Disclaimer: The characters of X-Men: Evolution are legal property of Marvel and Kids' WB! I do not have any right to use them. Marion is mine, but only because I needed someone who could hold the party. This is a piece of fiction, merely meant for entertainment – and lecturing.

Author's note: Whew! That was formal! Well, here comes the story. I have to admit, I have only seen the episodes up to The Stuff Of Villains If this does not fit with continuity (although, unless Scott or Duncan has died or gone away, I cannot see how), please ignore. And I took the liberty of giving Scotty my own tastes in alcohol. So shoot me, I like the black-and-white thing.

Here comes the part I will surely be hanged for: I actually like Cyclops. Always have. I like him in Evo, I liked him in the Movie, I like him in Ultimate, and I like him in the recent comics – even if he is cheating on Jean with Emma Frost. Poor Scott Summers has the most messed-up family anyone could imagine, and he manages to keep his calm, even if he constantly sees red. (Groan.) Anyhow, this seemed to be the sort of thing he would do. Duncan is an ass.

To take responsibility

by Fata Morgana

Saturday evening

Scott Summers really, really, really wished he had stayed at the Mansion. The music was too loud, the people too many, and everyone seemed to look at him as though he was a freak. No, scratch that. They were looking at him as though he was a freak. He was a freak.

*No, you're not, and you know it*, came Jean's thought to him. Scott groaned soundlessly.

*Jean, would you please stop reading my mind?* he pleaded. She left him with a mental chuckle, and went back to socialising.

Or at least trying to. Scott and Jean were the only mutants here, and Scott did not think that Marion had actually believed they would come. She had invited them mostly to make a point. Marion did that a lot. She was a firm believer in peaceful co-existence – but knew how hopeless that could be. She always said that change had to begin with someone, and it might as well be her. So Marion asked Scott and Jean if they wanted to come, and told everyone who objected that if they had a problem with her guests, she did not want them to come. So they could just suck up and deal with it.

Marion had not been totally averse to the alcohol brought to her party, though. In fact, she was staring hard at a shot of something light blue (at least, that was what Jean told Scott it was) right now, before downing it and wincing. She had told her guests that if anyone got so drunk that he/she puked in the tub it meant the party was over. No-one had become quite that drunk yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Scott had just finished a beer himself. He felt wonderfully guilty about it, knowing that Logan would smell it on him when he came to pick them up as promised, but also knowing that the man would not protest. Logan as pretty funny that way; he grudgingly showed Scott that he trusted him to keep his wits about him at the strangest times.

The beer had tasted funny, but not unpleasant, and as he fished another can out of the fridge, he thought that he could learn to like one once in a while. Scott absentmindedly popped the can and took a drink – and his eyes went wide; was this beer? Naaah... He hurried into the light, where he might read the brand even with his coloured glasses. Guinness. Wow. Scott took another drink. This was actually good.

Maybe I'll grab the Blackbird sometime and go to Ireland for the real stuff...he thought. Although I'd better plan on staying overnight. Flying while intoxicated is not a good idea.

He was suddenly pushed aside when someone shouldered their way past him into the hallway. Scott reflexively moved his hand to his glasses, to prevent them from being knocked off. He turned, and saw the back of Duncan Matthews' head. Duncan turned with his jacket in his hands, looking at him.

"You lookin' to zap me, mutie?" he hissed. His voice was slurred. Duncan had had a great deal to drink.

"Quite the opposite, in fact," Scott replied calmly, very pleased that his voice was as steady as always. "You could have knocked off my glasses, and then we'd have had carnage at our hands. Be a bit more careful."

Duncan looked as if he wanted to reply, preferably with his fists, but then his car keys fell out of his jacket, and he bent to retrieve them, cursing. Scott watched impassively, wondering if Duncan would like some swearing lessons from Wolverine or Berzerker. His vocabulary seemed rather stunted.

"Whatever", Duncan said, straightening. "I'm going home. This is lame." He turned to leave. Scott's brain kicked into overdrive.

"Wait, you're not gonna drive home, are you!?"

Duncan turned to look at him. "Of course I am. You got a problem with that?"

"You can bite your ass I have a problem with that!" Scott winced at his choice of words, but kept going. "You're... well, at least almost drunk! You're definitely not sober! You get into that car, and you'll be a danger to yourself and everyone else on the road!" He was aware of his voice rising, of people watching them...and aware of the damn he did not give about it. He felt the comforting brush of Jean's mind against his own, and plunged into his next tirade: "I don't care how good a driver you are when sober, not that you are, but you don't have the same control when you're drunk! Call a taxi; I'll even pay it for you!"

"And if I don't?" Duncan sneered. "Gonna zap me, mutie?"

God, it's like hearing a broken record, Scott thought. His hand clenched around the can. He looked straight into Duncan's supposedly blue eyes - Scott's red-tinted vision made them purple – not that the other boy could see it.

"No", he said quietly. "I won't. But if you get into that car, I'm gonna call the police, and tell them your name, where you're driving from, and in which direction. All of us are gonna get in trouble for drinking, but you're probably gonna lose your license as well."

"And guess who I'll say wrecked my party?" Marion was coming up behind Scott, voice slurred but her eyes clear. "Not Summers, that's for sure. Take some responsibility, Matthews."

Someone – Scott was not sure who – held out a cell phone with the number to the taxi company ready. Duncan snarled – then hit the call button. He gave a few terse orders, then threw the phone away and walked out the door.

*********************************************************************

Monday morning

Scott yelped as someone grabbed him in the hall. He turned, muscles tensing, and looked into the rather wild face of Duncan Matthews.

"What..." Scott began, but stopped as Duncan thrust a copy of the local Sunday paper into his face.

"Look", was all he said. Scott took the paper, eyes widening behind his glasses as he read the article. Fifteen people hospitalised after car crash, it said. One killed, one paralysed. Police suspect two of the car drivers were racing while drunk. Scott looked up at Duncan again.

"What..."

"That's the same way I take when going home", Duncan said. "Only an hour later. How did you know...?"

"I didn't", Scott replied. "But at the danger of voicing a cliché: Better safe than sorry." He returned the paper and walked to his next class.

A/N: About six weeks ago, my uncle was in a car crash. The car from the opposite direction came over on his part of the road. The other driver was not drunk, just stupid, but the same thing could have happened if he was drunk. He ended up with severe head injuries. My uncle, whose car was a lot larger, broke both his legs and his collar bone. He will probably never be able to go back to his old job.

Too many are injured in traffic each year, many as a result of drunk or otherwise reckless driving. Be careful, especially when in an old vehicle. Consider everyone else on the road.

Love,

Fata Morgana