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xp_logsPaul corners Scott in an empty classroom when he catches Scott skulking and avoiding people. They talk, whether Scott wants to or not. Paul pushes as far as he can go.
Your idea of pulling it together is covering up the bleeding. You know what that song's about, don't you?
He almost missed the sound of the next set of footsteps approaching. They were too quiet, even on the polished wooden floor, and Scott spotted the shadow of the person coming around the corner as he ducked quickly into the classroom beside him.
Empty, thankfully. Scott closed the door quietly behind him and moved across the room to the windows, staring out at the grounds. He could hear laughter from somewhere outside - kids, he assumed.
"How's hiding working out for you?" Paul's dry voice drifted over from the doorway. He'd come along behind Scott silently, barefoot and soundless as he often was, and he'd slipped in through the still-open door while Scott's back was turned. He shut the door behind him with a small metallic snick before pacing slowly toward the teacher's desk, eyes on Scott the whole time.
Scott managed not to jump at the unexpected question. He looked back at Paul, managing a brief, tight smile. "Morning, Paul," he said, deliberately not answering the question. "How's your sister?"
"Slightly less psychotic," Paul answered, shrugging. "She's spending more time in this world than not. She's getting pretty close to what passes for normal for her, with the exception of the mood-swings. And you didn't answer me." His tone was bland and yet somehow still managed to be provocative, a little irritating. He'd practiced it for years. He sat down on the big desk, watching Scott with narrowed blue eyes. "My beloved captain doesn't slink around in the halls, dodging people. Talk."
"Not much to talk about." Scott turned back to the window. The sunlight was flooding in, but it wasn't as warm as it should have been. "I messed up, I'll fix it, enough said." Except he hadn't really addressed the slinking around in the halls question, had he? "And I'm just giving people a chance to cool down."
"By skulking around like a dog with your tail between your legs? What the hell, Scott?" Paul ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard to mitigate his frustration. "You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. And even if you did, in some alternate universe where you're not allowed to be flawed and human like the rest of us, you apologized. If you're just trying to avoid the uptight, holier-than-thou cunts out there who want you to take all the heat and pretend it doesn't affect you, that's no reason to avoid the people who actually give a shit about you-the-man. It doesn't end when we take off the uniforms, Scott. There are people around here who want to support you. Not blindly or stupidly, either. Give us some credit for having judged you and found you worthy of some loyalty and respect."
"I'm fine, Paul." Why was no one believing him when he said that? It was getting kind of frustrating. "I just..." He trailed off, staring blindly through the windows. His mind was running in circles, trying to find some way out of this conversation and failing. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Just let him address the problem, and leave him alone...
"Bullshit," Paul said flatly. "A man who is fine does not avoid people. I know this from personal experience. Scott. Don't make me push this until it breaks, because I will. I said yesterday that if I thought you weren't fit, I'd make the kids and all their snarking look like kindergarten. I meant it. Talk. Convince me that you're okay, if you can. Convince me that when you say to me "Paul, go there", I can go without second-thought, even if my life is on the line. Because right now, I don't believe you. I'm not sure I trust you to tell me to sharpen a pencil right now. Neither of us can afford that, not here and not in the field."
Scott went white at Paul's words, but any thought of putting the right words together, of doing what was needed and convincing him, vanished in a flood of raw and irrational anger. "Go to hell!" he snapped almost feverishly, trembling. "What do you all WANT from me? Do this, do that, keep it together, don't keep it together--do something, except when I'm not supposed to do anything, and keep my mouth shut, one way or the other--" He was almost shouting, there were probably kids lined up outside the door to listen, but he didn't care. "I'm sick of it!" he raved at Paul. "I'm sick of missing what I'm supposed to see, and not being able to do a damned thing about the things I know about... you don't TRUST me? JOIN THE FUCKING CLUB!"
That was better. Paul didn't flinch at the tirade; he stood up and moved so that he was in Scott's space, so he could be heard even though his voice was low and tight. "I would be a damn fool if I trusted your judgement completely right now, Scott. You're in trouble and all the faith I have in you isn't worth shit if you can't see when you're too far gone. I'm already going to hell, so I have nothing to lose by calling bullshit on your facade. Don't you lump me in with all those other people who don't have what it takes to say what needs to be said, all those people who don't get what it means to be loyal to you. I will not say the Emperor is dressed, Scott."
Paul's words sucked the anger away in an instant, leaving him hollow, the tight ache in his chest so bad he could hardly catch his breath. Scott looked away, shaking his head repeatedly, over and over as he turned back to the window. As if he could deny what he'd just said, what Paul had just said...
"I'm s-sorry," he muttered hoarsely, leaning his head against the window. The stammer was back. Damn it. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm... I'll pull it together. This isn't good."
"No. You won't." Paul reached out and put his hand on Scott's shoulder, his grip strong and steady. "That's not fixing anything. You're going to lean on people if I have to kick your fucking feet out from under you every goddamn day until you figure it out. You're not okay. I'm not going to call you out publically on this, Scott, not yet. Trust me that I will, if it goes too far, though. Stop this shit about pulling it together, captain, my captain. Your idea of pulling it together is covering up the bleeding. You know what that song's about, don't you?
O Captain! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
Bot O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."
Paul sighed and moved closed, leaning with his back to the window and his shoulder to Scott's. "Not letting that happen, Scott. Not playing the game."
"You don't understand," Scott forced the words out doggedly, not moving away from the window. Calmly, he told himself. Mind where it should be. "There's too much to do. Too much I haven't done." Betsy and Alex and... he cut that train of thought off, knowing it could go around in circles forever if he let it. "I don't... get the option of falling out of line. I can't. I'll do what I have to do to solve the problem."
"Then I'm going to get you pulled. And then you'll have time to fall out of line," Paul said flatly. "Don't tell me I don't fucking understand, boy. I am standing here because I understand. Tell me what needs doing. Sit down with me, and with Hank, and tell us what needs doing to start. It will get done by someone. I don't believe you when you say you'll do what you need to do to solve this because what you need to do to solve this is to step the hell back and let someone help you out here. What part of "team" are you missing? Everyone else seems to think it means that you get to catch all the shit, and so do you, but that's not how it works. I will follow you to the gates of hell, Scott, and I will fly into a nuclear blast if that's where you point me, but what I expect in return is that you will trust me as much as I trust you, and you are not doing that right now."
Shame, so much shame it was almost choking him, and something close to outright panic. Scott pushed away from the window, his head shaking again as he turned away. "You d-do what you think you have to do, Paul," he said raggedly, starting for the door. "Charles... I'm sure Charles will agree." Charles... Scott stopped, taking a sudden, choked breath at the thought of what Charles would say about all of this. "You're right," he finally said, his voice strained and tight. "You're right but I don't know what to do."
Paul moved with his trademark speed, reaching out and catching Scott by the arm before he could get far. "You say 'Help me.'"
Scott stood there, for a moment, feeling Paul's grip on his arm like a weight he couldn't shake off, pulling him farther and farther away from the simple clarity of 'do what needs to be done' that he was trying so hard to cling to. "Help?" he whispered almost plaintively, hating himself for saying it.
"Whatever you need, Scott. We will get things done." Paul stepped closer and pulled Scott in a little, offering him something to lean on. "I do trust you, you know," he said softly. "I have faith in you."
He wished people would stop saying that. He always seemed to let them down, or at the best, run around like a maniac trying to clean up the mess after the fact. "Okay," Scott said inanely, trying to even out his breathing. "Okay..."
"It's okay, Scott. I have faith in myself too. I know I'm going to take care of myself. And I know I'm going to kick your ass if I have to." Paul tugged Scott a little closer, hearing the ragged breath and feeling the muscles in Scott's arm jumping under his hand like there was a current running through them. He pulled Scott into a hug, slowly and carefully, giving him time to back away if he needed to. "Trust me back, Scott."
And he really wished people would stop hugging him. Made it really hard not to just let go... "I'll try," he whispered, struggling to stay focused. "It's just hard..."
"It's hard for me, too. Scares the hell out of me, Scott. That's why I push so hard." Paul was steady, his embrace firm and gentle. Scott was strung-out and unsteady in every possible way. Really, Paul wanted to call a team meeting and go around and smack almost everyone in the back of the head a few times. "No reasonable person expects this to be easy. And no reasonable person expects you not to need help. We're not going to let you fall, Scott, even if you stumble."
"T-Thanks," Scott managed, his voice a bit stronger. "I... just... thanks, Paul."
O Captain! My Captain! - Whitman, Leaves of Grass
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Alicia had to flee but she tells me that Scott will follow Paul around like a puppy for the rest of the day if he's told to. Aside from eating and teaching, he'll be making a list of what needs doing and his various tasks around the school and with the team, so that it can be looked over and his load lightened. Puppy-following will be eschewed in favour of Paul discretely checking in on Scott between his own tasks and meeting up with him for lunch and after classes.
Your idea of pulling it together is covering up the bleeding. You know what that song's about, don't you?
He almost missed the sound of the next set of footsteps approaching. They were too quiet, even on the polished wooden floor, and Scott spotted the shadow of the person coming around the corner as he ducked quickly into the classroom beside him.
Empty, thankfully. Scott closed the door quietly behind him and moved across the room to the windows, staring out at the grounds. He could hear laughter from somewhere outside - kids, he assumed.
"How's hiding working out for you?" Paul's dry voice drifted over from the doorway. He'd come along behind Scott silently, barefoot and soundless as he often was, and he'd slipped in through the still-open door while Scott's back was turned. He shut the door behind him with a small metallic snick before pacing slowly toward the teacher's desk, eyes on Scott the whole time.
Scott managed not to jump at the unexpected question. He looked back at Paul, managing a brief, tight smile. "Morning, Paul," he said, deliberately not answering the question. "How's your sister?"
"Slightly less psychotic," Paul answered, shrugging. "She's spending more time in this world than not. She's getting pretty close to what passes for normal for her, with the exception of the mood-swings. And you didn't answer me." His tone was bland and yet somehow still managed to be provocative, a little irritating. He'd practiced it for years. He sat down on the big desk, watching Scott with narrowed blue eyes. "My beloved captain doesn't slink around in the halls, dodging people. Talk."
"Not much to talk about." Scott turned back to the window. The sunlight was flooding in, but it wasn't as warm as it should have been. "I messed up, I'll fix it, enough said." Except he hadn't really addressed the slinking around in the halls question, had he? "And I'm just giving people a chance to cool down."
"By skulking around like a dog with your tail between your legs? What the hell, Scott?" Paul ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard to mitigate his frustration. "You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. And even if you did, in some alternate universe where you're not allowed to be flawed and human like the rest of us, you apologized. If you're just trying to avoid the uptight, holier-than-thou cunts out there who want you to take all the heat and pretend it doesn't affect you, that's no reason to avoid the people who actually give a shit about you-the-man. It doesn't end when we take off the uniforms, Scott. There are people around here who want to support you. Not blindly or stupidly, either. Give us some credit for having judged you and found you worthy of some loyalty and respect."
"I'm fine, Paul." Why was no one believing him when he said that? It was getting kind of frustrating. "I just..." He trailed off, staring blindly through the windows. His mind was running in circles, trying to find some way out of this conversation and failing. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Just let him address the problem, and leave him alone...
"Bullshit," Paul said flatly. "A man who is fine does not avoid people. I know this from personal experience. Scott. Don't make me push this until it breaks, because I will. I said yesterday that if I thought you weren't fit, I'd make the kids and all their snarking look like kindergarten. I meant it. Talk. Convince me that you're okay, if you can. Convince me that when you say to me "Paul, go there", I can go without second-thought, even if my life is on the line. Because right now, I don't believe you. I'm not sure I trust you to tell me to sharpen a pencil right now. Neither of us can afford that, not here and not in the field."
Scott went white at Paul's words, but any thought of putting the right words together, of doing what was needed and convincing him, vanished in a flood of raw and irrational anger. "Go to hell!" he snapped almost feverishly, trembling. "What do you all WANT from me? Do this, do that, keep it together, don't keep it together--do something, except when I'm not supposed to do anything, and keep my mouth shut, one way or the other--" He was almost shouting, there were probably kids lined up outside the door to listen, but he didn't care. "I'm sick of it!" he raved at Paul. "I'm sick of missing what I'm supposed to see, and not being able to do a damned thing about the things I know about... you don't TRUST me? JOIN THE FUCKING CLUB!"
That was better. Paul didn't flinch at the tirade; he stood up and moved so that he was in Scott's space, so he could be heard even though his voice was low and tight. "I would be a damn fool if I trusted your judgement completely right now, Scott. You're in trouble and all the faith I have in you isn't worth shit if you can't see when you're too far gone. I'm already going to hell, so I have nothing to lose by calling bullshit on your facade. Don't you lump me in with all those other people who don't have what it takes to say what needs to be said, all those people who don't get what it means to be loyal to you. I will not say the Emperor is dressed, Scott."
Paul's words sucked the anger away in an instant, leaving him hollow, the tight ache in his chest so bad he could hardly catch his breath. Scott looked away, shaking his head repeatedly, over and over as he turned back to the window. As if he could deny what he'd just said, what Paul had just said...
"I'm s-sorry," he muttered hoarsely, leaning his head against the window. The stammer was back. Damn it. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm... I'll pull it together. This isn't good."
"No. You won't." Paul reached out and put his hand on Scott's shoulder, his grip strong and steady. "That's not fixing anything. You're going to lean on people if I have to kick your fucking feet out from under you every goddamn day until you figure it out. You're not okay. I'm not going to call you out publically on this, Scott, not yet. Trust me that I will, if it goes too far, though. Stop this shit about pulling it together, captain, my captain. Your idea of pulling it together is covering up the bleeding. You know what that song's about, don't you?
O Captain! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
Bot O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."
Paul sighed and moved closed, leaning with his back to the window and his shoulder to Scott's. "Not letting that happen, Scott. Not playing the game."
"You don't understand," Scott forced the words out doggedly, not moving away from the window. Calmly, he told himself. Mind where it should be. "There's too much to do. Too much I haven't done." Betsy and Alex and... he cut that train of thought off, knowing it could go around in circles forever if he let it. "I don't... get the option of falling out of line. I can't. I'll do what I have to do to solve the problem."
"Then I'm going to get you pulled. And then you'll have time to fall out of line," Paul said flatly. "Don't tell me I don't fucking understand, boy. I am standing here because I understand. Tell me what needs doing. Sit down with me, and with Hank, and tell us what needs doing to start. It will get done by someone. I don't believe you when you say you'll do what you need to do to solve this because what you need to do to solve this is to step the hell back and let someone help you out here. What part of "team" are you missing? Everyone else seems to think it means that you get to catch all the shit, and so do you, but that's not how it works. I will follow you to the gates of hell, Scott, and I will fly into a nuclear blast if that's where you point me, but what I expect in return is that you will trust me as much as I trust you, and you are not doing that right now."
Shame, so much shame it was almost choking him, and something close to outright panic. Scott pushed away from the window, his head shaking again as he turned away. "You d-do what you think you have to do, Paul," he said raggedly, starting for the door. "Charles... I'm sure Charles will agree." Charles... Scott stopped, taking a sudden, choked breath at the thought of what Charles would say about all of this. "You're right," he finally said, his voice strained and tight. "You're right but I don't know what to do."
Paul moved with his trademark speed, reaching out and catching Scott by the arm before he could get far. "You say 'Help me.'"
Scott stood there, for a moment, feeling Paul's grip on his arm like a weight he couldn't shake off, pulling him farther and farther away from the simple clarity of 'do what needs to be done' that he was trying so hard to cling to. "Help?" he whispered almost plaintively, hating himself for saying it.
"Whatever you need, Scott. We will get things done." Paul stepped closer and pulled Scott in a little, offering him something to lean on. "I do trust you, you know," he said softly. "I have faith in you."
He wished people would stop saying that. He always seemed to let them down, or at the best, run around like a maniac trying to clean up the mess after the fact. "Okay," Scott said inanely, trying to even out his breathing. "Okay..."
"It's okay, Scott. I have faith in myself too. I know I'm going to take care of myself. And I know I'm going to kick your ass if I have to." Paul tugged Scott a little closer, hearing the ragged breath and feeling the muscles in Scott's arm jumping under his hand like there was a current running through them. He pulled Scott into a hug, slowly and carefully, giving him time to back away if he needed to. "Trust me back, Scott."
And he really wished people would stop hugging him. Made it really hard not to just let go... "I'll try," he whispered, struggling to stay focused. "It's just hard..."
"It's hard for me, too. Scares the hell out of me, Scott. That's why I push so hard." Paul was steady, his embrace firm and gentle. Scott was strung-out and unsteady in every possible way. Really, Paul wanted to call a team meeting and go around and smack almost everyone in the back of the head a few times. "No reasonable person expects this to be easy. And no reasonable person expects you not to need help. We're not going to let you fall, Scott, even if you stumble."
"T-Thanks," Scott managed, his voice a bit stronger. "I... just... thanks, Paul."
O Captain! My Captain! - Whitman, Leaves of Grass
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Alicia had to flee but she tells me that Scott will follow Paul around like a puppy for the rest of the day if he's told to. Aside from eating and teaching, he'll be making a list of what needs doing and his various tasks around the school and with the team, so that it can be looked over and his load lightened. Puppy-following will be eschewed in favour of Paul discretely checking in on Scott between his own tasks and meeting up with him for lunch and after classes.
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