Scott and Paul, Tuesday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Paul attempts to instruct Scott in the art of relaxation. The results are mixed, but Scott finds out that Paul is quite a good listener. Pool is played.



"You know, I actually feel guilty?" Scott said, peering into his beer. "It's very sad. But part of my mind is still going through and listing all the things I could be doing at the mansion tonight..."

Paul gave Scott a long, cool look. "You really need to cut that out. Here." He got up and went over to the bar, threading through the tables, and spoke briefly to Harry. He returned with a pencil and paper. "Write them down," he ordered, slapping them down on the table in front of Scott.

"As a way of getting them out of my head?" Scott asked, but complied, scrawling them down in the order that they'd occurred to him. "I could be at this for a while," he said wryly, lifting his beer with his free hand.

"I age gracefully." Paul picked up his own beer and propped his feet up on an empty chair. "Write." He shifted so that he could watch the other patrons without having to move too much to track people playing pool across the room. The scenery was more than acceptable, he mused. Harry's was definitely mutant-tolerant and therefore drew its share of interesting sights.

"I haven't been down here in a while," Scott said, taking a sip of his beer and then continuing to write. "Last time... okay, so I don't remember the last time. I've turned into quite the homebody. Funny how that happens."

"Mmm," Paul said thoughtfully. "That would be the funny mechanism called overwork, I expect. Oiled with a good dose of being a little too responsible, which is admirable in the right time and place," he held up a hand to ward off any protests from Scott, "I wouldn't have turned my services over to just anyone. You've got a good reputation." He poured himself more beer and leaned over to top Scott's glass up.

Scott nodded in thanks, continuing to write. "So how are you settling in?" he asked. Doing the Leaderly Thing, check. Almost despite himself, a little amused smile tugged at his lips.

Paul laughed at him, catching the smile, and shook his head. "No update for you," he said, teasing. "Unless that was a purely social question, of course. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm not sure you remember how to do one of those."

"Let's pretend it's a social question?" Scott asked, the smile growing. "Because I am interested. On the purely social level. The school can be a little jarring for new folk."

"I'm fine, personally," Paul said. "Delphine's fine. No one's scratched my car. Everyone's been civil, at the very least. So, all's well. I'm getting to know people as I go along."

"I'm hearing very disturbing things about Delphine and Nathan's bird," Scott said with a grin. "Apparently there's some kind of grand alliance afoot to take over the mansion and terrify all the puppies?"

"I'm a terrible parent," Paul said mournfully. "They go out and rough up the other pets and flatten the flowerbeds and get high on catnip down by the lake. Frankly, I'd be a little envious if I weren't trying to keep my dignity."

"Warren and Lorna aren't keen on all the new additions," Scott said, "but personally, I'm tickled by it. Good to see the kids... well, being kids and doting over cute animals. It's a definite improvement on the soap-opera that is so often their lives."

"That sounds like work-talk." Paul gave Scott a mock-frown. "We can discuss pet therapy, bonding, and abandonment issues in children another time. Drink your beer," he said sternly. "Then I think a game of pool is in order when that list is finished."

"This relaxation thing seems very strict," Scott said, half-amazed at his own teasing tone. "Glad I have guidance." He added a few more items to the list, mostly having to do with the training schedule he was still trying to draw up. "I swear my handwriting is getting worse as I get older," he muttered, peering at the list. "I don't know that I'm going to be able to read this later..."

"That's okay." Paul smiled reassuringly. "It's not your handwriting, it's your eyesight. Are you about done?"

Scott blinked at him, then looked back down at the list. "Um, yes," he said after a moment. Twenty-eight items. There were probably about three times that, really, but... no, he was done, Scott decided abruptly, setting down the pen. "You mentioned something about pool?"

"Yes. Can I see that?" Paul held out his hand for the list.

Scott handed the list over a bit warily.

"Thanks." Paul took it and looked it over, nodding seriously. "You're a busy man," he noted. Then he pulled a lighter out of his shirt pocket and set the list on fire. His smile was purely devilish as he watched Scott's expression.

Scott laughed aloud before he could help himself. "Burn, baby, burn," he quipped, taking a long sip of his beer.

Paul let it burn down far past the point where it should have hurt, dropping it only when the flames were actually licking his fingertips. The fire consumed the last corner of the paper before it fell into the puddle of condensation from the pitcher of beer with the rest of the ashes. "Ready to play?"

"If you promise to take it easy on me," Scott said with as bland a look as he could muster. "Rusty. Very rusty."

"I'll be gentle," Paul promised, equally blandly. "You go look stern and get us a table, I've got to return this lighter to the nice boy in the leather pants at the bar." He picked up his beer and headed back to the bar. He paused once to look over his shoulder at Scott, to check up on his progress.

The stern look wasn't actually necessary, as one of the tables had apparently been vacated within the last few minutes. Scott set up the table, smiling to himself. It had been entirely too long since he'd played pool, too.

Paul gave the nice boy in the leather pants back his lighter and regretfully avoided getting into any kind of conversation. Armed with more beer and a complete lack of shame at getting trounced at pool, losing could be an excellent tool sometimes, he joined Scott at the table. "What's your game?" he asked, selecting a cue.

"Eight-ball?" Scott said disingenuously, wondering just how much he could get away with here. Paul was a relative newcomer to the mansion, after all. And it had been long enough since Scott had played pool regularly that no one might have warned him...

Paul wasn't buying it for a moment, not that he knew how good Scott was, but he knew when someone was playing cute. Years with Aurora had taught him that one. He'd also learned to play along. "Of course." He gave Scott a tolerant smile and pulled a coin out of his pocket; how a stray loonie had gotten in there was beyond him. He must not have worn these jeans for a while. "Call it?" He flipped the coin into the air.

"Heads," Scott said, watching the loonie arc in the air and then fall back down to Paul's waiting hand. Whether or not Paul was on to him, this was still going to be fun, he told himself firmly. And fun, especially fun out of the mansion, was good.

Paul caught the coin, his hand flicking out at an odd moment so quickly it looked almost as though he'd been watching it flip. He slapped it on to the back of his other hand and held it under the light over the pool table. Heads. "Your choice. You want to break?"

"Sure," Scott said, picking out a cue and turning his attention to the table. Stripe, he decided, mapping out the angles with one quick glance, and pocketed his first ball with ease.

Of course. Scott's mutation would have pushed him to learn all about angles and trajectories. Paul leaned on the other end of the table, beer in hand, and watched Scott almost sink the next shot. Off by a hair. "You are rusty," Paul observed. "Drink your beer. This may be my only chance to win a game against you." He ran his fingers through his hair and came around to take his shot. The table was full of options so he took the easy one to catch up. For his second shot, he settled for clearing a couple balls off the rail and burying the cue ball at the far end, just to make things a little more challenging.

Scott grinned as he watched Paul. "Been a while, like I said. For some bizarre reason, I have trouble finding people who'll play with me for more than a few games." He sized up the table - this was a bit more complex, this time - and then took a shot. Another ball in the pocket. "Poker's the same, although the person you want to watch out for there is Sam."

"I figured out long ago that I was going to have to pick and choose what I was good at. The things I didn't pick, I don't mind losing at, but I prefer to improve when I can. Poker, I can do. I think it's a team requirement for Alphaflight." He looked up at Scott with a bit of a sheepish grin, blue eyes sparkling under thick lashes. "The things I did pick, I mind losing at enough that it's best there's just a few of them."

"Seems like a good philosophy to me," Scott said cheerfully, taking another shot. Another ball in the pocket. "I've been thinking about that quite a bit since Haroun stole my plane."

Another person might be annoyed at Scott's methodical table-clearing, but Paul didn't mind at all. The tension faded from the other man's body as he watched the table and took his shots. Really, Paul told himself, that was the game they were playing. And he was winning. "What? Losing gracefully?"

Scott nodded, pausing to study the remaining balls on the table. Tricky, he thought. "Or not even losing," he said, answering Paul almost without thinking. "Coming to terms with different degrees of success and failure..."

"Sometimes all it takes is recognizing what your game really is." Paul finished his beer and put the glass down on the shelf along the wall. "But you're right, it's never black and white, is it? I've won arguments I've prayed I'd lost instead. Just couldn't stop trying to win in the moment."

Scott took his next shot, grimacing. Just a bit off, again. "I really am rusty," he commented. "As for black and white... contrary to popular belief at the school, I do recognize the shades of gray. Or at least the shades of red."

Paul handed Scott his beer and slid between him and the table to line up the first of a pair of shots he was sure he could make. "I don't doubt it," he said quietly. "But I'm sure it's easier for people to look at it that way, instead of assuming that your choices might reflect what's best for them intstead of what you might actually be thinking. Hazard of having that facade up all the time."

Scott laid his cue aside and picked up his own beer, taking a sip. "I tell myself it doesn't really matter what they think, so long as I'm doing what's right for them," he said almost abruptly, watching Paul assess the table. "Cold comfort sometimes."

"Guess you'd better find some warm comfort then." Paul looked back over his shoulder for a moment and gave Scott a wicked grin and then laughed. He managed to focus again, though, making his shot cleanly. "When they grow up, they'll thank you. Still, doing what's right for everyone else is a terrible habit if you can't shake it once in a while. I hear it's epidemic. I'm immune," he noted with some pride, moving to take another shot.

Scott couldn't help a slight flush at Paul's first comment. "I don't do so well when it comes to myself," he said, watching Paul prepare for his next shot. "Tend to take the easy way out and wind up doing the wrong thing for someone else in the process."

"Practice makes perfect." Paul shocked himself by making the next shot, barely. He really hadn't expected that, but somtimes things just fell into place. "Just like relaxing. You need to work at it or you'll just go too far when you try." There was no way he could sink another ball, not at his skill level, so he again resorted to making life a little harder for Scott. No, not harder. More interesting. That was a better way to say it. "And people will be less offended when you do. No one takes it personally if I want to sleep in the sun all afternoon."

"I think half the population of the mansion would drop dead of shock if they saw me trying to sleep away the afternoon in the sun," Scott quipped as he leaned over the table. "The other half would probably be dragging me to the Professor to check that I wasn't possessed..."

Scott froze. Oh, shit. He hadn't just said that. His hands clenched around the cue and he straightened for a moment, tilting his face away from Paul, pretending to study the table.

Paul didn't miss the change, but he held his peace, refilling his glass in the pause. "Then I suppose some practice is in order," he said quietly. Before you implode, he added silently. He leaned against the wall, looking down at the glass in his hands, glancing up briefly to assess Scott's state.

Scott concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment, letting the shame at his choice of words die away on its own. She wasn't here, hadn't heard his gaffe. That was what was important. "Too many things to do," he bantered a bit weakly. "Not enough hours in the day." Feeling a little calmer, he picked his next shot, and two balls landed in the pockets this time. "I never liked that cliche. Too true."

"Too easy," Paul retorted, smiling a little.

"Plus you can actually fit a lot into an hour," Scott said, trying to decide on a next shot. "Not always the stuff you need to be dealing with, but at the very least stuff that needs doing." And now he was babbling. He sighed, leaning over the table and taking another shot. Ball in the pocket. "I don't usually babble this much. Really."

"If you were boring me, I'd wouldn't be listening," Paul said dryly. "Does that help?"

"It's reassuring. Generally, people do tell me when I'm being dull. Or pedantic. Particularly when I'm being pedantic." Was it the beer? Except he hadn't actually finished his first yet. So it couldn't be the beer. "Also when I'm being prudish, hard-hearted, inflexible, cold-blooded, or just plain old unhelpful. Did I mention that I'm not precisely everyone's favorite staff member?"

"No, you didn't." Paul met Scott's gaze levelly. "I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because the bulk of the school consists of teenagers lusting for a little authority to defy. And maybe it's also because what you're good at is leading adults, not raising children." Again with the dichotomy. Infuriating. "Then again, as someone who definitely qualifies as hard-hearted, inflexible, cold-blooded, unhelpful, and pedantic on a regular basis, I could be biased toward my own kind."

Scott managed a faint smile for Paul's last comment, but then attended to the real subject at hand. "They're good kids, some of them. Most of them." He stared down at the table, as if he was thinking about his next shot, although he wasn't really seeing the balls. "Jean was better with them than I was."

"You are what you are," Paul said simply. "And they may be good kids, but they're not becoming better adults by disrespecting someone who does right by them." He'd have sold his soul as a kid to be in Scott's care, no matter how the students saw him, even if they saw clearly. His expression was cool, his voice even and pragmatic. "They could have worse. You're good enough."

The calm in Paul's words was oddly soothing, and Scott straightened, pulling himself back out of memory and to the here and now. "It's helping to have new people to share the load," he said quietly, focusing on the table this time. "You, Sean, Nathan, Haroun... we were understaffed, to be honest. And that's not even touching on the team issues."

"And that would qualify as work talk," Paul chided, coming over and pointing at the best shot available. "And whatever it is, it's being fixed and it's not going to get more fixed at ten o'clock at night on a Tuesday. Now get back to clearing the table. Practice, remember?"

Scott ignored the shot Paul had pointed out and took another. Three balls landed in the pockets this time, and he couldn't help a grin. "Practice," he agreed almost cheerfully and turned his attention to the eight-ball.

"It's a good thing I know how to stand around looking decorative," Paul said facetiously, setting one hand on his hip and shaking his hair back.

Scott opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, regarding Paul thoughtfully. "Best two out of three?" he asked, and sank the eight-ball. "The night's still young."

"And so are we, no matter what the students think." Paul picked up the rack and started to collect the balls. "Go finish your beer," he directed. "If I bring you home stone-sober, I'll never forgive myself.'