Scott, early Sunday morning

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott sits awake in the wee hours of Sunday morning and tries to compose a letter to Charles.



Charles,

No, Scott thought and deleted it. A letter like this required a certain level of formality, after all.

Professor,

I take full responsibility for the lapse in security at today's event...

Responsibility. What did that even mean? It wasn't as if he had a sword to fall on. Although he supposed he could probably borrow one from one of the fencing enthusiasts if it became necessary.

I focused too closely on the potential threat from Magneto and allowed the general security situation to deteriorate...

It wasn't as if he hadn't been aware of the potential for threats from other sources. Maybe not Alison's stalker in particular, but any sort of high-profile event involving mutant activism could attract the dangerously prejudiced or the imbalanced. He should have altered the deployment when there'd been no move from Magneto. Had more team members there in the first place.

I also take full responsibility for not securing the van with the equipment.

If Doug hadn't been able to get at the uniforms for the Kevlar insert, perhaps he wouldn't have...

...but then Rahne would have been shot, and...

Scott stared blankly at the computer screen. Then slowly, methodically, started to type again.

If I can make a suggestion, I think it is perhaps time to have a serious discussion with the student body at large about Marie-Ange's gift. It's come into play so often over the last several months. Some of the students are obviously beginning to believe that they understand how it functions, which is a dangerous assumption to make...

Dangerous assumptions. Like the one he'd made that Doug wouldn't be anywhere near an X-Man uniform for months, if then. Hadn't he been just as guilty of putting a single interpretation on Angie's dreams?

That being said, Professor, I no longer believe that I can effectively...

Scott stopped again. Told his hands to stop shaking.

I think it is past time we reexamined my role...

He swallowed, hit the backspace, and tried again.

I give up.

He sat there staring at those three words for a very long few minutes. Then, his hands still shaking, he deleted the whole letter and closed the laptop.

Too much to do. And he had no business taking the easy way out.