xp_logs | Scott, Pete - Saturday afternoon

After a long talk with Charles, Scott has worked out what to do with Remy's information. It's not much of a plan, but they don't have a lot of options.
OOC note: takes place around three pm, but I'm heading out, and won't be around to post it then. Someone in medlab will get paged to Scott's office about ten minutes later, as soon as the cab is off the grounds

He was quite possibly completely cracked to be doing this, Scott thought with a sigh, eyeing the closed door of his office for a moment before he glanced at the clock. Checking the time wasn't going to make Pete get here any faster - he'd be here when he got here and not before, and to be honest, Scott really wasn't looking forward to this conversation anyway.

He just didn't see any way around it, Remy's feelings on the subject aside. The possibilities he and Charles had discussed were still burned into his brain. The chance that Pete would eventually find out about de la Rocha whatever he or Charles or Remy did or didn't do with the information was the real sticking point here. If he does, especially if he then finds out we knew already... No leverage there. At all.

The only question was, what sort of time could be bought, and whether the possibility of more time if he sat on the information was worth it. Whether the consequences would be worse for the delay. No-win here. So look for what provides the most flexibility. If nothing else, doing it this way would provide a little cover. Plausible deniability, to steal Charles' phrase.

Pete took a second to splash water across his face, before heading to Summers' office. How long had it been since he'd got a decent night's sleep? He'd have to make sure he got one before he headed off in a day or two, if those leads panned out.

He paused at Summers' door, shook his head, doing his best to focus on here and now, knocked once, then opened the door, and spoke without preamble.

"Is this going to take long? Only I've pretty much got it down to a shortlist of bastards who could have got their hands on the ricin that that did for me Dad, and I want to book a few flights to see if I can't talk some fucking monkey into giving up the organ grinder."

Scott tried not to stiffen too much at Pete's comment about having a shortlist. All right. So, he hadn't expected to have one particular question answered right off the bat like that... still, good to know. "It shouldn't," he said quietly, not looking at the file behind him on the desk. "Close the door behind you?"

Pete pushed the door to behind him, and turned back to the other man an eyebrow raised. "Look, I know I've not been on top of all me usual sources, but as soon as I get this done..."

"Pete..." Scott tried not to wince. "That's not what I..." He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You know," he said a bit awkwardly - coming at this indirectly was going to drive both him and Pete insane, but this was hardly one of the things he could come out and say, "it's been almost two years since what happened at Alkali Lake. There's still a very large part of me that doesn't just want Magneto dead, but would be delighted to do it myself if I could just figure out a way. Regardless of what Charles says about the blame for Jean's death being a shared thing."

A look of confusion passed across Pete's face. "What is this, some kind of attempt at a, what d'you call it, an intervention? Did everyone draw straws, and you lost, or something?"

"Fuck, no. If this was an intervention, you'd be in Charles' office, not mine, and he'd be pushing tea at you." Scott took a deep breath. A little bit more beating around the bush, maybe. "I don't know if I would do it, if Magneto was standing right in front of me and I had a clear shot. I'd be afraid of the consequences - of turning him into a martyr."

Pete didn't really look any less confused. "Look, I'm really trying not to be rude here, but I've had about six hours sleep in the last two days, and maybe I'm just being really fucking dense, but I don't get what your point is here. Are you leading up to telling me it was Lensherr that did for me Dad or something?"

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it again. Wondering if Pete knew just how telling a comment that had been. If he believes I'd tell him if I knew... It was a hell of a risk. Remy was only too right about what could happen. But Scott couldn't shake the conviction that Pete was going to find out, one way or the other, and that one of the only things that might make a difference in the end were the ties Pete had here. Although I wish I could convince myself that they would actually stop him...

"That'd be a little too pat, wouldn't it," he said quietly. So much less complicated, too, part of him reflected a bit wryly. "But if the opportunity to kill the person responsible for Jean's death had presented itself in the first couple of months after her death, I'm not sure knowing the consequences would have stopped me." He paused a beat. "Would they stop you?" he asked, meeting Pete's eyes levelly. "If you knew who it was, but killing them would put everyone here in danger..."

The confusion vanished, replaced by a strangely impassive look. Pete stared silently at the younger man for a couple of seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice was like granite.

"As long as the shit that killed my Dad is out there, then I figure they're coming for Romany, me, or Amanda next."

He was probably all too right about that. Scott wished suddenly that he had left this to Charles, after all. Charles would certainly have let him, the unspoken offer had been there throughout the conversation. There were so damned many risks, however this turned out... but then, Charles couldn't have done this.

Fully aware of Pete's gaze still locked on him, Scott turned slowly, staring for a long moment at the file. "If killing the person who killed your father would endanger the school," he said, still staring at the file, "then I wouldn't be able to help you. Not at all." He looked back at Pete for a moment, then went to the window.

Deliberately turning his back.

Pete stood very still for a second, staring first at the file, then at Scott's back, then back at the file, hands opening and closing. Then he spun and landed one blow, as hard as he could, to the side of Scott's head.

He caught the younger man as he fell, and set him on the floor, behind his desk, out of sight of the door.

"Sorry about that, old son."

He took a second to check for a pulse, then lifted the file from the desk, and walked briskly from the room.

He'd page Bartlett from the cab.