" Scott replied glancing at his watch before looking up at the door. He glanced speculatively at David wondering if he should ask Jean to scan him before banishing the thought from his mind. "So how do you know Marie-Ange?" He asked conversationally as he leaned back against the wall.
 
“I work at the Snow Valley Centre,” David responded readily, taking another pull from his cigarette before ashing it. He was considerate enough to expel the smoke in the other direction from his new companion. Wasn’t Scott headed into the mansion? Perhaps giving a stranger the third degree took precedence. “She hates parking. So I’m here as her chauffer.” For the most part.
 
"I see", Scott nodded and nodded towards his car, "Chauffeur duty, eh. Someone has to do it, at least you get to drive to the mansion" he continued with a wan smile on his face. "The party inside seems to be going all out. Although you don't really look in the mood for much of a party", he continued casting an eye over David's dishevelled appearance.
 
“Long day. Came straight from the airport, actually.” David shook his head somewhat ruefully. “But I had a shower and they promised to feed me and let me take a nap on someone’s couch so I can’t complain much.”
 
So far, the German man had ignored Scott’s searching gaze in favour of stubbing out his cigarette, withdrawing the medicine container from his coat pocket as he did so. He shook out and dry-swallowed one pill before turning his head to finally meet Scott’s eyes, just about managing to crack a weary grin. “You seem about ready to avoid the chaos as well.”
 
Scott returned the grin, "I'm heading out to the in-laws for lunch" he confided. He raised an eyebrow at the medicine in David's hand, "Is that medicine? Are you ok? he asked.
 
“I’m fine. They’re like caffeine pills,” David explained briefly, contemplating a second stick.
 
"Caffeine pills?" Scott inquired. "Are you really that tired, we could probably find a couch for you to crash on" he offered gesturing at the mansion.
 
“I am really that tired,” David admitted, running his thumb along the stubble on his chin. He was, in fact, considering leaving Marie-Ange to her own devices, sure that her boyfriend would see her home. Not that she particularly needed seeing home. “But I’ll be fine.”
 
"If you're popping pills then you should probably be sleeping instead" Scott informed David. "You could probably find a quiet spot" he trailed to a stop, it was thanksgiving he realised. "Maybe the infirmary will be quieter, it's pretty crazy around here most of the time.”
 
“I’ve heard stories.” About the insanity and hilarity of all things to do with Xavier’s school children and their escapades. “And perhaps I should. Do you have to go in to look for Mrs. Summers, or is she going to come out?”
 
Scott glanced at his watch and then started in surprise. "I should have gone in after her a while ago, come on lets see if we can find you a spot to lie down for a while while we're at it" he replied as he started back up the steps to the mansion.
 
With little else to do but follow, David grabbed the ashtray and followed Scott into the mansion. He was loathe to admit but he really could do with the lie down. There was, it seemed, a limit to how long he could go without sleep.