Scott and Remy, Scott and Moira, Monday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Late in the evening, Remy pays Scott a visit in his office to discuss getting Danger Room access. Scott agrees (reluctantly), with a condition, and a suggestion.


One thing that Remy could be grateful for about Scott's workoholic tendancies was that he kept late office hours. Gambit ghosted through the halls in the evening, carefully avoiding people. His return was not well recieved, and he didn't trust himself with casual run-ins.

Paige never noticed him in the shadows as she walked past, and he slipped soundlessly out to the door of Scott's office. He knocked twice, and stepped in.

"Evening."

Scott looked up from his computer, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Didn't hear you," he said quietly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that." He leaned back in his chair, watching the other man for a long moment. "Close the door and sit down. I'm assuming you're here for a reason."

"Oui. Sorry for de sly entry. Didn't want de rest of de students to see me in de school." Remy dropped into the indicated chair, his boneless sprawl catlike in its collapse.

"Probably a good idea." Scott reached out, closing the file he'd been working on. "I think we could all do with a break from the fireworks. So what can I do for you?" He gave Remy a humorless smile. "There are a limited number of reasons you'd be knocking on my door."

"Dat's true." Remy sat up and leaned forward. "De Danger Room. I want access to it out of normal training hours. I know you and de rest practice dere in schedules, and Remy assume dat de kids have dere own training times. But after ten, into de night, it's free, oui?"

Scott's jaw clenched. Well, he probably should have expected this. Logically. "Not always," he said, his voice still low. "We have other insomniacs who like to kill things in the middle of the night occasionally."

"Look," Remy brushed his hand through his still badly cropped thatch of auburn hair. "Most de people here don' like me, and dat Remy understand. But de reason I stayed was dat de Prof said dat dere was t'ings I could do to help. I've got nineteen years of training and memories locked up in my head, and don't know exactly how everthing fits together yet. Dat means I need to be able to work it out. If I'm down in dat training room wit everyone else, Remy not going to be de only thing disrupted, homme" He said reasonably. "It best for de whole place if I do dis alone."

"You didn't hear me denying that, did you?" Scott asked a bit tightly. "Just pointing out that the Danger Room might not always be free when you want it, even in the middle of the night." He stared at Remy, trying to figure out just what he could say, what his options were here. Turning him down flat obviously wasn't an option, not if the Professor was encouraging him to 'help'. "The Danger Room has safeties," he finally said, curtly. "I'd expect you to leave them engaged, at least for now. You may have all of this experience and training, but you're not the person you were and you can't expect to be perfectly at ease with the sort of things he could do. And I have no intention of mopping your blood up off the Danger Room floor."

"Remy not about t' do anything stupid. Despite what things might have looked like, suicide was only an option if de assassin was still in my head." Remy said, resting his elbows on his knees. "If de room is being used, I know how to disappear without distrubing dem."

Scott folded his arms across his chest. "Some of your fellow insomniacs might invite you to join in," he said tightly. "But fine... I'll get you an access code. We beefed up security after you broke in there the last time."

Remy smiled thinly. "Ten says I can still get in past dat security, homme." Scott finally caught a glimpse of the supremely cocky teenager that had first been brought in ten months ago.

"But that wouldn't be very considerate, would it?" Scott asked, his voice still low but the words coming out almost in a snarl. "You want to live here, be helpful? Fine. If you feel the need to break our security again, at least have the decency to give me your thoughts on how we could plug the hole."

"Just suggesting a simple bet, Scott." Remy held up both hands in mock surrender. "As for de rest, dat's one of dose 'Catch-22's. Any system you create can be defeated by anyone who can reverse engineer it. So, dey only safety is to continuely upgrade, which has de side defect of improving de ones dat want in."

"Huh," Scott said flatly. "I never would have come to that realization on my own. Thanks so much." He leaned forward in his chair, calling up the access files for the Danger Room. "All right," he muttered, then rattled off an alphanumeric code. "Your very own Danger Room key. Remember what I said about the safeties, because if you turn them off and get hurt, I'll tell Madelyn she can do whatever the hell she wants to you while she's patching you up."

"Bartlett." Remy visibly winced at that mention, and Scott enjoyed a wholly unfair yet satisfying moment of enjoyment. "I think dat maybe I should avoid being under de knife wit' her involved, non?"

"I think avoiding the medlab in general would probably be a good idea, yes," Scott said brusquely. "Anything else I can do for you, Remy? Find you a training partner whose shit list you're not on?"

"Dat even possible dese days?" Remy said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Remy can at least get started on his own. After I get some things worked out, maybe den we look at dancing wit' someone else. Thinking of volunteering, homme?"

"If you need one and no one else is up for it, yes," Scott said. Part of him had no idea why he was saying this, but... no, he knew. Lots of reasons. Including but not limited to the fact that if Remy was going to be 'helpful', he needed a closer look at what the man could do. Damn the whole leaderly thing anyway.

"Dat might be a good idea, homme" Remy nodded, getting up from his chair. "After I find out whether or not I can do dis without collapsing, I'll let you know."

"Right," Scott muttered, closing down the access files. "Feel free to let yourself out."

"Dat's no where near as much fun, homme." Remy said before disappearing out the door.


Hours later, Moira, on a late-night wander of her own, finds Scott still sitting in his office. She decides she's had just about enough of seeing him like this, and puts her psychology degree to scarily effective use.


The halls were abnormally quiet as Moira walked for a bit, trying to clear her head. The switching off with Maddie to watch over Illyana and the MedLabs were starting to get to both of them. They both needed a few days break or something would break, that was for sure. She passed by Scott's office and stopped, peering in. He had his head in his hands as he sat in front of a turned off computer. "Scott?" she asked, concerned.

Scott looked up, blinking at the figure in the doorway, backlit from behind. "Hey, Moira," he said, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "You're up late."

"Mmm, so are ye." Without asking, she entered the office and stopped at his desk, watching him. "Maddie an' I are tradin' off duties right now. Wha's yer excuse, lad?"

Scott smiled suddenly, tiredly. "'Lad'... you called me that the first time we met, do you remember? When Charles and I came to Muir that time. I was so unbelievably intimidated by you..."

She remembered, it was hard to forget the gangly, shy and yet so very bright teenager he had been. "Aye, but I dinnae know ye were intimidated by me. Though tha's really nay such a surprise now tha' I think 'bout it."

Scott rubbed at his jaw, reflecting that he really needed to shave. "Seems like a lifetime ago," he said with a sigh. "Or a different life altogether." A lot of things seemed like that sometimes.

"It does at tha'. Thin's 'ave changed so much an' so quickly in such wee time." Moira sighed and sat on the corner of his desk, hands over one knee. "Ye look like ye could use some advice, Scott. From one workaholic to another."

He smiled thinly. "You too, huh?"

"Dinnae give me tha' look, youn' man," she chided suddenly, scowling at him. Scott looked slightly taken aback. "I'm nay 'ere ta lecture ye or ta drug ye, though ye sure as blazes needed th' sleep. Scott, ye know I worked myself inta an ulcer 'ere. I'm still dealin' wit' it. Because I wasnae willin' ta take care o' meself an' I suffered."

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked away. "Different situation," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes and tried to keep a tight grip on her tongue. No lecture, right? "Ye lead th' X-Men. I 'elp run th' MedLab. We bot' 'ave verra, verra stressful jobs, Scott. We do somethin' wron' an' suddenly, we 'ave blood on our 'ands."

"I'm just... tired, Moira, that's all," Scott said heavily, still not meeting her eyes. "Been a long year."

"It 'as." Reaching over, she took his chin in her hand and forced him to meet her eyes. "An' it will continue ta be a lon' year if'n ye keep runnin' yerself inta th' ground. 'Tis affects everyone around ye besides yerself. It took me a verra lon' time ta realize tha' an' I feel better for it."

"Do you know..." He stopped, a harsh sigh escaping him. "Do you know I'm the reason why Jubilee didn't sleep for four days?"

Moira paused. "Wha' 'appened?"

"I don't know if you heard our argument last weekend. But she came to me... took me up on my offer to see the details on some of the stuff I deal with." He smiled very tightly. "I showed her a selection of my worst-case scenarios."

"Jubilation knew wha' she was gettin' 'erself inta," she said, voice firm. "She was curious enough ta take ye up on it. Stop blamin' yerself, Scott. Yer nay responsible for everythin' tha' goes on 'ere an' ye need ta be able ta give yerself some slack before ye explode!"

"I just--" He shook his head helplessly, words failing him. "It's getting to be too much," he said, almost under his breath. "All of it, just piling up..."

"Why do ye need ta take everythin' on yerself?" she asked suddenly, crossing her legs.

"Because that's what I'm here for?"

"Because yer th' only one capable, responsible, smart enough ta 'andle all this?"

"No," Scott said irritably, looking away from her again. "I don't mean that... why does everyone think I mean that? Ororo was downright huffy about it."

She watched him for a second, almost sadly, before standing up and going to the window. Hands in her pockets, she gazed out. "Or is it because yer afraid tha' ye'll nay be needed anymore? Th' staff is boomin', we're gettin' more an' more folks wit' specalized skills..."

Scott stared at her, wide-eyed behind his glasses. "You--no, that's not what I was thinking," he said rather lamely.

"Please, Scott. Wha' do ye think was goin' through me mind when we upped th' doctors on Muir Isle?" Moira glanced at him over her shoulder, watching him intently. "Haroun wit' th' plane. Everyone chippin' inta 'elp wit' th' X-Men works. More X-Men, or potentials, for tha' matter. If I was anyone else, ye wouldnae be so easy ta read."

His hands clenched on the arms of his chair for a moment, before he forced himself to relax. "If it was," he said slowly, his voice unsteady, "it'd be pretty petty, wouldn't it? More people with more experience is good. The fact that the team can apparently be run by committee is good. Someone qualified looking after the Blackbird... also good." His jaw clenched and he looked away.

"But verra 'ard isnae it?" Turning, she leaned against the window and suddenly looked as tired as Scott did. "Damn it, Scott, stop pretendin' ye dinnae 'ave other feelin's besides th' _good_ ones. Everyone gets petty, everyone gets jealous. 'ell, ye should see Nathan when it comes ta Rory sometimes, 'tis childish at times. An' right now, 'tis seems tha' ye simply dinnae know which direction ta turn ta, ta redefine yerself."

"It just feels..." He trailed off with another harsh sigh. "It's not just that," he said, and winced as he realized he'd admitted to the feelings she had challenged him on. "So much has happened, Moira, and I haven't handled it well at all. Haven't been able to stop most of it from happening..." He swallowed, running an unsteady hand through his hair. "It's only a matter of time before someone dies again."

Reaching over, Moira grabbed his hand as he finished messing with his hair. "Look at me, Scott--an' trust me, I know when yer lookin' at me even through those glasses. Ye cannae save everyone. Ye'll kill yerself tryin'. They _know_ th' risks an' they accept them." She took a deep breath. "Even after Jean, they still accept them because they believe in this."

"Well, maybe I don't!" he said suddenly, almost violently. "Maybe I don't want to be the one leading them into these things, making the wrong call, getting them killed..."

"Oh, Scott," she said, softly, not letting go of his hand, even when he tried to pull it back. "Yer so close ta th' breakin' point, aren't ye?"

He tried to pull his hand back again, but she held onto it with surprising strength, nothing but gentle concern in her expression as she looked down at him. "I can't," he said desperately, wrestling for control.

"Aye, ye can. Learn ta rely on us, all o' us, Scott. We're nay goin' ta let ye fall."

"I don't deserve to rely on any of you." His eyes were burning and he looked away again, his jaw trembling. "Not when I keep failing you."

Once again, Moira wouldn't let him keep his gaze away. With her free hand, she managed to force his head back so she could look into his face. "Stop tha', Scott. ye've never failed us. Where would any o' us be without ye, in some form or another?"

"Why do people keep saying that? When was the last time I did anything right but damage control?" Scott demanded, his voice breaking with fatigue and pain.

"When 'as this life givin' ye _any_ other choice, Scott Summers?" Moira pointed out, staring him down. "Yer doin' th' best ye can in a world tha's been turned upside down on ye. Crisis after crisis after crisis when yer barely recovered from th' last problem? Yer nay Superman, ye're allowed ta nay be able ta cope wit' wha's goin' on. Allow yerself ta 'ave tha' release for God's sake."

"I can't," Scott repeated, shaking. "If I do--Moira, anytime I've let myself stop and think about it lately, I--I've actually thought about leaving. Can you believe that?" He gave a weak, hollow laugh. "So much for my devotion to duty, huh? When the going gets tough, the tough get running..."

"Maybe th' tough need a bloody vacation? A break, a week off. Ye get yer 'ead on straight, ye learn ta relax. Take Betsy an' jus' let go for a while."

"That would be Betsy, whom I'm driving to drink? Betsy, who I failed worst of all, except for J-Jean?"

"God damn it, Scott, stop it!" Dropping his hand, Moira reached up and grabbed his face in both of her hands, firmly. "Listen ta me an' listen closely, Mr. Summers, because I'll nay be repeatin' this again. An' so 'elp me God, if ye force me ta, I'll be takin' me pound o' flesh wit' it. Ye 'ave failed nay anyone. 'Twas Jean's choice out there, nay yers. Essex messed wit' Betsy, nay ye. I got grabbed by Mistra an' nay because ye or Nathan failed me. Ye are verra dear ta most everyone in this bloody mansion an' 'tis time ta take off th' blinders an' realize tha'! Ye can plan an' plot every single minute o' th' day for every possible problem out there. But ye know where tha' leaves ye? Alone. Locked up in some bloody office while life passes ye by because yer ta scared ta walk out tha' door an' embrace it! Life comes wit' 'ardships. A wee boy taught me tha' years ago. 'e also taught me tha' if I stayed up night after night tryin' ta work meself ta dea', I missed 'is growin' up. I missed 'is laughter. An' I refuse ta see anyone I care about do tha' ta themselves!"

He tried to say... something, anything in response to that, but there had been too much pain in her voice, too much vehement anger, and what did he have that could be an answer to that? "It's just too much sometimes," he heard himself saying in a broken, lost-sounding voice. "So much... it never stops, and I'm so afraid for them... I can't see it all, I can't plan for it all, and it keeps haunting me..."

"I keep forgettin' yer still so verra youn'," she murmured, voice soft and slightly wobbly. "Dinnae let it 'aunt ye, Scott, please. Or it'll eat ye up inside. I lost five years wit' Nathan because I let me ghosts 'aunt me. Wha' will 'elp ye, please?"

He shook his head almost violently. "I don't know," he said raggedly. "If it would just stop... if I could just catch my breath..."

"Take a vacation, Scott, please. Ye need ta take a break before we lose ye completely."

"I'm afraid to leave." The words slipped out, and more followed. "I'm afraid to leave because I don't know if I'd come back.... and I hate myself for even thinking that, Moira, for even a second..."

"Shhh, shhh, it'll be okay." Exhausted suddenly, Moira reached around and pulled him into a hug. "Ye'll be okay, so will everyone else. Talk 'bout it wit' Betsy, wit' Charles. I'm afraid ye'll burst soon."

Scott clung to her without thinking about whether or not he should be doing it, whether this was appropriate or weak of him or anything... "I'm just so tired," he muttered faintly, shaking. "It won't stop, and I can't stop...."

"Ye may nay be able ta make it stop but ye can stop from runnin' yerself inta th' ground," she whispered, rubbing his back. "Rest, regroup, come back stronger."

---

Nathan, standing down the hall, heard Scott's office door open and close, and smiled faintly at the completely unsurprised look Moira gave him as she saw him standing there. #I thought you might need to be carried to bed,# he sent gently down the link. #After that.#

#I think ye might be right, love,# Moira sent, wincing. Her head felt like it was going to implode any second now. All she could hope was that she had given Scott the helping hand that he didn't know he needed.

Nathan came down the hall to meet her, lifting her into his arms with no difficulty at all. #I can't believe he listened to you,# he sent, turning back in the direction of the stairs. #You scary, scary woman. You crack even the hard cases.#

#Reminds me o' me,# she sent, fuzzily. #I dinnae want 'im ta be alone for all those years like I was, Nathan. It would kill 'im.#

#He won't be,# Nathan replied, wondering where the calm conviction was coming from. #One way or the other. The spot beside him isn't meant to be empty.#

Faces blended together suddenly. Jean and Betsy swirling together for a second before she cleared her mind. #Somethin' wron'?# Moira sent, noticing the change in him. The faint lilt to his mental 'voice'.

Nathan blinked. #No,# he sent back after a moment, and held a little tighter to her as he started to climb the stairs.