Scott and Hank, Saturday

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Set after this log. After speaking to Jean when she wakes up, Hank comes looking for Scott, who's taken refuge in his office. There's a difference between 'having trouble coping' and 'failing to cope at all'. Scott has definitely opted for the latter.


His office was quiet. It probably wouldn't be for long, Scott thought, his hands trembling as he sorted through the files on his desk. Wrong place to go. The door locked but people wouldn't go away if they knew he was in here. And he wanted them to go away. He had work to do, after all. Lots and lots of work.

Hank tapped gently on the door. "Scotty?" he called softy. "I know you're in there..." Poor Scott. This had to come as.... well, such a massive shock....

"I'm busy, Hank." His voice came out sounding a little strangled. Not good. Not good at all. "Come back later," he went on, trying to sound more steady. "Stuff to do..."

"Don't make me come in through the window, Scott," Hank said firmly. "You know I can do it." The outside of the mansion was pretty easy to scale, and Scott had seen him do it more than once. "Please, just talk to me for a minute?"

Hank wasn't going to go away. He'd known that. "Fine," Scott said distractedly, staring at his desk as he continued to shuffle files. "Just for a minute."

Hank tried the door... not locked yet... and slipped into the room. "Just when we think there's nothing left that can come as a shock, huh?" he said softly. Scott was... well, he was obviously trying to stay calm, but Hank wasn't buying.

"Right." Pile the files neatly, that was it. Maximize the available desk space. "Mercenaries and rogue guidance counselors and women who look like Jean." The part of his mind that had been so cold and dark for so long glowed softly, and he flinched violently, putting up walls around it. Not her, it wasn't her... "Can I wake up now?" he asked, still piling the files. "I really would appreciate that, I'm not liking this dream..."

Hank went over, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I don't think this is a dream, Scott," he said gently. "I mean, when are we lucky enough to have the weird stuff turn out not to be real?" He held out his arms. "Want something solid to hold onto?" he offered softly. "I know I could use it."

"No, I'm fine," Scott said, his hands shaking hard. If Hank hugged him and he was solid then it wasn't a dream, and he didn't want to know, in that case. "Just... working, here, Hank. Paperwork. I've been letting it slide lately, so I should really get it done."

Hank nodded. "Scott.... " he said softly. "Little brother... I wish I could help. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you."

Scott was shaking his head suddenly, over and over. "It's not her, Hank," he said, and his voice was wobbling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "It's not, it can't be... I felt... I felt her die, in my head. And the water..."

"She did die," Hank said softly. "Or thought she did. She remembers it. In some way, I theorize, her powers acted to save her after she lost consciousness. How, I can't imagine."

Scott caught the edge of one of the piles with his hands, accidentally, knocking it over. "Have to start again," he muttered, willing himself not to hear Hank's words. "Do what needs doing..."

"Scott..." Hank reached out, resting his hands gently on the younger man's shoulders. "This isn't going to help, you know that."

Scott flinched, his hands moving almost in protest at the gentle touch. "Don't... please don't..." It was almost a plea. "I can't, Hank, I can't... it's not her. It can't be her, because if it's her, I didn't find her, I didn't..."

"Jean was gone," Hank said gently. "She told me... she had amnesia. She woke up in a hospital, with no idea who she was. So, in a sense, Jean was dead... she certainly wasn't herself. We all knew she'd died. SHE knew she'd died. There's no way you could have suspected anything else."

"She's not DEAD!" Scott was out of his chair, suddenly, all but screaming at Hank. "If that's her, and she's in the medlab, she's not dead, is she? She's there, and I didn't find her, and I LEFT her--" The pain was like a vice closing around his chest and he stopped, gasping for air, his head shaking almost of its own accord again. "So it can't be her, it can't be..."

Hank pulled him into his arms, holding on tightly. "It's her, Scott," he said quietly. "Believe me, I checked... went through a whole string of 'do you remembers', things nobody else would know - and I had an inhibitor on her, at the time, so she couldn't have drawn the answers from my mind. But it's not your fault, Scott, you didn't abandon her."

"I'm fine... I'm fine, it's okay," Scott said incoherently. Hank wasn't vanishing, so this was real, and that wasn't good. Or was it? He didn't know. He didn't know what to think. "This isn't... there's an explanation, I'll figure it out..."

Hank nodded, still holding him gently. "It'll be okay," he said softly. "Somehow. We always make things work somehow, don't we?"

Please wake up. Please... But it was all still there, and Scott shivered, every nerve, every thought raw and painful. "You should... you should go back down," he said, his voice breaking. "Figure out... I'm okay, don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Scott," Hank said gently. "There is nothing more important to me in this Mansion than you, and nothing that needs to be done more than helping you, if I can."

"I'm fine." Even if he sounded like he was still on the verge of hysteria. Maybe Hank wouldn't call him on it. Yeah. Right. "I'm fine, I just have a headache... it'll go away. I just need to get work done, Hank, please just let me do what I have to do so that I--" He cut himself off, realizing he was rambling.

Hank leaned back a little, looking at him. "Do you really want me to go, Scott?" he said softly. "I will, if you're sure you want me to, but... I love you, Scott, and you're falling apart right here in front of me."

It snapped him back a little closer to reality. Just a little. Scott swallowed. "I can't," he said hoarsely. "I can't fall apart. I need to... I can't." Not again. He was not going to fall apart again. He'd done that once, and he didn't get to do it again. He took a deep, shaky breath, pulling together the shards of his composure in what he hoped was at least a semi-convincing mask. "You... you should go back down. Make sure J--she's all right. Patient, right? Have to look after your patient."

"Madelyn's down there. And Moira." Hank shook his head. "I can't make you talk if you don't want to," he said quietly. "But I'm not going to go off and leave you, either. If you want to go back to work, fine... but I'm going to sit right here with you."

Scott nodded jerkily. He'd work for a while, then... go somewhere else. Routine. Back to routine. There were things he had to get done and that was that. He stepped back away from Hank, went back to the desk and sat down.