Fic: "My hero bares his nerves", Scott Summers, Rated T.
Title: My hero bares his nerves
Author: Sionnain
Recipient: Jadecanary
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel, and not I.
Rating: Teen
Verse: 616-verse, set pre-Civil War.
Genre: Mostly gen, with a bit of Scott/Emma.
Request: Emma Frost, students/school life, a bottle of whiskey (brand of author's choice).
Summary: Scott catches one of the students with a bottle of whiskey, and thinks about what it meant that he always followed the rules.
AN: Thanks to resolute and likeadeuce for a great beta and some wonderful suggestions! I hope you enjoy this, jadecanary! :) The title is a Dylan Thomas poem.
My hero bares his nerves
The bottle of Ten High whiskey sat like an accusation on the dresser. Next to it were three yellow plastic glasses and a bottle of Coke. All that was missing was the requisite Sharpie and a bag of Doritos. Scott had been teaching here a long time. He knew the makings of an illicit teenage drinking party.
Bobby had thrown them all the time, when they were students. Not that Scott had even gone to those.
The instigator of said party was standing in the center of his predictably messy room, looking nervous and a little irritated that he'd gotten caught. "I swear, Mr. Summers. It's not mine."
Scott was pretty sure that was coming. In fact, he was so sure, he was considering saying the words along with Julian. He didn't, though. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and said in his best Field-Leader voice, "Let's just pretend it is. Where did you get it?"
Julian looked away. Scott could practically hear him thinking what to say. "Professor Logan?"
Scott didn't believe that. Not because Logan wouldn't give one of the students liquor. "Kid's gotta learn how to hold his liquor sometime, Summers." No, Logan would never drink Ten High. Cheap beer, yeah. Cheap whiskey? Not unless he was desperate. "Do you think maybe it'd be a good idea not to add anything else to the list of stuff you're already in trouble for?"
Julian looked over at the whiskey. He seemed to be considering maybe actually adding something else to the list. Scott looked up at the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh caught in his throat. "That, " he said evenly, "was a rhetorical question. If I found out you used your powers to steal this--"
"No, Mr. Summers," Julian said quickly, and the intensity of his response told Scott he probably wasn't lying. "I didn't, I swear. I know that's what gets us kicked out, I'd never do that."
"Julian, you know the rules. Any minor in possession of alcohol on the school ground is disciplined. I'll have to call your parents in the morning."
Julian winced. "Aw, Mr. Summers, do you have to? I mean, they--they don't need to know about this, right? What kid doesn't try to get away with this when they're my age?"
As far as defensive strategies went, Julian had a lot to learn. Scott had heard that same sentiment, phrased in different ways, nearly three thousand times, probably. "Nearly all of them," Scott agreed. "And they all get their parents called in the morning. Danger Room, six am sharp. For a week. I mean it, Julian. Every minute you're late is an extra day you'll be in there."
"I have to run drills with you for my detention?" Julian shrugged. "Could be worse." He smiled a bit cockily. Scott remembered Julian was Emma's favorite student. He was beginning to see why.
Scott picked up the whiskey and the three cups off the dresser, hand around the neck of the bottle. He left the two-liter of soda alone. "Not me," Scott said, hiding a smile. "Logan."
Julian groaned, cocky grin immediately fading into a look of pained horror. "Mr. Summers--"
"Don't think of it as a punishment," Scott said, turning to open the door. "Think of it as thanking him for your contraband whiskey. You know how much Professor Logan likes training students for intensive combat. I'm sure he'll consider it a fair trade." With that, Scott left him alone and went down to his office, wondering how many other bottles of whiskey were stashed in Julian's room.
They had a system, for disciplinary actions. A form to fill out, to put in the file. When recruiting students for leadership roles or for special assignments, they often looked through the files to see who was best suited for the job. Disciplinary slips didn't necessarily keep one from being considered, but it was important to note what sorts of things the students had done to get in trouble. Scott didn't know who the other two students were, the ones intended for the other two plastic yellow cups, and he doubted he'd find out. This time.
There would always be a next time. It was sort of the nature of his job.
Logan was not going to be happy that he had to get up early tomorrow, which meant he would take it out on Julian. And Julian would be properly cowed, maybe for a month, before he did something like this again. A never-ending cycle.
Scott stopped by Logan's door and knocked once. Julian wouldn't be the only one Logan was mad at. Sometimes, being in charge sucked.
* * *
An hour later, Emma entered the office to find Scott leaning back in his chair, staring down at the pink disciplinary slip. The bottle of Ten High whiskey was open on the table, one of the plastic yellow cups next to it. Scott was tapping his pen on the desk, staring down at the paper.
"Darling, we do have actual glasses," Emma drawled, sauntering in. Scott looked up at her. As usual, Emma was impeccably dressed and put together, even though it was nearly ten o'clock on a weeknight. She was even wearing lipstick. Scott would bet a million dollars in assets that weren't his that she'd put it on specifically to come and find him.
"Yeah. I know." He sipped at the whiskey. It was terrible. Really awful stuff. He should have confiscated that bottle of Coke, too.
"I don't think I've ever heard of this brand," Emma said, wrinkling her nose as she perched on the side of his desk. She didn't like whiskey. Emma drank clear liquor, like vodka or gin. Or Champagne. Scott had to admire her dedication to her persona that she drank liquor to match her outfits. If he were a little more drunk (tipsy, maybe, not drunk--Scott Summers did not get drunk on a weeknight) he may have laughed at that.
Emma laughed, obviously catching his thought. The sound was warm and rich, like a whiskey much better than the one he was currently drinking. "Coincidence, Scott, I assure you. Where did you get this and why are you drinking it in the office?"
"I confiscated it. From your favorite student."
"Laura was drinking whiskey?" Emma said innocently, eyes deceptively wide.
Scott shouldn't laugh at that. The whiskey made him snort, a little, though, which was probably just as bad. Emma shouldn't be encouraged to play favorites with the students and be so obvious about it. "You know who. I swear, that kid has caused more problems in the last month than half of them--even Laura--combined." He shook his head. "He said he got the bottle of whiskey from Logan."
"That's silly. Logan only drinks Canadian whiskey. This is made in Kentucky." Emma tried a Southern drawl, which sounded rather absurd. "Maybe she got it from Sam."
Scott laughed despite himself. "I didn't believe Julian either. I gave him a week's worth of sessions with Logan for a punishment. That should make him think twice before stealing liquor and blaming a teacher. Even if it's Logan." Scott looked back down at the paper. All he'd filled in was Julian's name, and codename. "I should have expected this from a kid who chose to call himself Hellion." Scott said only half-jokingly, leaning back in his chair.
Emma's voice tightened, just a little. "That's not why he chose it."
That way lay memories neither of them wanted to visit; Emma's group of brutally murdered students and Julian's attempt at a homage with the name he'd chosen. Scott held the cup out to her. "You want some?" If she said yes, he'd eat his visor.
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow at him. "Do you really need me to answer that?"
"Come on, Emma. A man doesn't like to drink alone." The whiskey was making him feel warm, relaxed. Less tense than usual. She looked very lovely, Emma, haloed in the soft light from his desktop lamp. She probably was standing in just the right spot for maximum affect. It made him smile to think that.
"Then you should drink something better," Emma chided, but she reached out for the cup. Her fingers brushed against his, skin soft and cool. She raised the cup and sniffed at it disdainfully. "I'm sorry. I simply can't make myself drink anything that smells like that, out of plastic, for heaven's sake." She handed it back to him. "Why are you drinking this in here?"
"Filling out the disciplinary form," he said, as if that were a satisfactory answer.
"It's a short form. Just put he's been caught with alcohol, that you're calling his parents in the morning, and that you've assigned him a week's detention with Logan to learn his lesson." Emma leaned over to look at the form. Scott found himself staring down her shirt, at the curve of her breasts.
Emma looked up and caught his stare. "I think drinking that is making you act seventeen," she said, straightening up. "You don't usually have to try and sneak a look, you know."
"Does anyone?"
Emma's eyes narrowed and she hit him on the arm--not gently, either. The woman worked out enough, even though she never let anyone see her doing it, to be really very strong. "Beastly man, what a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend. That's not nice," she huffed, but he could tell she wasn't really mad. He was getting better at knowing the difference. "Is your file still in here?" She hopped off the desk, walking over to the file cabinets on the side of the room. Kitty had been in the process of converting everything in the files to computer records, but it was a slow-going process. She'd made significant headway, and then M-Day had happened.
She hadn't really wanted to go through and erase all the names she'd already entered. Scott couldn't blame her for that. So they were still using the files, and would be, until things...got sorted out. If they ever did. He picked up the cup, tossed back the rest of the whiskey, and poured himself another one. "I don't know," he said in response to her query. "I doubt it. But maybe? I have a staff file, so. Maybe the Professor put all of my old records in there, too. If he ever kept any."
Emma opened the cabinet, flipping through the files. "Of course he did. Ah! Scott Summers. Here you are." She pulled the file out, opened it up, and began looking. "Well. How very boring. Not a single pink slip in here at all. You must have been the paragon of good behavior, Mr. Summers." She smiled at him. "Or else you went through and removed all of them in case someone went looking?"
"Of course not," Scott said huffily, offended. "Maybe Professor Xavier did? Look in Bobby's. God knows he got in trouble all the time." He took another drink of the whiskey. Huh. The more you drank, the better it tasted. Or, really, the less-awful it tasted. He considered telling Emma that, to entice her to try some.
"Not nearly enticement enough, darling," Emma said, finding another file. "Here we are. Mr. Robert Drake, codename, Iceman." She laughed. "My, Bobby was a handful. Blamed powers for inability to turn in homework. Again."
Scott smiled. "Oh, yeah. He said that all the time. 'Sorry, Professor, but I iced the notebook paper and it shattered.' Why Bobby thought he could lie to the world's most powerful telepath, I'll never know."
"You would be surprised, actually," Emma said, flipping through the multitude of pink slips in Bobby's folder. "Sofia told me the other day she couldn't finish her homework, because Mindee mind controlled her so she could use the computer to play on her MySpace." Emma rolled her eyes. "As if I can't check that story rather easily. Not even with telepathy, but just to see when Mindee last updated her Myspace page."
Scott didn't have a single clue what a Myspace page was, or how Emma knew about them. He didn't really want to know. "Julian said he shouldn't get in trouble because all teenagers tried to sneak alcohol. Like that made it okay." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I should have given him detention for getting such really crappy whiskey. I'm going to have a headache in the morning."
"That's how adults get punished for doing stupid things with alcohol. And he's right, Julian--Bobby has eleven slips in here for contraband alcohol. Obviously, it's a rite of passage for young males in this school."
"Bobby and Hank thought it was fun to drink out by the lake. It was a thing they did, all the time. If you look in Warren's file, he probably has just as many slips. That's how they managed to buy the alcohol, you see. Warren was the front money, Hank was the driver, Bobby did the smooth talking to get the stuff in the first place."
He wondered if Jean's file was in there. He didn't want to ask. If Emma caught the thought, she didn't say anything. Jean mostly got in trouble for talking back or arguing. Writing notes during class. Stuff girls did. She got detention a few times, for the lake parties. It never seemed to bother her much. She probably would have liked having those detention slips as mementos.
"I'll take your word for it," Emma said, drawing his attention back to the present, as she returned Bobby's file to the drawer. She came back to where Scott was sitting, still sipping at the whiskey. "I can't believe you don't have any slips in there." Emma arranged herself on his lap, removing the plastic cup from Scott's hand with quick, nimble fingers. "If you want something intoxicating, try me. I'll leave you with less of a headache."
Scott stared at her. "I don't know about that, Emma." Scott looked down at the form. He tapped the pen against the desk, again, frowning. He needed to just fill this out. It was rudimentary. A cut-and-dried disciplinary case. Easy violation of set rules. Scott was good at this sort of thing. Why couldn't he just fill out the form?
"Darling, I've never seen you have this much trouble with a disciplinary form." Emma said, echoing his thoughts. She looked a bit miffed. Scott figured it was because she was on his lap, looking very enticing, and he was still looking down at a half-filled out piece of paper. "Just write what happened. Finished. Done."
Scott was thinking. About the scene, in Julian's room. About the three cups on the dresser. Three. "You know what I'm mad at him about? This is stupid." He sighed. Emma raised a brow, waiting. "There were three cups. Just three, Emma."
"You wanted him to portion the bad whiskey out amongst more plastic cups? Why? Would that make it taste better?"
Scott shook his head, frustrated that she wasn't understanding what he was saying. "No. Well, yeah. What I mean is, Julian was obviously only drinking with two other students. Why weren't the rest of them invited?"
Emma stared at him. "Are you telling me you wanted there to be some massive drinking party in the student's wing? That would be a rather bad idea, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah." Scott ran a hand through his hair. He was thinking about those drinking parties, down at the lake. The ones he never went to. "I just...who was it that was good enough for Julian to invite? Santo, probably. Victor. But Josh, David--I bet they didn't get invited."
"Scott. You're angry at Julian because he didn't invite more students to partake of his contraband whiskey? Darling, that doesn't make any sense." Emma traced her fingers over his mouth.
Scott captured her hand and moved it away. He wanted her to understand. "But, see, it does. I mean, Julian was right, Emma. Kids do drink all the time. Look at Bobby's file! And Hank and Warren did it, and even Jean--"
"Oh, the saintly Miss Grey sullied herself by drinking?" Emma clasped a hand over her heart. "I'm shocked."
"Emma." Scott's voice was flat, edged with warning.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Well, you just said everyone did it, then acted like it was this big deal that Jean did, too."
"This isn't the point," Scott said tightly, annoyed. As he always was, when they talked about Jean. It was like dangling raw meat in front of a tiger. He should really know better, but how was he supposed to talk about his past without talking about Jean? "The point is, everyone does it, and Julian was excluding people. Deliberately."
"Well, maybe he was worried they would tell. It's not like David and Julian are the best of friends, you know." Emma pulled away from him, leaning back. "I still don't understand what you're trying to say, Scott."
"It's just--look. My file? There's not a single disciplinary slip in there, Emma. I never went to those parties. Maybe I should have. I played it straight, followed the rules. And what? Remember how I told you that Bobby and Warren used to go down at drink at the lake? After Jean--ah. After her funeral. The--the first one. We all went down there, to the lake. With wine coolers, of all things, because that's what they used to drink. They toasted her and told stories about when they used to do this, when we were students. How they always got caught and ended up in detention but they did it anyway, because it was forbidden and fun and worth it to suffer through the Professor's essay-writing detentions for a few hours. I missed that, Emma. I missed all of that because I was too afraid to break the rules. I didn't want to get sent away." Moodily, Scott stared at the door to the office. "I thought being disciplined meant I was a failure. But now I think? Maybe it was worse. That I never did anything to get into trouble. I missed all of these experiences. I couldn't share them. And I'm mad, I guess, on the other kid's behalf. Because they weren't even given the chance to refuse. I think they should be given that chance."
Emma stared at him for a long time. "You're a leader because you do what has to be done, despite maybe wanting to do something else. That is why you are in charge, Scott, and not Hank or Bobby or Warren. There's that saying, that the person you want in charge isn't necessarily the person who wants to be? That's you, Scott. You're the person who misses the parties because he knows it's wrong. That's not bad, darling, it's just who you are."
Scott thought about that. Maybe she was right. "What about you? I mean, Emma. I love you, but I imagine if you had a file--"
"Darling, I do have a file. Katherine has told me all about it. I think she filed me under known villains instead of staff." Emma's mouth twisted. "And you're wrong. I didn't get asked to secret drinking parties in school, either. I was mostly left alone. Like David and Josh. I wasn't exactly well-liked. Of course, girls are horrendous bitches at this age. If you think boys are bad..."
"So you didn't break rules, but it's because no one asked you to?" Scott couldn't help but smile at that. It was so very Emma.
She winked at him. "I broke enough of them, later."
He laughed. "I'll bet you did. But that's why I can't fill out this form, Emma. Because while I know drinking is wrong, part of me is more upset that Julian was excluding others than what he was doing. And I can't write that, because it's not fair. I can't make the students get along. I can't make them like each other. I can't say, 'Hey, maybe you should break a few rules so you don't regret not doing it later on.' Because I have a responsibility to them."
"Yes, you do," Emma said, climbing off his lap. She took the paper from him, and the pen. "You're right. You are here to teach them to do the right thing. They won't, and they'll break the rules enough on their own. Some of them. And some of them won't. Besides, you would do them a disservice, if you try to make them like each other. They have to be teammates, Scott. Not best friends. They have to be willing to watch each other's backs, not pour each other shots." She wrote, quickly and effectively, on the paper.
Julian was reprimanded for possessing an illegal substance which he intended to share with other students. The bottle of whiskey was confiscated, and Julian's parents will be notified by E. Frost about the incident. Detention was set for one week's time with Logan in the Danger Room by S. Summers.
"There," Emma said, pushing the paper away. "All done. Now, do you think you could stop drinking and moping about and we could go to bed?"
Scott stood up and stretched. "Yeah. But, Emma? I'm just--curious, I guess. It doesn't bother you at all? That he was excluding people. When you were excluded, too? I mean, it makes me think about what I missed out on. Don't you think about that sometimes? When stuff like this happens?"
Emma stepped up to him, put her hands on his shoulders. "No. Do you want to know what I think? Really think?"
Scott nodded.
"It makes me pleased, actually, that Juilan kept his secrets. That he didn't immediately offer the information of whom he was drinking with, to partial out his punishment. I think that's admirable. I think it's a good lesson to learn."
Scott was actually shocked into silence for a moment. "That's a hell of a way to look at it, Emma." He wasn't sure if he was horrified or bizarrely impressed with her logic. It was certainly different than his. Maybe that was a good thing, when he thought about it.
Emma shrugged. "It's just how I think. Let's go to bed, darling. And the next time you are all mopey about what you may have missed out on playing it straight and narrow, why don't you come and find me and we'll go down to the lake and drink, if you want. Except if you bring me a wine cooler, I'm going to laugh at you and go back inside faster than you can say Bartles and Jaymes. I just want you to know that up front."
Scott thought about that, about what it would be like. Going down to the lake, at night, with Emma. Sitting beneath the stars with her in the dew-soaked grass. Drinking together while the students slept, unawares, back at the mansion. He thought about lying on his back next to Emma and looking up the stars. The problem was that stars weren't comforting, like they used to be. When he was young. Not when he remembered what it was like, to watch someone he loved sprout wings of fire and glow in a terrible wreath of flames amidst the vastness of space. Besides, if he were to go to the lake with Emma, all he would think about was the nights he'd never been there. They would probably fight. It wouldn't be a good memory. Not like it would have been, when he was younger.
He looked down at Emma and caught the quick look of anger on her face. She looked away. "Then maybe, instead, you should just be who you are and stop worrying about it." She pulled away from him and walked towards the door. Sometimes he never knew what to say to her. He couldn't help it that he thought about Jean. They'd grown up together, in the mansion. There were echoes of her everywhere. Emma stiffened. "You have a future here too, you know," she said quietly. "As well as a past. Maybe it's time you thought about that."
She left the office and closed the door firmly. Scott looked down at the form for a long time, then picked up the bottle of whiskey and left the office. He found Emma in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, face expressionless. Scott wondered what sort of things haunted Emma, what sort of echoes she heard in the silence. He put his arm around her waist. "I always did," he said gruffly as he pulled her against him, "want to go drinking in the Blackbird. Not while I was flying it. Just sitting in it. Thought it would be kind of fun. Maybe we could do that. Together. Sometime."
She looked up at him. Her eyes softened, just a little. It was enough. "Not drinking that, we're not," she said, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey.
"Nah," Scott said, walking with her towards the kitchen. Her body felt soft and warm against his. Alive. "I was going to put this away. In the liquor cabinet. Maybe Bobby'll drink it. I mean, he hasn't really graduated much beyond wine coolers, so maybe he'll appreciate it?" The liquor cabinet was locked. Not that it mattered, when you had students who could bend the fabric of time and space. Still. One had to make an effort.
Emma laughed a little. Her body relaxed a fraction beneath the press of his arm. They walked in silence towards the kitchen. The only sounds he heard echoing in the mansion were their footsteps. It was enough. For now.
Author: Sionnain
Recipient: Jadecanary
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Marvel, and not I.
Rating: Teen
Verse: 616-verse, set pre-Civil War.
Genre: Mostly gen, with a bit of Scott/Emma.
Request: Emma Frost, students/school life, a bottle of whiskey (brand of author's choice).
Summary: Scott catches one of the students with a bottle of whiskey, and thinks about what it meant that he always followed the rules.
AN: Thanks to resolute and likeadeuce for a great beta and some wonderful suggestions! I hope you enjoy this, jadecanary! :) The title is a Dylan Thomas poem.
My hero bares his nerves
The bottle of Ten High whiskey sat like an accusation on the dresser. Next to it were three yellow plastic glasses and a bottle of Coke. All that was missing was the requisite Sharpie and a bag of Doritos. Scott had been teaching here a long time. He knew the makings of an illicit teenage drinking party.
Bobby had thrown them all the time, when they were students. Not that Scott had even gone to those.
The instigator of said party was standing in the center of his predictably messy room, looking nervous and a little irritated that he'd gotten caught. "I swear, Mr. Summers. It's not mine."
Scott was pretty sure that was coming. In fact, he was so sure, he was considering saying the words along with Julian. He didn't, though. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and said in his best Field-Leader voice, "Let's just pretend it is. Where did you get it?"
Julian looked away. Scott could practically hear him thinking what to say. "Professor Logan?"
Scott didn't believe that. Not because Logan wouldn't give one of the students liquor. "Kid's gotta learn how to hold his liquor sometime, Summers." No, Logan would never drink Ten High. Cheap beer, yeah. Cheap whiskey? Not unless he was desperate. "Do you think maybe it'd be a good idea not to add anything else to the list of stuff you're already in trouble for?"
Julian looked over at the whiskey. He seemed to be considering maybe actually adding something else to the list. Scott looked up at the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh caught in his throat. "That, " he said evenly, "was a rhetorical question. If I found out you used your powers to steal this--"
"No, Mr. Summers," Julian said quickly, and the intensity of his response told Scott he probably wasn't lying. "I didn't, I swear. I know that's what gets us kicked out, I'd never do that."
"Julian, you know the rules. Any minor in possession of alcohol on the school ground is disciplined. I'll have to call your parents in the morning."
Julian winced. "Aw, Mr. Summers, do you have to? I mean, they--they don't need to know about this, right? What kid doesn't try to get away with this when they're my age?"
As far as defensive strategies went, Julian had a lot to learn. Scott had heard that same sentiment, phrased in different ways, nearly three thousand times, probably. "Nearly all of them," Scott agreed. "And they all get their parents called in the morning. Danger Room, six am sharp. For a week. I mean it, Julian. Every minute you're late is an extra day you'll be in there."
"I have to run drills with you for my detention?" Julian shrugged. "Could be worse." He smiled a bit cockily. Scott remembered Julian was Emma's favorite student. He was beginning to see why.
Scott picked up the whiskey and the three cups off the dresser, hand around the neck of the bottle. He left the two-liter of soda alone. "Not me," Scott said, hiding a smile. "Logan."
Julian groaned, cocky grin immediately fading into a look of pained horror. "Mr. Summers--"
"Don't think of it as a punishment," Scott said, turning to open the door. "Think of it as thanking him for your contraband whiskey. You know how much Professor Logan likes training students for intensive combat. I'm sure he'll consider it a fair trade." With that, Scott left him alone and went down to his office, wondering how many other bottles of whiskey were stashed in Julian's room.
They had a system, for disciplinary actions. A form to fill out, to put in the file. When recruiting students for leadership roles or for special assignments, they often looked through the files to see who was best suited for the job. Disciplinary slips didn't necessarily keep one from being considered, but it was important to note what sorts of things the students had done to get in trouble. Scott didn't know who the other two students were, the ones intended for the other two plastic yellow cups, and he doubted he'd find out. This time.
There would always be a next time. It was sort of the nature of his job.
Logan was not going to be happy that he had to get up early tomorrow, which meant he would take it out on Julian. And Julian would be properly cowed, maybe for a month, before he did something like this again. A never-ending cycle.
Scott stopped by Logan's door and knocked once. Julian wouldn't be the only one Logan was mad at. Sometimes, being in charge sucked.
* * *
An hour later, Emma entered the office to find Scott leaning back in his chair, staring down at the pink disciplinary slip. The bottle of Ten High whiskey was open on the table, one of the plastic yellow cups next to it. Scott was tapping his pen on the desk, staring down at the paper.
"Darling, we do have actual glasses," Emma drawled, sauntering in. Scott looked up at her. As usual, Emma was impeccably dressed and put together, even though it was nearly ten o'clock on a weeknight. She was even wearing lipstick. Scott would bet a million dollars in assets that weren't his that she'd put it on specifically to come and find him.
"Yeah. I know." He sipped at the whiskey. It was terrible. Really awful stuff. He should have confiscated that bottle of Coke, too.
"I don't think I've ever heard of this brand," Emma said, wrinkling her nose as she perched on the side of his desk. She didn't like whiskey. Emma drank clear liquor, like vodka or gin. Or Champagne. Scott had to admire her dedication to her persona that she drank liquor to match her outfits. If he were a little more drunk (tipsy, maybe, not drunk--Scott Summers did not get drunk on a weeknight) he may have laughed at that.
Emma laughed, obviously catching his thought. The sound was warm and rich, like a whiskey much better than the one he was currently drinking. "Coincidence, Scott, I assure you. Where did you get this and why are you drinking it in the office?"
"I confiscated it. From your favorite student."
"Laura was drinking whiskey?" Emma said innocently, eyes deceptively wide.
Scott shouldn't laugh at that. The whiskey made him snort, a little, though, which was probably just as bad. Emma shouldn't be encouraged to play favorites with the students and be so obvious about it. "You know who. I swear, that kid has caused more problems in the last month than half of them--even Laura--combined." He shook his head. "He said he got the bottle of whiskey from Logan."
"That's silly. Logan only drinks Canadian whiskey. This is made in Kentucky." Emma tried a Southern drawl, which sounded rather absurd. "Maybe she got it from Sam."
Scott laughed despite himself. "I didn't believe Julian either. I gave him a week's worth of sessions with Logan for a punishment. That should make him think twice before stealing liquor and blaming a teacher. Even if it's Logan." Scott looked back down at the paper. All he'd filled in was Julian's name, and codename. "I should have expected this from a kid who chose to call himself Hellion." Scott said only half-jokingly, leaning back in his chair.
Emma's voice tightened, just a little. "That's not why he chose it."
That way lay memories neither of them wanted to visit; Emma's group of brutally murdered students and Julian's attempt at a homage with the name he'd chosen. Scott held the cup out to her. "You want some?" If she said yes, he'd eat his visor.
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow at him. "Do you really need me to answer that?"
"Come on, Emma. A man doesn't like to drink alone." The whiskey was making him feel warm, relaxed. Less tense than usual. She looked very lovely, Emma, haloed in the soft light from his desktop lamp. She probably was standing in just the right spot for maximum affect. It made him smile to think that.
"Then you should drink something better," Emma chided, but she reached out for the cup. Her fingers brushed against his, skin soft and cool. She raised the cup and sniffed at it disdainfully. "I'm sorry. I simply can't make myself drink anything that smells like that, out of plastic, for heaven's sake." She handed it back to him. "Why are you drinking this in here?"
"Filling out the disciplinary form," he said, as if that were a satisfactory answer.
"It's a short form. Just put he's been caught with alcohol, that you're calling his parents in the morning, and that you've assigned him a week's detention with Logan to learn his lesson." Emma leaned over to look at the form. Scott found himself staring down her shirt, at the curve of her breasts.
Emma looked up and caught his stare. "I think drinking that is making you act seventeen," she said, straightening up. "You don't usually have to try and sneak a look, you know."
"Does anyone?"
Emma's eyes narrowed and she hit him on the arm--not gently, either. The woman worked out enough, even though she never let anyone see her doing it, to be really very strong. "Beastly man, what a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend. That's not nice," she huffed, but he could tell she wasn't really mad. He was getting better at knowing the difference. "Is your file still in here?" She hopped off the desk, walking over to the file cabinets on the side of the room. Kitty had been in the process of converting everything in the files to computer records, but it was a slow-going process. She'd made significant headway, and then M-Day had happened.
She hadn't really wanted to go through and erase all the names she'd already entered. Scott couldn't blame her for that. So they were still using the files, and would be, until things...got sorted out. If they ever did. He picked up the cup, tossed back the rest of the whiskey, and poured himself another one. "I don't know," he said in response to her query. "I doubt it. But maybe? I have a staff file, so. Maybe the Professor put all of my old records in there, too. If he ever kept any."
Emma opened the cabinet, flipping through the files. "Of course he did. Ah! Scott Summers. Here you are." She pulled the file out, opened it up, and began looking. "Well. How very boring. Not a single pink slip in here at all. You must have been the paragon of good behavior, Mr. Summers." She smiled at him. "Or else you went through and removed all of them in case someone went looking?"
"Of course not," Scott said huffily, offended. "Maybe Professor Xavier did? Look in Bobby's. God knows he got in trouble all the time." He took another drink of the whiskey. Huh. The more you drank, the better it tasted. Or, really, the less-awful it tasted. He considered telling Emma that, to entice her to try some.
"Not nearly enticement enough, darling," Emma said, finding another file. "Here we are. Mr. Robert Drake, codename, Iceman." She laughed. "My, Bobby was a handful. Blamed powers for inability to turn in homework. Again."
Scott smiled. "Oh, yeah. He said that all the time. 'Sorry, Professor, but I iced the notebook paper and it shattered.' Why Bobby thought he could lie to the world's most powerful telepath, I'll never know."
"You would be surprised, actually," Emma said, flipping through the multitude of pink slips in Bobby's folder. "Sofia told me the other day she couldn't finish her homework, because Mindee mind controlled her so she could use the computer to play on her MySpace." Emma rolled her eyes. "As if I can't check that story rather easily. Not even with telepathy, but just to see when Mindee last updated her Myspace page."
Scott didn't have a single clue what a Myspace page was, or how Emma knew about them. He didn't really want to know. "Julian said he shouldn't get in trouble because all teenagers tried to sneak alcohol. Like that made it okay." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I should have given him detention for getting such really crappy whiskey. I'm going to have a headache in the morning."
"That's how adults get punished for doing stupid things with alcohol. And he's right, Julian--Bobby has eleven slips in here for contraband alcohol. Obviously, it's a rite of passage for young males in this school."
"Bobby and Hank thought it was fun to drink out by the lake. It was a thing they did, all the time. If you look in Warren's file, he probably has just as many slips. That's how they managed to buy the alcohol, you see. Warren was the front money, Hank was the driver, Bobby did the smooth talking to get the stuff in the first place."
He wondered if Jean's file was in there. He didn't want to ask. If Emma caught the thought, she didn't say anything. Jean mostly got in trouble for talking back or arguing. Writing notes during class. Stuff girls did. She got detention a few times, for the lake parties. It never seemed to bother her much. She probably would have liked having those detention slips as mementos.
"I'll take your word for it," Emma said, drawing his attention back to the present, as she returned Bobby's file to the drawer. She came back to where Scott was sitting, still sipping at the whiskey. "I can't believe you don't have any slips in there." Emma arranged herself on his lap, removing the plastic cup from Scott's hand with quick, nimble fingers. "If you want something intoxicating, try me. I'll leave you with less of a headache."
Scott stared at her. "I don't know about that, Emma." Scott looked down at the form. He tapped the pen against the desk, again, frowning. He needed to just fill this out. It was rudimentary. A cut-and-dried disciplinary case. Easy violation of set rules. Scott was good at this sort of thing. Why couldn't he just fill out the form?
"Darling, I've never seen you have this much trouble with a disciplinary form." Emma said, echoing his thoughts. She looked a bit miffed. Scott figured it was because she was on his lap, looking very enticing, and he was still looking down at a half-filled out piece of paper. "Just write what happened. Finished. Done."
Scott was thinking. About the scene, in Julian's room. About the three cups on the dresser. Three. "You know what I'm mad at him about? This is stupid." He sighed. Emma raised a brow, waiting. "There were three cups. Just three, Emma."
"You wanted him to portion the bad whiskey out amongst more plastic cups? Why? Would that make it taste better?"
Scott shook his head, frustrated that she wasn't understanding what he was saying. "No. Well, yeah. What I mean is, Julian was obviously only drinking with two other students. Why weren't the rest of them invited?"
Emma stared at him. "Are you telling me you wanted there to be some massive drinking party in the student's wing? That would be a rather bad idea, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah." Scott ran a hand through his hair. He was thinking about those drinking parties, down at the lake. The ones he never went to. "I just...who was it that was good enough for Julian to invite? Santo, probably. Victor. But Josh, David--I bet they didn't get invited."
"Scott. You're angry at Julian because he didn't invite more students to partake of his contraband whiskey? Darling, that doesn't make any sense." Emma traced her fingers over his mouth.
Scott captured her hand and moved it away. He wanted her to understand. "But, see, it does. I mean, Julian was right, Emma. Kids do drink all the time. Look at Bobby's file! And Hank and Warren did it, and even Jean--"
"Oh, the saintly Miss Grey sullied herself by drinking?" Emma clasped a hand over her heart. "I'm shocked."
"Emma." Scott's voice was flat, edged with warning.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Well, you just said everyone did it, then acted like it was this big deal that Jean did, too."
"This isn't the point," Scott said tightly, annoyed. As he always was, when they talked about Jean. It was like dangling raw meat in front of a tiger. He should really know better, but how was he supposed to talk about his past without talking about Jean? "The point is, everyone does it, and Julian was excluding people. Deliberately."
"Well, maybe he was worried they would tell. It's not like David and Julian are the best of friends, you know." Emma pulled away from him, leaning back. "I still don't understand what you're trying to say, Scott."
"It's just--look. My file? There's not a single disciplinary slip in there, Emma. I never went to those parties. Maybe I should have. I played it straight, followed the rules. And what? Remember how I told you that Bobby and Warren used to go down at drink at the lake? After Jean--ah. After her funeral. The--the first one. We all went down there, to the lake. With wine coolers, of all things, because that's what they used to drink. They toasted her and told stories about when they used to do this, when we were students. How they always got caught and ended up in detention but they did it anyway, because it was forbidden and fun and worth it to suffer through the Professor's essay-writing detentions for a few hours. I missed that, Emma. I missed all of that because I was too afraid to break the rules. I didn't want to get sent away." Moodily, Scott stared at the door to the office. "I thought being disciplined meant I was a failure. But now I think? Maybe it was worse. That I never did anything to get into trouble. I missed all of these experiences. I couldn't share them. And I'm mad, I guess, on the other kid's behalf. Because they weren't even given the chance to refuse. I think they should be given that chance."
Emma stared at him for a long time. "You're a leader because you do what has to be done, despite maybe wanting to do something else. That is why you are in charge, Scott, and not Hank or Bobby or Warren. There's that saying, that the person you want in charge isn't necessarily the person who wants to be? That's you, Scott. You're the person who misses the parties because he knows it's wrong. That's not bad, darling, it's just who you are."
Scott thought about that. Maybe she was right. "What about you? I mean, Emma. I love you, but I imagine if you had a file--"
"Darling, I do have a file. Katherine has told me all about it. I think she filed me under known villains instead of staff." Emma's mouth twisted. "And you're wrong. I didn't get asked to secret drinking parties in school, either. I was mostly left alone. Like David and Josh. I wasn't exactly well-liked. Of course, girls are horrendous bitches at this age. If you think boys are bad..."
"So you didn't break rules, but it's because no one asked you to?" Scott couldn't help but smile at that. It was so very Emma.
She winked at him. "I broke enough of them, later."
He laughed. "I'll bet you did. But that's why I can't fill out this form, Emma. Because while I know drinking is wrong, part of me is more upset that Julian was excluding others than what he was doing. And I can't write that, because it's not fair. I can't make the students get along. I can't make them like each other. I can't say, 'Hey, maybe you should break a few rules so you don't regret not doing it later on.' Because I have a responsibility to them."
"Yes, you do," Emma said, climbing off his lap. She took the paper from him, and the pen. "You're right. You are here to teach them to do the right thing. They won't, and they'll break the rules enough on their own. Some of them. And some of them won't. Besides, you would do them a disservice, if you try to make them like each other. They have to be teammates, Scott. Not best friends. They have to be willing to watch each other's backs, not pour each other shots." She wrote, quickly and effectively, on the paper.
Julian was reprimanded for possessing an illegal substance which he intended to share with other students. The bottle of whiskey was confiscated, and Julian's parents will be notified by E. Frost about the incident. Detention was set for one week's time with Logan in the Danger Room by S. Summers.
"There," Emma said, pushing the paper away. "All done. Now, do you think you could stop drinking and moping about and we could go to bed?"
Scott stood up and stretched. "Yeah. But, Emma? I'm just--curious, I guess. It doesn't bother you at all? That he was excluding people. When you were excluded, too? I mean, it makes me think about what I missed out on. Don't you think about that sometimes? When stuff like this happens?"
Emma stepped up to him, put her hands on his shoulders. "No. Do you want to know what I think? Really think?"
Scott nodded.
"It makes me pleased, actually, that Juilan kept his secrets. That he didn't immediately offer the information of whom he was drinking with, to partial out his punishment. I think that's admirable. I think it's a good lesson to learn."
Scott was actually shocked into silence for a moment. "That's a hell of a way to look at it, Emma." He wasn't sure if he was horrified or bizarrely impressed with her logic. It was certainly different than his. Maybe that was a good thing, when he thought about it.
Emma shrugged. "It's just how I think. Let's go to bed, darling. And the next time you are all mopey about what you may have missed out on playing it straight and narrow, why don't you come and find me and we'll go down to the lake and drink, if you want. Except if you bring me a wine cooler, I'm going to laugh at you and go back inside faster than you can say Bartles and Jaymes. I just want you to know that up front."
Scott thought about that, about what it would be like. Going down to the lake, at night, with Emma. Sitting beneath the stars with her in the dew-soaked grass. Drinking together while the students slept, unawares, back at the mansion. He thought about lying on his back next to Emma and looking up the stars. The problem was that stars weren't comforting, like they used to be. When he was young. Not when he remembered what it was like, to watch someone he loved sprout wings of fire and glow in a terrible wreath of flames amidst the vastness of space. Besides, if he were to go to the lake with Emma, all he would think about was the nights he'd never been there. They would probably fight. It wouldn't be a good memory. Not like it would have been, when he was younger.
He looked down at Emma and caught the quick look of anger on her face. She looked away. "Then maybe, instead, you should just be who you are and stop worrying about it." She pulled away from him and walked towards the door. Sometimes he never knew what to say to her. He couldn't help it that he thought about Jean. They'd grown up together, in the mansion. There were echoes of her everywhere. Emma stiffened. "You have a future here too, you know," she said quietly. "As well as a past. Maybe it's time you thought about that."
She left the office and closed the door firmly. Scott looked down at the form for a long time, then picked up the bottle of whiskey and left the office. He found Emma in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, face expressionless. Scott wondered what sort of things haunted Emma, what sort of echoes she heard in the silence. He put his arm around her waist. "I always did," he said gruffly as he pulled her against him, "want to go drinking in the Blackbird. Not while I was flying it. Just sitting in it. Thought it would be kind of fun. Maybe we could do that. Together. Sometime."
She looked up at him. Her eyes softened, just a little. It was enough. "Not drinking that, we're not," she said, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey.
"Nah," Scott said, walking with her towards the kitchen. Her body felt soft and warm against his. Alive. "I was going to put this away. In the liquor cabinet. Maybe Bobby'll drink it. I mean, he hasn't really graduated much beyond wine coolers, so maybe he'll appreciate it?" The liquor cabinet was locked. Not that it mattered, when you had students who could bend the fabric of time and space. Still. One had to make an effort.
Emma laughed a little. Her body relaxed a fraction beneath the press of his arm. They walked in silence towards the kitchen. The only sounds he heard echoing in the mansion were their footsteps. It was enough. For now.