-X- X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World Summary Chapter 1: Bright Stars Chapter 2:Stand Still Chapter 3: Empire State University Chapter4: Distant Early Warnings Chapter 5: Brand Annex Chapter 6: Open Secrets Chapter 7: Change of Faith Chapter 8:Winter Breaks Chapter 9: Healing Breaks Chapter 10: Ice Skate Eve Chapter 11: Razor's Edge Chapter 12:Last Call Chapter 13: Thoughts Ignite Chapter 14: Red Tide Chapter 15: The Pass Chapter 16: Spring Breaks Chapter 17: Kid Gloves Chapter 18: Second Natures Chapter 19: Prime Movers Chapter 20: Moving Parts Chapter 21: Barriers Fall Chapter 22: Hand Over Hand Chapter 23: Hand Over Fist Chapter 24: Open Hand Chapter 25: Open Hand Closed Fist Chapter 26: Racing Heart -XX-
X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World
Chapter 4
-X-
Distant Early Warnings
The last lingering vestiges of September’s late summer days slid into October’s fall chill at Empire State University, and if incoming freshmen had expected a slowdown from the busy blur of their first few weeks on campus they found themselves sorely mistaken. Now it was a daily challenge simply to keep pace with divergent classes, new friends, and a wide array of new commitments all pushing them in different directions. Scott’s new morning routine consisted of meeting Ororo and Jean for coffee and breakfast after his morning run and sharing in an impromptu study hall before their first classes. The morning ritual had become a welcome one as the rest of their schedules became increasingly crowded with jobs and extracurriculars, while their classes became steadily more demanding. They were used to being each other’s study partners back at the Institute; that task was more challenging now that their classwork had so widely diverged, but it remained a welcome opportunity to catch up with one another. More often than not, Scott and Ororo and Jean were joined each morning by a collection of friends and classmates whom Ororo and Jean attracted like honey. Amanda would drop by to talk sociology with Ororo, often with her roommate, Meggan. Or Ted and his roommate, Cal, both friends and coworkers of Jean’s, would arrive to discuss pre-med classes and goings on in the research labs. While Scott and Ororo had busy schedules, Jean’s was crammed full by comparison, and Type A that she was, Jean was absolutely thriving in her new chaos. Scott tried not to feel bothered by the intrusion when Jean’s lab duties (and research partners) interfered with what precious little time he had available to spend with her and Ororo. He knew he had no right or reason to feel jealous or possessive over her time, but he still did a little. He was proud of Jean but sometimes felt increasingly on the outside of her life as all of their priorities had shifted. That was probably the hardest part of transitioning from the Xavier Institute to here. They had gone from being co-leaders, her voice in head almost as much as his own, to simply coeds. Jean had what she wanted: all her future dreams ahead of her, and with no unwanted voices intruding in her head.... Without the team and the Institute holding them together Scott sometimes wondered, what reason did she have to need him in her life anymore? Sometimes he understood that what he felt was normal. After all, this was why they were here. They were all moving in their separate directions, following their interests, expanding their horizons. But sometimes he just felt... left behind. For the first time since their early days of team training Scott was acutely aware of just how sharply their paths – what they wanted and even needed – were divergent. Over the summer it had been Scott’s job to bridge those differences, fill those divides, for the sake of the team. He’d constantly concerned himself with helping Jean to manage her powers. But now... she didn’t need that anymore. Instead of feeling proud and at peace, as he knew he should have felt, a part of him felt afraid. In his darker moments, when he lay awake, too tired to sleep, he wondered if that wasn’t his fault: him, with his obsessive drive to make Cyclops work, make the X-Men work. Now that Jean was free of all that, as she had so often wanted to be... now she was free of him, and maybe she was better, happier, for it. Today, on his way into the dining hall, Scott met – or nearly ran into – Trish Tilby. She didn’t see Scott at first, she’d been distractedly chatting with two other girls Scott didn’t recognize. They all exchanged awkward apology-greetings, with Tilby suddenly smiling at him brightly. Her friends, done with their breakfast, went on ahead, now giggling. Scott wasn’t surprised to see Tilby return with her coffee to a nearby table where Cam sat glaring unhappily.
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“That guy is so weird,” Cam murmured venomously. “Always with those red shades, and I’ve never seen anybody so neat. Even picks up my mess, never leaves anything an inch out of place.” “I’ve read about blind people doing that,” Tilby countered. “Everything stays in its place because they have to find things by feel and distance. “He’s not blind; he’s just ‘impaired’.” Cam said the word like it was some kind of slur. “He wouldn’t be here if some old fool with more money than sense hadn’t started a school for pity cases like him– and that’s assuming there’s anything wrong with him in the first place. I’m not convinced it isn’t all just a big scam.” “Meant to do what, Cam?” “Bilk scholarship money, for starters.” “Let me get this straight. You think some old rich dude set up an entire school as a scam to draw scholarship money.” She laughed humorlessly. “You want me to investigate?” “It would be better than those puff pieces you’re running in the Excelsior.” “Cam, what you’re talking about is not journalism. It’s conspiracy theory, at best. Liable and defamation at worst.” Cam grinned. “In poli sci, we call it ‘spin’.” “Spin is not truth; that’s why people hate politicians.” “But they love the media. Everybody’s got a favorite newspaper, radio station, and their TV. That’s where the real politics happen. Media picks winners and losers. Publicity turns spin into truth and truth into white-hot scandal.” “What does all that have to do with a bunch of private school kids from Westchester?” “Nothing at all– until enough people start to question the truth they’ve been told and start digging deeper.” “Then we’re back to conspiracy theory.” Tilby shrugged. “Fine. I’ll check him out. But only to prove a point. Truth is based on fact, not spin. And journalism is more than PR work.” “How are you gonna get anything on him? I room with the guy and I’ve never seen him without those glasses.” “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
-x-
Jean was leaving her last class of the morning when she spotted Scott across the quad. She started in that direction then hesitated; Scott wasn’t alone. He was talking to Amanda and Meggan, who were both acting a little too giggly. Jean rolled her eyes; she thought they’d finally gotten over their cute-boy-giggles with Scott. Poor Scott. He would smile and be polite to them, while trying his best to sink unnoticed into the background, completely puzzled by periodic onsets of giggles. Sure, Scott was marginally aware that they considered him handsome; he didn’t think that mattered. Or more to the point, he assumed his eyes disqualified him from any such designation. What did looks matter, really, when there was something potentially deadly behind them? Same rule applied with his physique. Sure, he knew he had a good build, but it wasn’t meant for looks. He needed to keep himself physically fit, sharp, and strong; he put effort into that because, as Cyclops, lives could depend upon his readiness mentally and fitness physically. It seemed beyond silly to him to reduce function down to appearance. Jean was already walking toward the quad, feeling absurdly possessive as her feet carried her toward the group. She noticed when Scott’s polite smile vanished. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, a rare nervous tell. That was when she registered a fourth person in the scene: Trish Tilby. Jean sucked in a breath when Tilby moved close enough to touch Scott, placing her hand on his forearm. That would explain the giggling. That ridiculous girl was attempting to flirt with Scott. Jean picked up her pace a bit; he was going to need a rescue, and fast. Scott struggled to manage straightforward social interaction; poor guy really didn’t stand a chance when it came to flirting. Jean had been in his head enough to know how Scott thought. Saying what he meant was sometimes difficult for Scott, but he either did so or remained silent. Scott’s preferred form of social interaction with people he didn’t know was to keep a low profile and an extra wide berth. If his hand was forced, Scott was horrible at social interaction; he had two modes: silent and overly polite. Both were meant to provide the bare minimum in required social interaction while – more importantly to him – keeping everyone around him at a safe distance. Unfortunately, his overly polite could, in certain situations, be misconstrued as flirting.... In this case Scott had no idea he was in way over his head. Flirting was so far removed from Scott’s intention or perception that he would find the idea completely ridiculous. The concept of saying one thing while meaning another, or feigning disinterest to elicit the opposite response– that was completely beyond him. Now, for instance, he just wanted to extract himself from this unexpectedly uncomfortable situation he had somehow gotten into without causing any harm. That was it. There wasn’t a manipulative or duplicitous bone in his body, and Jean loved that about him. Scott had plenty of problems and too many worries, but his particular set of worries in circumstances like these were so extreme most people would naturally misinterpret them as something more mundane and far less... Scott. By the time she got close enough to hear the conversation Jean immediately understood why Scott was backpedaling hard, as close to full retreat as he could manage without turning and running. “I mean they look really cool and all.” “I love that shade of red.” “But don’t you ever take them off?” “Cam says he wears them all the time, even inside.” “Aw, couldn’t you take them off, just for a second?” Scott was stumbling over his words like a nervous kid caught without a hall pass, stuttering his way through a halting description of the medical condition he had memorized under Hank’s guidance for exactly these types of situations. Now he kept getting distracted, looking back and forth between the three girls, only to move back by another step as Tilby’s hand moved toward his elbow. She held on, moving with him, standing on tiptoes to curiously inspect his glasses. “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Scott warned, trying to ease back slowly enough that she wouldn’t follow his movement this time. Of course she had no idea what would happen if he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He simultaneously attempted to launch back into explanation, mumbling something about light sensitivity before finally remembering the word “photophobia.” “Just long enough to see your eyes?” she pouted, frowning at him. Her hand moved toward his shoulder then paused there, like she was building up her courage. A sharp fingernail raked his tricep just as he tried to move his arm away. This was ridiculous! He could fight his way through twice as many people; how was it that three curious girls kept cutting off his retreat?! The problem being, this wasn’t as straightforward as fight or run; whatever he did now was going to have consequences. At the very least that meant having to face these people again and have some sort of explanation for his behavior. What he really needed was to avoid this kind of attention, instead his every move was attracting more attention! Scott was looking utterly trapped now. He was nearing full panic, unsure if he could manage a quick escape anymore, and frozen in place at the possibility that Tilby might actually be building toward her own attempt at taking off his glasses. Jean was getting a heavy dose of his thoughts, not to mention his panic. For the most part her telepathy had been well-controlled after she’d recovered from being overwhelmed that first day here, but the combination of Scott’s familiar mind and the acuteness of his panic had her picking him up like an antenna to a broadcast signal. This was a threat to Scott – and she took threats to Scott personally. “It won’t work, so just cut him a break.” Tilby reluctantly stopped hanging on Scott’s arm long enough to glare at Jean. Jean strolled up to the group, having purposefully slowed her walk and modulated her voice into something meant to pass for casual interaction. “You heard him, he needs the glasses, can’t tolerate light without them.” “Tilby paused by a beat. “I’m a journalist and I say that sounds fishy.” Jean crossed her arms. “It’s completely legit; I’m pre-med.” “That doesn’t make you a doctor.” “I’ve seen your articles in the school paper; doesn’t make you a journalist.” Jean glanced toward Amanda and Meggan, who were now looking a little sheepish. Jean made her voice sound unaffected, slightly disappointed. “Don’t waste your time girls; he is permanently attached to those shades; his roommate swears he even showers in them.” Scott almost laughed at her double meaning. He did shower in them (and sleep in them too for that matter) just not out of vanity, as Jean managed to make it sound. Harmless. “How do you know Cam?” Jean shrugged, absently rubbing the back of her arm as she ignored the cold stare Tilby was now giving her to plant herself at Scott’s side. “We’ve met.” “Hey, Jean,” Scott greeted her, that easy smile of his returning, clearly more relaxed in her presence. The other girls noticed that too. And, after a few mumbled excuses, Tilby had quickly rejoined some passing classmates... the same giggling girls Jean had seen discussing Scott the other day in the dining hall. That made Jean wonder if the whole thing had been a set up, daring one another to make a pass at the cute new guy. Now that the game was up, Amanda and Meggan were just as quickly off toward their own next classes. Poor Scott, he probably didn’t wake up this morning expecting a giggly ambush. Scott took a deep breath. “Thanks. I really owe you one.” “For calling you insufferably vain?” Jean teased him. “For running interference,” he concluded, shaking his head. “I had no idea glasses could be so fascinating to anyone....” Jean laughed but there was an unfamiliar biting tone to her laughter. “It’s not the glasses, Scott; they just provide a convenient handle.” “Handle?” She laughed again, more genuinely, at his fresh confusion. “And how many guys ask you about your glasses?” “Huh?” He was thrown by the question for a second before catching her meaning. “Oh.” His ears started to go red. Not even his roommate had asked; he’d just looked at him funny until Scott finally explained he had to wear them because of a medical condition. This added a whole new element to his worries. “Exactly. And you know, Hank went to a lot of trouble to come up with that diagnosis and make sure it was medically sound. Least you can do is sell it to the general public.” “Right, right. Acute photophobia.... I was sure I had that explanation down, cold...” he trailed off distractedly. “But I messed up, I know,” Scott admitted, absently rubbing the back of his arm. Jean was exactly right. This was important and he’d totally blown it, right out of the gate too. “I just got–” “Flustered,” Jean supplied, grinning at him, thinking to herself: the first time a handful of pretty girls are involved. She supposed it wasn’t entirely his fault. Scott was not used to being noticed. Just the opposite; he’d spent most of his life before the Institute being thoroughly overlooked. That mentality explained a lot about Scott, actually. He’d spent his childhood in equal parts being ignored or neglected, then he’d had to very quickly shift gears and learn to survive purely on his own wiles and vigilance. “No Fearless Leader jokes,” Scott insisted warily. “Well, you’d better work on your evasive technique, Fearless Leader; I won’t always be nearby to run interference.” “I’ll take that under advisement,” he quipped in return. “Oh, fair warning, I’m cashing in on that movie night you owe me.” Scott grinned at that news, the first genuine, ecstatic smile she’d seen out of him since she’d arrived to bail him out. That smile would have reduced Amanda and Megan to giggling puddles of goo. “Friday night?” “We’ll have to do it early. Remember Wednesday is–” “Dr. MacTaggert’s visit and the Brand tour. Right, right, I remember that now.” Jean shook her head, resisting the urge to tease him again. Still flustered. She made her own excuses after checking her watch. She had to get to her next class too. “Yeah. Thanks, Jean– again,” he called as she rushed away, leaving him still feeling confused and distracted. This was a puzzling and completely unexpected turn. Before he’d come to the Institute he didn’t really expect people to see him at all. Or if they did, they didn’t like what they saw. He’d acclimated himself to that, over and over again, at the Home and out on the streets. It had taken a long time for him to wrap his head around the differences, being at Xavier Institute. He hadn’t given thought to how he might handle... extra attention. He was glad Jean had been here, glad she’d caught the warning signs he’d missed. And Scott was really glad they were keeping their movie night tradition. He looked forward to that... a reminder of old times and a simple assurance that, no matter what else was going on with them, he still had a place in her life. Maybe he was just being overdramatic about the changes. After all, Jean had come to his rescue today, there when he needed her, just like always. Other parts of their lives might be moving in different directions but maybe that was okay, as long as they each kept making room for each other in their lives. But, after this, he was definitely limiting his visits to Jean and Ororo’s dorm! He had been prepared to deal with curiosity; curiosity was easily deflected. Attraction would be more persistent than curiosity. Jean was right. He would have to tap into some street-smart charm and work on being evasive.
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“We won’t have much time after the film before we have to be at the Brand Annex,” Jean explained, stopping a couple of blocks away from the theater. “Besides, I’ve been living on coffee since breakfast; I need some real food!” That made Scott laugh, then admit after a moment’s thought, he’d had a candy bar around lunchtime with his second round of coffee. Suddenly late lunch/early dinner instead of movie snacks sounded like a very good idea. The sign above the restaurant’s door was shaped like an old fashioned pizza oven, surrounded by flames which artistically spelled out the owners’ names. The store windows provided further introduction in spectacular old world-style grandiosity: Famous Franke’s Fire Baked Pies was emblazoned across one window while another window boasted: Momma Anssen’s Best – Flame Roasted Grill. “Everybody calls it ‘The Flamin’ Grill’,” Jean said with a shrug, “they’re supposed to have great burgers and pizza.” Maybe the kitchen was just as spectacular as advertised, but the restaurant itself was little more than a lunch counter, a handful of tables, and a jukebox loudly playing rock music. Scott immediately recognized the type: a short order restaurant that served as a respectable front for a pool or poker hall in the back, where the real money was made. “I thought you said ‘real food,’ not ‘junk food’,” Scott teased. Jean scowled at him. “I guess all those pre-med classes haven’t gotten to ‘healthy diet’ yet?” he asked innocently. Jean ignored him as the cook/waiter behind the counter handed over a couple of menus and gestured for them to seat themselves. The place was mostly empty, likely due to lack of college students. Many had already left campus ahead of Thanksgiving break. “I’m starting to think Ro might have been really wrong about something.... How can you possibly have survived for years as some expert street grifter and not be able to handle three giggly college girls?” Jean asked innocently. Her ribbing got a smile out of Scott. “That’s the whole problem,” he conceded as Jean chose a table. “Conning people isn’t terribly hard; the trick there is to make what you want match up with what your mark wants. In this case, my easiest out was to just hand over the glasses– which I can’t do, for obvious reasons.” “Say it with me: acute photophobia.” “That’s the one,” Scott agreed. “Unfortunately after that, I lost it. I froze up and that blew my chance at distancing myself from the situation. I’m damn lucky I’m not still on the streets; there, that kind of screw up could easily have gotten me a knife in the ribs. So I guess you can tell Ro I’ve gotten soft over the last few years.” The conversation paused for a few moments when the waiter came to take their orders. “That’s not a bad thing,” Jean decided, returning to the topic at hand. “Having to be on guard all the time... it’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Scott nodded. “You know it as well as I do,” he countered quietly. For all his own worries over his glasses, Scott never forgot that, for Jean, her only safeguard was her own mental shielding. At least his glasses offered a defense that he didn’t have to create and constantly maintain. And, here, especially, the level of difficulty in that task was higher than it had been at the Institute; plus she no longer had the piece of mind of knowing that if she did need help Professor Xavier was nearby to back her up. Jean was effectively working without a net for her powers, and she was succeeding on sheer will. “It’s not so bad,” Jean automatically conceded, then amended, “mostly. Once I understand my surroundings, I can match myself to them. Too much volume or intensity and I have to quickly adjust the settings. But I only struggle with that when I’m really stressed, or really distracted, or something unexpectedly throws me for a loop.” “Like that first day here.” “Yes– all of those things, all at once! If I miss the early warning signs and can’t adjust quickly enough, then–” “The panic and fear can derail you, make you freeze up.” “Exactly. If I start to get swamped it’s really hard to get my bearings back and keep enough internal focus to get everything under control again... so like I said– mostly,” she laughed. “But overall, it is better now. Easier. If nothing goes sideways, I can do it almost unconsciously: pick up on the changes and adjust myself to match them.” Scott nodded thoughtfully. He was good at listening and Jean appreciated that he tried really hard to understand. His difficulties fitting in came from poor socialization not lack of care or compassion. The latter made him work to overcome the former, even when it would be far easier and more comfortable for him to simply ignore both– his deficit and other people. But Scott wanted to be better than he was and he wasn’t afraid of walking through whatever discomfort or hardship he had to work through to try and make himself better. “Any progress with your roommate?” Jean asked just as their food arrived. “New subject.” “Scott, you can’t take a pass on this every time.” “I can try,” he countered. “Did you see, he’s threatening to protest the Brand event?” Scott’s surprised expression answered that question for her. “Tilby had a write up on it in today’s paper,” Jean explained. “Did she bother to ask why a political science junkie working toward an accounting degree should care about genetic research?” Jean gave a shrug. “Apparently he doesn’t like our science. He’s thrown in with the local religious zealots who think all this man-meddling-with-nature stuff will end like one of those ridiculous sci-fi movies you love so much.” “Cheap shot at the end there, but I’ll ignore it.” “So, I’ll ask again, any progress?” Scott shook his head. “There’s no progress, there’s never any progress and, quite frankly, it’s discouraging. He’s always, consistently awful; he seems to take joy in my shock and dismay rather than wanting to have any sort of discussion or debate on the merits of his crazy beliefs. There’s no intellectual curiosity there at all, and I absolutely hate the idea of acting as a sounding board where he continually rehashes his warped and disgusting views on the state of the world.” Jean leaned in to speak more quietly. “Consider him a dry run for the future, then. You think we’re not going to run into people like him throughout our lives? How’s it gonna feel when views like his are focused specifically on people like us?” Scott nodded, leaning in to take a sip of his soda. “I’ve thought about that, a lot, actually.” “And?” Jean prompted, taking a bite of her pizza. “And it worries the hell out of me.” Scott ignored his burger for the moment and picked at his french fries. “I mean, I’m not naive; I knew people like him existed. I guess I just explained it to myself as if, deep down, they knew those outdated views weren’t valid anymore, and their holding on to them was just reactionary. A gut feeling, removed from logic or virtue. Like superstition, or fairy tales – in an uglier form, but the same basic concept – a simplified view of the world, meant to be grown out of as people mature enough to understand a more complex and multifaceted world. “But I can’t wrap my head around someone like Cameron Hodge. Someone who has everything, every comfort, every possible advantage in life, and still has such a hole inside himself that he actively wants others who have less to suffer more.” Scott shook his head. “Hell, maybe I was naive to think hate and fear arose largely from circumstance: protectionism, ignorance to the plights of others... and that improving the surrounding circumstance could lift people out of their reactionary viewpoints. I thought, if only they could be made to see a better option, they’d be eager to take it. I never imagined that someone with so many other options would so rabidly choose hate and fear, not as a last resort but as a chosen philosophy: a well-thought out strategy for how to get and stay ahead in the world.” “It may not look like it from the outside, but he doesn’t have everything. There’s always a deficit. People who are able to love openly, form healthy relationships, build proper self esteem– they don’t fall back on hate and fear, they don’t need to tear other people down in order to build themselves up. People who can’t do those things – who can’t find peace and acceptance within themselves – they will habitually judge and demean others as a way to prop themselves up. They learn to see compassion and empathy as weaknesses, and they will blame others for the emptiness they feel as a result.” “Damn. Maybe I should take that Psy 101 class.” “Maybe you should. I think you’d like it.” “Do you think this protest is going to be a problem?” Jean shrugged. “Obviously I’d like it better if people like Hodge were paying less attention to our work. But any kind of cutting edge science or technology is going to draw critics and skeptics, and he hasn’t done himself any credibility favors by throwing in with the Church of Humanity. They already protest everything from evolution to sociology and no one on campus takes them very seriously.”
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“Scott.” “Hey, Ro. Hope I’m not here too early.” Scott had that slightly distracted, off balance look about him which had gone from being highly unusual at first to increasingly familiar over the last few weeks. He had also arrived with jacket, dress shirt, and tie slung over his shoulder, clearly having chosen to come straight here rather than dress for the Brand Annex event at his own dorm. “Of course not. Come inside.” “Don’t ask,” Scott responded tiredly before Jean could chalk up the cause for his uncharacteristically agitated behavior and disheveled look to another riff with Cam and ask her customary, “How’s your roommate?” “That bad,” Ororo presumed. “I can confirm, he’s still awful. If there’s anything happening in the world that smacks of basic human decency, he hates it; thinks it’s all part of a liberal-commie plot to take over.” “Meaning, something run by anyone who does not think like him, for the benefit of anyone who does not look or act like him.” “Exactly that. In this specific case, he insists the Brand Corp. is using ESU to indoctrinate us all into some global conspiracy that will eventually overthrow Capitalism and allow the unwashed masses to take over the world, resulting in the collapse of all Western Civilization... as if the rise of Western Civ. is some sort of garlic meant to keep the heathens at bay.” “I had no idea there were so many dinosaurs still in existence,” Ororo posed. “Money does wonders for staving off their extinction.” “Did you know, until five years ago, ESU didn’t admit women?” Jean asked them. Scott paused for a moment to stare in disbelief. “That can’t be right?” “No, but it’s true. There was a ‘sister school’ for women instead.” “I thought separate but equal education was struck down in this country decades ago.” “It was,” Scott agreed, “and yet people like the Hodges use their deep pockets to slow progress and equality for as long as possible in their little corners of society.” “I take it you’re not going to be invited along to any of Cam’s high society trappings.” “Highly unlikely,” Scott answered Jean at a deadpan, then chuckled. “He’s been on a particularly spectacular tear against the liberal corruption of higher education ever since he noticed my copy of The Art of War.” Ororo smiled. “That’s not even assigned reading.” Scott smiled back. “I didn’t tell him that, just said he should read it; it’s a classic.” Jean sighed. “I can imagine how that suggestion went over.” “Not so well,” Scott conceded. “Umm, do you mind?” he motioned to his dress clothes. “Go ahead.” “Thanks.” Scott hung his things up on the closet door then ducked behind the open door to change into his dress shirt. Ororo only shook her head, finding the whole concept of modesty in general amusing. “Only good thing I can say is, I hardly have to see him anymore; he’s at his girlfriend’s or at a friend’s apartment most nights now too.” “That’s probably just as well, if you two can’t interact without arguing.” “I know I shouldn’t let it bother me – the things he says....” Aside from the general argument – the moral intractability of recognizing right from wrong – it was hard to explain why their ongoing arguments felt so personal to him. Scott pulled on his jacket, closed the closet door, and adjusted his neck tie, which now felt too tight. He let out an exasperated sigh just as Jean came over to fix it. “I just don’t get my own reactions sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “I know it’s not worth arguing with him. But past a certain point, I can’t stomach letting it go either.” Jean adjusted his tie and finished smoothing him out. “Well, it’s not just a debate exercise, is it? At the heart of the matter, there’s a confrontation between wanting to help others versus wanting to protect and enrich yourself at the expense of others.” And the choice Cam was repeatedly making, not wanting to help other people, was one Scott couldn’t grasp. It was utterly incomprehensible to him, as a moral matter or a practical one. “Of course you can’t let that go.” Jean smiled, patting his jacket pocket. “You’re a good person, Scott.” “Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.” “Anytime. You’re all better now or, at the very least, presentable.” His lip quirked in a smile. “I’ll take it. You ready to go?” Jean hooked her arm through his in answer. “Ro?” Ororo nodded and headed for the door. “Wait a second–” Jean pulled a brightly colored sweater wrap from the closet to go with her own aqua blue dress and handed a short black jacket off to Ororo. “You need a jacket too.” Ororo only raised one eyebrow. “Well, you don’t, but you should need a jacket with a sleeveless vest. Really,” she shot Scott an exasperated look, “I didn’t think I’d have to dress both of you.” Ororo pulled the jacket on with a shrug: a cropped black shell jacket over silver vest top, which Ororo had matched with flare-legged white tights and heeled black leather boots. “I suppose it’s fortunate that at least one of us takes interest in fashion.” She gave Scott a wink as she walked out. “Damn,” Jean groused. “I bought that jacket! How is it she looks better in my clothes than I do?”