(NCIS/X-Men) I’m what passes for normal around here for xover_exchange
Title: I’m what passes for normal around here
Author: liliaeth
Fandoms:NCIS/X-Men
Characters: Kate Todd, Abby Sciuto; Scott Summers
Pairings: Scott Summers/Abby Sciuto
Rating: G
Word count:2478
Spoilers: S1 for NCIS, up to X-Men 2
Warnings: non graphic hate crime
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these guys, even though Scott can come join me any time he wants to
A/N: thanks so much to fenderlove for saving my butt in regards to both betaing and making sure the characters felt right
Summary: Scott’s trying to pass, it isn’t as easy as it seems
When Scott left the X-men, he wasn’t even sure why he did so. He’d loved the job, teaching auto mechanics at the school, looking after the kids, being on the team; but after Jean died, none of it was worth it anymore. Logan had kept trying to talk to him, and Charles... Charles didn’t understand.
Scott didn’t even know why; he just knew that this wasn’t the life he wanted, not anymore, so he picked up his duffel bag, started his bike, and left early enough in the morning that the only one who noticed was Logan.
Scott hadn’t gone to bed yet. It was only when Scott sat there on the open road, with nowhere to go, that he realized what he’d done. No destination, just knowing that he’d rather be anywhere else other than the mansion.
It had stunned him. For the first time since he was a teenager, he hadn’t known what to do with his life. Before that, ever since the day that the professor found him, he’d had a purpose, something to strive for. Only now that he was free of that, he felt lost.
He wasn’t sure why, but he just drove, and drove, until, weeks later, he was waiting tables in a city he’d never heard of, in a bar close enough to the nearest base that it was filled with officers, marines, and anyone even remotely connected to them, listening to their jokes about muties and fighting hard to keep his mouth shut.
They mocked him at first, especially his need to wear glasses, even indoors. Scott had told his boss he had a medical condition. It got him mocked for wanting to look too cool, but he kept his mouth shut; he wanted to pass, to be seen as human, and this was the only way to do that. Before long, they almost forgot he’d ever not been here.
Passing... It felt wrong somehow; yet, at the same time, it was the only way he could live here, have a job, and go untouched; but every day he woke up in his room at the motel, he’d get up, eyes closed until he got his hands on his glasses. He’d make sure the glasses were put on, straightened them so not a single, stray bit of plasma beam could get passed, and then he moved on to the bathroom, where he’d stare at the image looking back.
Just a regular guy, nobody special. Not the leader of a paramilitary group that played on the edges of legality. Not a potential terrorist or a threat or even a superhero. God, that word sounded weird, even in his own head. He was just Scott- orphan, loner and bartender. It still felt wrong.
And it had worked, for far longer than he’d intended it to do so, until last week, when in the middle of the bar, one of the marines, who’d been coming in for the past two months that he’d been here, suddenly started shifting colors.
One of his buddies had said something about the guy messing with make-up, only then the guy picked up a bill, and suddenly blotches of green started appearing all over his skin.
The guy had seemed terrified, ready to run. Scott had considered trying to stop him, try to talk to him, explain. It was hard to lose the habit of a lifetime, but, before Scott could do anything, the crowd had started screaming. The marine ran off.
They found him a few hours later, beaten to death, only a few blocks further.
Someone had dropped a newspaper over him, a single sentence written over it with a red marker “Mutie menace!”
The next morning the newspaper reported the guy was covered in a dozen colors, even hours after his death. Scott could barely imagine a more harmless mutation. All the guy’s skin was doing was reflecting the colors of anything surrounding him, not even enough to make him invisible, blotches of pink, red, green, whatever was around him. Just something silly; not even remotely useful in any way whatsoever. Not all mutations were powerful, but that didn’t stop someone from murdering him over it. People didn’t even seem to be the least bit interested in catching whoever did it. In fact, most people seemed happy that the poor guy was gone- “exposed,” as they put it.
Now, there was even talk about taking away the man’s medals and honors, because he hadn’t told the navy that he was a mutant. From Scott’s perspective, the man hadn’t even known what he was; never mind that the guy would have been kicked out of the marines if he had told. After all, open and out mutants weren’t allowed in any part of the military or law enforcement; it didn’t stop many of them signing up anyway, long as they kept it hidden- one of those open secrets. What sergeant, after all, was going to question a recruit who could jump higher, run faster, and be the best of the best, long as he or she didn’t show off what he or she could really do?
Scott looked up when the place went quiet, staring at the door and the group that just came in. It wasn’t so much the men (two guys in their thirties- one that looked all slick, and the other not so much). They weren’t wearing uniforms, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and even the oldest of the two women didn’t stand out so much. Sure, she was hot, but Scott could see her fitting in. She had a nice smile, and she seemed sure of her place. It was the last member of the group, on the other hand, that made everyone stare and wonder if she’d arrived at the wrong place. She was all dressed up like a Goth, covered in tattoos and markings that made her stand out even more. She couldn’t be any less like Jean if she tried, and yet…
The group sat down in a corner booth and ordered. Beer and coffee, not the most normal of combinations. One of the guys was making pop culture jokes that reminded Scott of some of the kids at the school. They were the only part of life at Xavier’s that he actually missed. Them and…
Scott finished all of their drinks and brought them to their table. He wasn’t able to help it when he heard them talking about the case, wondering who’d done it and why. Everyone knew, but nobody was talking. After all, the victim was only a mutant. The group stopped talking as soon as Scott came close. He forced his face to stay still and put down the last of their order before leaving. He was glad he was wearing his glasses. He didn’t think he could have kept from showing something at seeing the pictures they were looking at. It wasn’t until he was picking up the last of the bottles from another table when he suddenly noticed someone tapping his shoulder.
It was the Goth girl; her female friend was standing by her side.
Scott turned around a bit abruptly, nearly dropping the plate and unable to hold back a flinch, “Hi.” She said, she looked cute and young, so young, even if he only had a few years on her at the most.
Scott wondered how they’d managed to sneak up on him like that; he was usually more aware of his surroundings than this. He had to be.
“Could I have another Caf-Pow?” the Goth asked.
Scott quickly nodded and headed up to the bar. The two women followed him; the older woman sat down, straight. The younger one seemed to be looking at the supplies as if she was calculating something. He didn’t bother to ask why.
“Did you know the victim?” the older woman suddenly asked him.
Scott stood stunned, looking away. No, he hadn’t known him. There was no connection, except for one, but nobody knew about that.
“I’m sorry; my name’s Special Agent Kate Todd,” she showed a badge. “I’m with NCIS.”
Scott couldn’t help a flinch. NCIS had been all over the mansion after Stryker’s attack, after the professor talked to the President, and the President had promised things would change, that Stryker’s crusade would be investigated. Civil Rights violations, attacking a school without due cause, arresting minors without alerting their parents, …
Had she been one of them? Scott didn’t recognize her; he wondered if she knew him.
The Goth girl just smiled, “I’m Abby.” She didn’t go further than that.
“I noticed the way you reacted to the pictures,” Kate said.
Scott picked up a few glasses, drying them before putting them away, and he turned around to get a coffee cup, “I’m just not used to hearing people talk about things like that.”
It was a weak try, but it was all he could think of saying, especially with all the other gossips in the bar had been happy to see the world rid of a mutie. The victim’s former friends, men who’d once had his back, whose lives he’d probably saved several times over, were now pretending they barely even knew the guy, as if admitting any connection to the guy was enough to catch whatever he had.
“I’m sorry,” Kate didn’t look away.
Abby bowed down her head, and Scott could see the sadness in her eyes.
“The poor man, he didn’t deserve that,” she said.
Scott added an extra pair of chocolates to her drink for that.
Abby continued, “We weren’t getting anywhere with the case, so my friends figured we needed a drink.”
Scott just nodded and started cleaning glasses. Sure, he thought, you needed a drink in the one bar where the victim had last been seen alive, where he’d been outed in front of everyone, but he could go along with them and pretend he didn’t know he was being interrogated.
“So, what’s your power?”
Scott nearly dropped a glass. He hadn’t expected that one. Kate stared at Abby, in a moment of shock, before trying to get her to stop with a shake of her head, but it wasn’t working.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume, but you’re the first person I’ve seen in this town who actually cares that a man died, so I figured…” Abby said.
Scott didn’t know how to answer, but she continued on for him, “I guess I’m getting out of the habit of expecting people to behave like decent human beings. I had to get out of that police station before I exploded.”
Scott couldn’t help a smile.
“And then there’s those glasses of yours...”
“I’ve got a medical condition,” Scott answered. The line coming quick to him now, before turning his back to her, before she could ask what condition. He wasn’t a suspect, or they’d be more obvious about it.
“We just want to find out the truth- who killed Petty Officer Danton and why.”
Scott didn’t answer; he wanted to tell her, but that made him a witness, and no court would listen to hearsay, especially hearsay coming from a mutant.
“Does it matter?” he replied after a pause.
Abby looked at him, in such a way that for a moment he was able to believe, “It always matters.”
And somehow, Scott actually believed her.
Abby continued, “No one should die for being special or weird or outright cool.”
Scott scoffed at that. He recognized the tone. It happened, every once and a while you found someone who didn’t think of mutants as threats, but who could see how awesome it was for someone to be able to fly or to run fast enough to walk on water… or even to have an optic beam that could put holes through mountains. Those last ones were usually also the type that loved a good explosion.
“The petty officer was here, last week, a few hours before he died.”
It was one of those moments where he was actually happy about his glasses; they kept the two women from seeing his eyes, gave him a place to hide.
“And then he manifested?” Kate implored.
“I think so,” Scott leaned back against the wall, hesitating how much he should say. “There’s a different way in how people react when they show something they know about, but that they didn’t want people knowing of, and how they react when something is happening to them that shocks them as much as it does everyone else.”
Kate seemed to agree, “I guess a bartender has to be a bit of a profiler?”
“I was a teacher, before I was a bartender. It takes a lot of the same skills,” Scott couldn’t help say.
“A teacher? In what?”
“Automechanics.”
“Nice,” Abby smiled at him, and Scott couldn’t help but return it; her good mood was almost infectious. “So how does a teacher decide to become a bartender?”
Scott looked away; it was the one question he didn’t want to answer.
“Did anyone act specifically… angry about Petty Officer Denton’s manifestion?”
Scott tried to remember; he’d taken a step forward, trying to talk to Denton, hearing people screaming, pulling back. Scott had been the only one that had tried to come closer. No not the only one; there was one other.
“There was this woman, I think she was a sergeant. She tried to talk to Denton, but he ran before she could say anything.”
After that , answering the questions became almost easier, and Scott continued, trying not to ask more question, not sure if he wanted to ask if any next of kin had claimed the victim’s body. Someone had, Kate informed him- the man’s sister. Outside of Scott and the agents, Denton’s sister seemed to be the only one who cared to see the murderers caught; she was also the only one aside of Scott who’d stepped forward to help.
The next day, Scott sat there at the bar, watching the news, barely anything was said about the victim, all they cared to talk about was the “good and decent” citizens who’d been arrested for “trying to defend themselves.” It was then that Scott saw her, the Goth, Abby. She came in before the bar was fully busy. She followed him outside about an hour later, when he went to take out the trash.
“Hi there.”
Scott looked up and smiled back.
“I looked you up,” she stated as she sat down at the barstool. “You were a member of Xavier’s staff.”
“I was.”
“You didn’t answer my question last night. So, what’s your power?”
“You don’t give up do you?”
“Not when I’m interested, no.”
Scott grabbed a coin and threw it in the air, lifted his glasses for less than a second. He grabbed the coin before it hit the soil and threw it at her; the coin was pierced straight through.
Her eyes opened wide, awed, ”Wow. You do have an eye condition.”
Scott looked down, unsure.
“So are you staying here much longer?” Abby asked.
And he wanted to say yes, but he didn’t.
“A friend is coming to pick me up tomorrow,” Scott wondered what Logan would say, if he’d say anything.
“Well at least we’ve got tonight.”
Her eyes twinkled; she was nothing like Jean, nothing at all. She didn’t have to be.
-END-
Author: liliaeth
Fandoms:NCIS/X-Men
Characters: Kate Todd, Abby Sciuto; Scott Summers
Pairings: Scott Summers/Abby Sciuto
Rating: G
Word count:2478
Spoilers: S1 for NCIS, up to X-Men 2
Warnings: non graphic hate crime
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these guys, even though Scott can come join me any time he wants to
A/N: thanks so much to fenderlove for saving my butt in regards to both betaing and making sure the characters felt right
Summary: Scott’s trying to pass, it isn’t as easy as it seems
When Scott left the X-men, he wasn’t even sure why he did so. He’d loved the job, teaching auto mechanics at the school, looking after the kids, being on the team; but after Jean died, none of it was worth it anymore. Logan had kept trying to talk to him, and Charles... Charles didn’t understand.
Scott didn’t even know why; he just knew that this wasn’t the life he wanted, not anymore, so he picked up his duffel bag, started his bike, and left early enough in the morning that the only one who noticed was Logan.
Scott hadn’t gone to bed yet. It was only when Scott sat there on the open road, with nowhere to go, that he realized what he’d done. No destination, just knowing that he’d rather be anywhere else other than the mansion.
It had stunned him. For the first time since he was a teenager, he hadn’t known what to do with his life. Before that, ever since the day that the professor found him, he’d had a purpose, something to strive for. Only now that he was free of that, he felt lost.
He wasn’t sure why, but he just drove, and drove, until, weeks later, he was waiting tables in a city he’d never heard of, in a bar close enough to the nearest base that it was filled with officers, marines, and anyone even remotely connected to them, listening to their jokes about muties and fighting hard to keep his mouth shut.
They mocked him at first, especially his need to wear glasses, even indoors. Scott had told his boss he had a medical condition. It got him mocked for wanting to look too cool, but he kept his mouth shut; he wanted to pass, to be seen as human, and this was the only way to do that. Before long, they almost forgot he’d ever not been here.
Passing... It felt wrong somehow; yet, at the same time, it was the only way he could live here, have a job, and go untouched; but every day he woke up in his room at the motel, he’d get up, eyes closed until he got his hands on his glasses. He’d make sure the glasses were put on, straightened them so not a single, stray bit of plasma beam could get passed, and then he moved on to the bathroom, where he’d stare at the image looking back.
Just a regular guy, nobody special. Not the leader of a paramilitary group that played on the edges of legality. Not a potential terrorist or a threat or even a superhero. God, that word sounded weird, even in his own head. He was just Scott- orphan, loner and bartender. It still felt wrong.
And it had worked, for far longer than he’d intended it to do so, until last week, when in the middle of the bar, one of the marines, who’d been coming in for the past two months that he’d been here, suddenly started shifting colors.
One of his buddies had said something about the guy messing with make-up, only then the guy picked up a bill, and suddenly blotches of green started appearing all over his skin.
The guy had seemed terrified, ready to run. Scott had considered trying to stop him, try to talk to him, explain. It was hard to lose the habit of a lifetime, but, before Scott could do anything, the crowd had started screaming. The marine ran off.
They found him a few hours later, beaten to death, only a few blocks further.
Someone had dropped a newspaper over him, a single sentence written over it with a red marker “Mutie menace!”
The next morning the newspaper reported the guy was covered in a dozen colors, even hours after his death. Scott could barely imagine a more harmless mutation. All the guy’s skin was doing was reflecting the colors of anything surrounding him, not even enough to make him invisible, blotches of pink, red, green, whatever was around him. Just something silly; not even remotely useful in any way whatsoever. Not all mutations were powerful, but that didn’t stop someone from murdering him over it. People didn’t even seem to be the least bit interested in catching whoever did it. In fact, most people seemed happy that the poor guy was gone- “exposed,” as they put it.
Now, there was even talk about taking away the man’s medals and honors, because he hadn’t told the navy that he was a mutant. From Scott’s perspective, the man hadn’t even known what he was; never mind that the guy would have been kicked out of the marines if he had told. After all, open and out mutants weren’t allowed in any part of the military or law enforcement; it didn’t stop many of them signing up anyway, long as they kept it hidden- one of those open secrets. What sergeant, after all, was going to question a recruit who could jump higher, run faster, and be the best of the best, long as he or she didn’t show off what he or she could really do?
Scott looked up when the place went quiet, staring at the door and the group that just came in. It wasn’t so much the men (two guys in their thirties- one that looked all slick, and the other not so much). They weren’t wearing uniforms, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and even the oldest of the two women didn’t stand out so much. Sure, she was hot, but Scott could see her fitting in. She had a nice smile, and she seemed sure of her place. It was the last member of the group, on the other hand, that made everyone stare and wonder if she’d arrived at the wrong place. She was all dressed up like a Goth, covered in tattoos and markings that made her stand out even more. She couldn’t be any less like Jean if she tried, and yet…
The group sat down in a corner booth and ordered. Beer and coffee, not the most normal of combinations. One of the guys was making pop culture jokes that reminded Scott of some of the kids at the school. They were the only part of life at Xavier’s that he actually missed. Them and…
Scott finished all of their drinks and brought them to their table. He wasn’t able to help it when he heard them talking about the case, wondering who’d done it and why. Everyone knew, but nobody was talking. After all, the victim was only a mutant. The group stopped talking as soon as Scott came close. He forced his face to stay still and put down the last of their order before leaving. He was glad he was wearing his glasses. He didn’t think he could have kept from showing something at seeing the pictures they were looking at. It wasn’t until he was picking up the last of the bottles from another table when he suddenly noticed someone tapping his shoulder.
It was the Goth girl; her female friend was standing by her side.
Scott turned around a bit abruptly, nearly dropping the plate and unable to hold back a flinch, “Hi.” She said, she looked cute and young, so young, even if he only had a few years on her at the most.
Scott wondered how they’d managed to sneak up on him like that; he was usually more aware of his surroundings than this. He had to be.
“Could I have another Caf-Pow?” the Goth asked.
Scott quickly nodded and headed up to the bar. The two women followed him; the older woman sat down, straight. The younger one seemed to be looking at the supplies as if she was calculating something. He didn’t bother to ask why.
“Did you know the victim?” the older woman suddenly asked him.
Scott stood stunned, looking away. No, he hadn’t known him. There was no connection, except for one, but nobody knew about that.
“I’m sorry; my name’s Special Agent Kate Todd,” she showed a badge. “I’m with NCIS.”
Scott couldn’t help a flinch. NCIS had been all over the mansion after Stryker’s attack, after the professor talked to the President, and the President had promised things would change, that Stryker’s crusade would be investigated. Civil Rights violations, attacking a school without due cause, arresting minors without alerting their parents, …
Had she been one of them? Scott didn’t recognize her; he wondered if she knew him.
The Goth girl just smiled, “I’m Abby.” She didn’t go further than that.
“I noticed the way you reacted to the pictures,” Kate said.
Scott picked up a few glasses, drying them before putting them away, and he turned around to get a coffee cup, “I’m just not used to hearing people talk about things like that.”
It was a weak try, but it was all he could think of saying, especially with all the other gossips in the bar had been happy to see the world rid of a mutie. The victim’s former friends, men who’d once had his back, whose lives he’d probably saved several times over, were now pretending they barely even knew the guy, as if admitting any connection to the guy was enough to catch whatever he had.
“I’m sorry,” Kate didn’t look away.
Abby bowed down her head, and Scott could see the sadness in her eyes.
“The poor man, he didn’t deserve that,” she said.
Scott added an extra pair of chocolates to her drink for that.
Abby continued, “We weren’t getting anywhere with the case, so my friends figured we needed a drink.”
Scott just nodded and started cleaning glasses. Sure, he thought, you needed a drink in the one bar where the victim had last been seen alive, where he’d been outed in front of everyone, but he could go along with them and pretend he didn’t know he was being interrogated.
“So, what’s your power?”
Scott nearly dropped a glass. He hadn’t expected that one. Kate stared at Abby, in a moment of shock, before trying to get her to stop with a shake of her head, but it wasn’t working.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume, but you’re the first person I’ve seen in this town who actually cares that a man died, so I figured…” Abby said.
Scott didn’t know how to answer, but she continued on for him, “I guess I’m getting out of the habit of expecting people to behave like decent human beings. I had to get out of that police station before I exploded.”
Scott couldn’t help a smile.
“And then there’s those glasses of yours...”
“I’ve got a medical condition,” Scott answered. The line coming quick to him now, before turning his back to her, before she could ask what condition. He wasn’t a suspect, or they’d be more obvious about it.
“We just want to find out the truth- who killed Petty Officer Danton and why.”
Scott didn’t answer; he wanted to tell her, but that made him a witness, and no court would listen to hearsay, especially hearsay coming from a mutant.
“Does it matter?” he replied after a pause.
Abby looked at him, in such a way that for a moment he was able to believe, “It always matters.”
And somehow, Scott actually believed her.
Abby continued, “No one should die for being special or weird or outright cool.”
Scott scoffed at that. He recognized the tone. It happened, every once and a while you found someone who didn’t think of mutants as threats, but who could see how awesome it was for someone to be able to fly or to run fast enough to walk on water… or even to have an optic beam that could put holes through mountains. Those last ones were usually also the type that loved a good explosion.
“The petty officer was here, last week, a few hours before he died.”
It was one of those moments where he was actually happy about his glasses; they kept the two women from seeing his eyes, gave him a place to hide.
“And then he manifested?” Kate implored.
“I think so,” Scott leaned back against the wall, hesitating how much he should say. “There’s a different way in how people react when they show something they know about, but that they didn’t want people knowing of, and how they react when something is happening to them that shocks them as much as it does everyone else.”
Kate seemed to agree, “I guess a bartender has to be a bit of a profiler?”
“I was a teacher, before I was a bartender. It takes a lot of the same skills,” Scott couldn’t help say.
“A teacher? In what?”
“Automechanics.”
“Nice,” Abby smiled at him, and Scott couldn’t help but return it; her good mood was almost infectious. “So how does a teacher decide to become a bartender?”
Scott looked away; it was the one question he didn’t want to answer.
“Did anyone act specifically… angry about Petty Officer Denton’s manifestion?”
Scott tried to remember; he’d taken a step forward, trying to talk to Denton, hearing people screaming, pulling back. Scott had been the only one that had tried to come closer. No not the only one; there was one other.
“There was this woman, I think she was a sergeant. She tried to talk to Denton, but he ran before she could say anything.”
After that , answering the questions became almost easier, and Scott continued, trying not to ask more question, not sure if he wanted to ask if any next of kin had claimed the victim’s body. Someone had, Kate informed him- the man’s sister. Outside of Scott and the agents, Denton’s sister seemed to be the only one who cared to see the murderers caught; she was also the only one aside of Scott who’d stepped forward to help.
The next day, Scott sat there at the bar, watching the news, barely anything was said about the victim, all they cared to talk about was the “good and decent” citizens who’d been arrested for “trying to defend themselves.” It was then that Scott saw her, the Goth, Abby. She came in before the bar was fully busy. She followed him outside about an hour later, when he went to take out the trash.
“Hi there.”
Scott looked up and smiled back.
“I looked you up,” she stated as she sat down at the barstool. “You were a member of Xavier’s staff.”
“I was.”
“You didn’t answer my question last night. So, what’s your power?”
“You don’t give up do you?”
“Not when I’m interested, no.”
Scott grabbed a coin and threw it in the air, lifted his glasses for less than a second. He grabbed the coin before it hit the soil and threw it at her; the coin was pierced straight through.
Her eyes opened wide, awed, ”Wow. You do have an eye condition.”
Scott looked down, unsure.
“So are you staying here much longer?” Abby asked.
And he wanted to say yes, but he didn’t.
“A friend is coming to pick me up tomorrow,” Scott wondered what Logan would say, if he’d say anything.
“Well at least we’ve got tonight.”
Her eyes twinkled; she was nothing like Jean, nothing at all. She didn’t have to be.
-END-