Chapter Four – Personality Haemorrhage

Jean looked up when Scott entered the Rec. Room, and raised an eyebrow at the strange expression on his face. Though her shielding was up she could still feel tendrils of anger and surprise rolling off him in waves.

He flopped down into a chair next to where she was curled up on the couch.

"Should I even ask what's wrong?"

"Hmm?" He blinked at her through his glasses, not fully concentrating; then shook his head with a sigh. "I think I just had one of the most surreal arguments of my life."

Jean's eyebrow went up again. "That's a pretty grand statement to make." She closed her book on her finger, marking the page she'd been reading, and shifted so as to better see him. "What was so surreal about it? Did Mr. McCoy throw philosophy at you again?"

"No, although that's a surreal experience in itself. The last time I tried to argue with Mr. McCoy over a bag of potato chips I ended up questioning my entire existence in the middle of the kitchen."

"And let me guess, he ran of with the chips while you were pondering?"

"Yep. But those kinds of tactics I'd expect from him." He paused, and then leaned forward, eyebrows knitted.

Jean was surprised at the strange look on his face, but politely refrained from even the briefest mental search. She could've. Quite easily, in fact. Scott was no psychic, and after intense training with Professor Xavier she was now skilled enough to sift through a person's mind without them even being aware of her presence.

However, Xavier had also impressed upon her the right of privacy of the individual, and had she succumbed to her curiosity it would've essentially shredded every scrap of ethics she had.

So instead she chose the more traditional route, and set aside her book to listen.

Scott toyed with an unopened can of coke. A few beads of condensation dripped onto the carpet and over his fingers, but he paid them no heed. "Jean, am I a bad leader?"

She hadn't seen that one coming, and couldn't quite keep the astonishment from her voice. Whoa, talk about out of the blue. "Of course not. Whatever makes you say that?"

She was suddenly very glad they were the only two in the room. It wouldn't do for any of the others – especially the newer kids, and especially Jamie – to see Scott doubting himself. Scott was practically the little guy's hero, and everyone knew that childhood heroes had to stay strong and never yield to human frailties like self-doubt and disappointment.

"I don't mean out in the field," Scott pressed. "Well, I do, but not entirely."

"You haven't gotten us killed yet. That's always a good sign."

"Very encouraging, I'm sure." He nibbled his lip, a nervous habit he'd developed from his time in the care of social services and never fully shaken off. "What I mean is, am I a good leader the rest of the time?"

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Am I too..." He rotated his hand at the wrist. Jean tilted her head slightly as he searched for the right word. "Am I too... much?" he finished, rather lamely. He obviously recognized how badly phrased it was, too, because he pressed the point even further. "I know the other kids respect me when I'm in uniform, but in civvies, am I the kind of person they can come and talk to? You know, about their problems and junk? Am I too much the 'fearless leader' in everyday life?"

"Perhaps it'd help if you told me what sparked this sudden self-analysis?" Jean's brows pulled together. Scott had been her friend for a long time – much longer than any of the other students – and even without her empathy it hurt to see him distressed.

Scott sighed, nodding. "Yeah, I guess. Ray just got back from detention."

"That's good. I think Ororo kept some dinner for him."

"The Brotherhood gave him a ride back. I... kinda went off on one at him for letting them past the gates." His expression turned a little pained, as if he knew he'd done wrong but was only just realising it. "It really riled him – he blew up, and some of the stuff he said made me wonder whether I'm letting being team leader bleed too much into the rest of my life."

Jean stifled a sigh. She could picture the scene perfectly, even if her diligently erected shielding meant she hadn't sensed their confrontation. Scott's dislike of the Brotherhood was only rivalled by that of Kurt and Evan, but where those two limited their dislike to certain individuals, Scott's loathing went beyond just petty head-butting with Lance Alvers. She was aware of the whole alpha male scenario between those two, but Scott's responsibilities for the X-Men had made him extra receptive to bad feelings towards anybody who threatened them – like an older brother leaping to the defence of a younger sibling. If an enemy targeted an X-Man, he acted as if it was a personal affront, and bore grudges against anybody that dared try and hurt them.

"What... exactly did you say?" she asked carefully.

Scott hung his head. "I, uh... I pretty much accused him of telling them all the secrets about the new security system."

"Oh, Sco-ott." She sounded exasperated and, just this once, didn't try to hide it.

He raised his hands. "I know, I know, I was out of line. My mouth just... it ran away with me. Again. But the sight of that idiot, Alvers, sitting right outside our front door, almost like he owned the place..." His grip on the can tightened, and from the way his knuckles blanched Jean could tell that, had it not been full, the metal would have crunched in his fist.

Alvers? That would explain the foreign psi patterns she'd vaguely picked up not long ago. Actually, that was the reason she'd put her shielding up a notch, since she'd sensed no malice and wanted to concentrate on her book without having loud thinkers pouring into her head.

Jean reached out and tapped Scott's hand, startling him from his inner litany against all things Brotherhood. The contact was brief, only enough to get his attention, but his cheeks flushed almost immediately – something she noticed and felt distinctly uncomfortable about, though she couldn't exactly tell why. She wasn't ready to dissect it either, and pushed it away to speak softly.

"Look, Scott, I think I can see where you're coming from. The truth is..." she paused, unsure of how to continue without hurting his feelings, "the truth is, you do sometimes... lay it on a bit thick. You get lost in being Cyclops and forget that you're Scott Summers."

"I do?" He sounded dejected, but not surprised.

"I'll admit, sometimes you let being team leader dictate what you do in regular life. With disastrous consequences. I won't go into detail, since you and I both know what I'm talking about, but if I say the word 'Middleverse' - "

"Yeah, I get you. Geez, you'd think I'd have learned by that mess, wouldn't you?"

"We're all still learning, Scott." Oh great. Yep, just plough straight on in with full counsellor mode, Grey. He'll love that. "Uh, that is... look, you're a good leader. Just don't let it go to your head, okay? Have some sky-time now and again."

"Sky-time?"

"Relax. The enemy's not always at the door, so you shouldn't act like they are. If I didn't sound too much like my mother, I'd say that there's a time and a place for everything. Cyclops belongs in the Danger Room and out in the field. Scott Summers should be in residence the rest of the time." She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Okay, corny advice alert. Ach, did that make any sense whatsoever?"

"Actually, yeah. Yeah, it did." A warm smile tugged at his lips. "Thanks Jean." He leaned back in his chair, finally opening the can of coke. It hissed musically. A few frothy bubbles snuck out. "This is the point where I'm supposed to go and apologise to Ray, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"Thought so." He frowned, taking a gulp and then pulling a face. The coke had grown lukewarm.

Jean smiled at his expression as she reached for her book again.

"Although I think I deserve an apology from him, too."

The hand paused in mid-air. She cocked her head. "Excuse me? I thought you said that you yelled at him?"

"This is Ray we're talking about, remember? He just yelled right back at me. Pulled out a few blue words out of the bag as well."

"Ah. I see your point." Her brows drew together again. "Although..."

"Although what? I provoked the guy, I know, but some of the things he said were completely out of line. Can you imagine if Jamie had heard him? It took Rahne a week to convince him that 'bugger' really isn't a god one to use in conversations with Logan." Scott sighed, and it seemed to come from the soles of his feet. "Sometimes, I really don't understand him – Ray. I mean, I get the other new recruits – well, mostly. But Ray's always been... it's almost like he doesn't want to be here, or else the only reason he sticks around is to heckle. I mean, he pulls his weight in training sessions, sure; and he works hard in the sims, but sometimes it seems like that's all he does. All he wants to do with us. The only time I've seen him take part in games and stuff is when he's beating up other people, or else sneaking into the Danger Room for more practice with his powers. He's never... he hasn't..."

"He doesn't have many personal relationships within the team," Jean finished.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. At first I thought he was just settling in, but now... I just wonder about the guy, is all. You know he's still friends with Tabitha?"

"Yes. So am I. So's Kurt. And?" Jean's reply was a little sharp, and Scott knew enough to back off.

"Well, she defected because she didn't fit in. I just wonder sometimes if he's planning the same thing."

"I'm sure he'd have done it already if he was planning to go join the Brotherhood," Jean said sensibly, smoothing her skirt and tucking her feet under herself. "Ray's a team player, and that's what counts. I'm sure he has friendships amongst the new recruits that we don't know about." She pulled a wry face. "We really don't spend enough time with them to know much about what goes on in their lives. Anyway, he wouldn't abandon us."

"Wouldn't he?" Scott seemed sceptical. "I don't know."

"He's just been under a lot of pressure recently." She stopped and looked about, gauging whether anybody was about to walk in on them. They weren't, but her voice dropped anyway, like she was saying something she shouldn't. "I think he's having problems at home."

"He told you that?"

"No, but he sometimes projects and I can't help but pick it up." She tapped the side of her head. "No off switch. And he thinks pretty loud when he's not concentrating on the shielding techniques the Professor and I taught everyone. He mentions his, uh," she paused, suddenly realising she'd unthinkingly strayed into a taboo area. Scott prompted her to continue, not understanding why she'd stopped, and she went on delicately. "He mentions his family a lot, and I keep getting emotional surges." She shrugged, trying to brush over her faux pas as tactfully as she could. "It's probably nothing, but ... just bear that in mind, okay? You said you wanted to be the kind of guy the team can go to outside the DR, so that's the kind of thing you have to watch out for."

Scott's shoulders took on a pensive slump. Inwardly, Jean cursed herself.

She generally tried to avoid talking about family in front of Scott – not because he'd asked her to, but because she knew that it caused him pain. Alex's return had been a jubilant event, but in some ways it had been a vitriolic blow because it emphasised to Scott what he'd truly lost. There had always been a chance, a hope that Alex could come back. His parents couldn't, and no amount of hoping would ever change that.

"I'm sorry," she started, fully intending to apologise for sticking her big foot in her mouth yet again, but he cut her off like he hadn't heard.

"Emotional surges? I'm surprised Ray's even capable of those. I thought his emotions only stretched from anger to even more anger, with maybe a dash of pissed off now and again."

"Scott, language!" She leaned across and cuffed his ear. He ducked away, laughing.

"What?"

"If you're gonna rag on the guy for naughty words, then you shouldn't use them yourself. Talk about hypocritical."

He just grinned, a little strained, but enough to let her know that he hadn't taken her slip up to heart. Jean breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, are you going to go make amends?"

"Can I at least finish my coke first?"

"I suppose we could stretch to that."

As a child, Evan had loathed milk. His mother had fed it to him, telling her son it would build healthy bones and make him big and strong, like his father. He'd only half believed her.

Strange how things turn out.

He hopped off the bottom step, casting a longing gaze at the curling banister of the main staircase. When he first moved here the temptation had proven too much and he'd slid down it before even unpacking his room. Then Auntie O had caught him and forbidden any further fun in that arena. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing, but he had a sneaking suspicion she'd had words with the Professor that had led to the ornate wooden pineapple – replete with very prickly skin and jutting out leaves – being put at the bottom of the rail. Obviously she didn't trust him to keep his promise, and he would've been annoyed if he could be bothered.

Evan was, to use a phrase Kitty had coined not three minutes after meeting him, one of life's candy-flossers. He let bad feelings dissolve around him because it just took too much energy and bad karma to hold onto them.

He crossed the foyer, but steered clear of the Rec. Room, since Scott and Jean were inside and deep in conversation. He'd played gooseberry too many times with those two to get suckered in now. It wouldn't be so bad, if only one or the other of them would realise what the rest of the Institute already had and acted on it.

He skirted the door like an army commando, achieving the kitchen without further mishap.

Or so he thought.

Aw, man. He surveyed the lone occupant of the kitchen table with a sinking feeling.

Ray was hunched over and had his back to the door, shoulders tight and neck virtually invisible. He didn't look up when Evan entered, but paused briefly in his meal to return the nod the younger boy gave as he attained the refrigerator. Evan opened the door and stuck his head inside before giving in to the impulse to roll his eyes. Just what he needed to bring his mood down.

For once, Evan was actually doing well enough in school that nobody was chasing him about poor grades and non-existent homework. Plus, that afternoon he'd managed to nail a boarding trick that had eluded him for months. He was, though not exactly on top of the world, quite near the apex, and had been coasting for most of the day on a good humour that not even Pietro's snide comments could dent. The last thing he needed was a sourpuss like Ray to inject a bit of doom and gloom into things.

The tension in the room was thick. Evan sensed the anger in the air even though his telepathic ability was exactly zero. Ray was steamed about something. That in itself was nothing new, but Evan really didn't want to stick around in case he said something wrong and the infamously volatile mutant blew his top, as per usual.

It was the same every time Ray let something get under his skin. He either lashed out at people, blew something up, or went and pummelled the hell out of the Danger Room. Logan had even set up a specialised programme he could use on his own, whereby he could smash up an entire room to relieve stress without fear of reprisal. He called it 'Sim 304: Berzerker Rage'.

Ray spent a lot of time in the Danger Room using that sim.

Evan really wished he were there now.

However, Ray showed no signs of moving, and Evan was forced eventually to emerge from scouring the fridge for dairy products and face him.

It was a little surprising when Ray just kept looking at his meal, fork poised over it but just hovering, as his eyes took on a glazed look. He seemed to be deep in thought, and just kept on chewing the same mouthful over and over again without swallowing.

Evan's eye fell upon the dish set on the table. Re-heated meatloaf – faboo. Auntie O had made it, so it was better than most meatloaves he'd tried, but it was still disgusting in his book. It was ghastly when it was fresh, but re-heated it was even worse – as he knew from experience when he himself had fallen prey to detentions and come home after dinner was finished. The loaf was saggy, and had collapsed in on itself in the middle until it was little more than a sad pile of brown mush in rapidly coagulating gravy. A spurt of green at the side of the plate was the most appetising thing thereon, and even that was only a few lima beans.

Truly, a revolting dish. Not that he'd ever tell his aunt that.

"You know, it won't get any better by staring at it."

He knew he shouldn't have spoken – he knew it. If he'd had radar it would've been picking up a signal that said 'get the hell out of there before he rips your face off'. However, as well as being a candy-flosser, Evan was also an inherent blabbermouth. He talked in the mornings, he talked at lunch, he talked while boarding – heck, he even talked in his sleep; something Kurt had seen fit to tell him when he dozed off in the Jet one mission and muttered something uncomplimentary about Kitty. Unfortunately, she'd been sitting right behind him at the time. The bruise had only just gone down.

In fact, many of the detentions in Evan's past had come from talking to his neighbour during class when he should've been doing work. When he was nervous, he often was struck with verbal diarrhoea, and babbled to anyone and anything that stayed still long enough to listen. It was a trait Logan found particularly irritating when they were doing recon.

Ray blinked, startled from his thoughts. "Say what?"

Evan indicated to the dish, and then took a swig from the bottle of milk. He didn't bother with a glass, since he intended to finish the entire thing on his own.

Ray glanced down at the meatloaf, sighed, and pushed it away. "Wasn't hungry anyway," he said, laying down his fork. He didn't make any move to rise, just sat there with his chin resting on his fist and looking thoughtful.

Evan opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. "Are you... okay, man?"

"Mmmf," Ray replied with one of his usual, unrevealing grunts.

"It's just that you seem a little tense."

"Since when do you care?"

Evan blinked, not entirely sure how to answer. "I care," he said after a moment, "I was just wondering, was all..."

"Yeah, whatever."

Ray still didn't move. Evan quaffed the milk in the silence. Dammit, say something. Anything. Talk about the weather, or school, or... or the state of the economy in Tanzania. Just don't stand there like an idiot.

He could've left. He wanted to leave – but something made him stay. Something about the way Ray stared at nothing, the way his expression would suddenly become pained and then switch back to neutral without any indication why. It glued Evan's feet to the floor with the conscience equivalent of adamantium nails through in his shoes.

Evan, despite a lot of things, was very loyal to his team, and disliked seeing any of them troubled, even if he didn't particularly like the person. Ray was definitely not among his best friends – in fact, he wondered whether he was even on his list of friends – but still, he was a teammate, and if there was one thing Evan had learned in his time as an X-Man, it was that you helped out your teammates when they were in need.

So he pulled out a chair, startling Ray with the squeak of its legs on the linoleum, and plonked himself down. "You, my friend, look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Ray arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"You know what they say."

"No, what do they say?"

Evan ignored the barefaced cynicism. "A problem shared is a problem halved."

"They are full of shit." Ray reached for his own glass but didn't drink from it. His water stared back at him, baleful.

"I'm going to sit here until you tell me."

"You'll be sitting there a long time, then."

"I can wait."

Ray shrugged and chugged the water. Evan watched him, taking small sips of his milk.

"I'm still waiting."

"I don't care."

Evan exhaled noisily. "Y'know, you make it very difficult to be a good teammate."

"Like I give a crap?"

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I try to be nice and you throw it back in my face." He frowned. "I'm just trying to help. There's no need to bite my head off about it."

"Yeah, well, don't. I don't need your help – or anybody else's. I'm good on my own, so you can just shove it."

Evan flinched. That seemed to have touched a nerve. He peered enquiringly at the older boy. Ray's face was set in a deep scowl, and he folded his arms, almost defiant.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, until Evan started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He stared around, noticing how the dirt encrusted the opening of the faucet in the sink, and that some spider had spun a cobweb across the ceiling to the light fitting. Little things caught his attention, and he tried studiously to ignore them, but Ray's glare kept forcing him to look away.

Geez, you're the original Good Samaritan, aren't you Daniels? Can't even start up simple a conversation without blowing it.

A cold breeze blew onto the back of his neck. He shivered, gooseflesh rising across his skin. Ray didn't appear to feel the cold at all, though his gaze remained icy.

Evan turned and spotted that the window was open. Large splots of rain thudded against the glass, increasing by the moment, and a rumble of thunder sounded ominously overhead. He went to close it, grateful for something to do other and stare and get stared at. There was a reason he'd always lost at staring matches in Junior High.

Grunting slightly, he heaved himself up to stand on the window seat and leaned out to pull the window closed. His arm got wet in the process, and he was abruptly glad the mansion was fitted with PVC frames instead of wood or metal, like the school. A flash of lightning illuminated the grounds outside. The wind was picking up as the rain started to come down heavier.

Very glad indeed.

"Look's like a real storm's brewing, and I don't mean Auntie O with PMS. Although I wonder if she'll," he swivelled around, only to find that he was suddenly talking to an empty room, "siphon off the lightning to... oh, never mind."

"Who're you talking to?"

Scott walked in the other door and Evan jumped, nearly toppling off his perch. He rounded and said fiercely, "Don't do that, man. Nearly gave me a fuggin' heart attack."

"Sorry." Scott tossed an empty coke can into the trash and surveyed the unfinished meatloaf congealing on the tabletop. "Ray around?"

"He was." Evan hopped down. "I was talking to him, but he just disappeared the moment my back was turned."

Scott heaved a sigh. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You wanted him for something?"

"Yeah, but he's being difficult as normal."

Evan shook his head and picked up the plate to scrape the unpalatable food into the garbage. Usually he wouldn't have bothered doing anybody else's dirty work for them, but the mood took him to be helpful. "I dunno. He seemed kinda... off when I was talking to him. Still as prickly as ever, but something was on his mind."

"You too?" Scott ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. "Jean was just trying to convince me to be nicer to him because of home stress. She thinks his parents are acting up – giving him a hard time."

"Maybe they are. He never talks to any of us about them, so we wouldn't know if anything was wrong. A real cold fish."

"I guess."

"Well, I'm still in one piece, which shows he was distracted about something." He tapped his chin as he loaded the empty plate into the dishwasher, saw that it was full, and searched the surrounding cupboards for a salt tablet. "Maybe he's just stressed out about school? We've all got tests coming up, and he's not exactly the best student in the world. He could just be worried about his grades."

"Maybe."

"He could be worried about what his parents'll think when they get his report card."

"Perhaps."

"That would account for the whole parental thing. It's probably nothing."

"Mmm."

"Or he could be worried about the spleen-sucking aliens we spotted on radar this morning, who're gonna come remove our brains and replace them with pieces of burnt toast."

"Mm-hmm."

"You're a real fountain of conversation, aren't you?"

"Hmmm?" Scott blinked, and then jammed his hands into his pockets. "Sorry. Got distracted." A flash of lightning lit up outside, followed by another clap of thunder. "That sounds like it's pretty close."

"Just so long as it doesn't blitz the Institute. Do you know where the dishwasher tablets are kept?"

"Second drawer on the right. Hey, how come you're being helpful for a change?"

Evan shrugged, extracting what looked like an overlarge aspirin from a gaudy cardboard box emblazoned with a cartoon crocodile. He clipped it into the correct compartment. "Felt like it. I'm allowed to, now and again." He shut the door and turned the dial, stepping away as the machine powered to life. "I'm glad the Professor finally got one of these things. I was getting permanent prune thumbs whenever it was my turn to do the washing up. Dirty dishes for seventeen people's no fun."

"Tell me about it."

"I just did."

"Ha ha, Mr. Comedian." Scott glanced around as Evan moved to finish the remainder of his milk. "So, any idea where our little Ray of Sunshine went?"

"Not a clue. His room, probably. Or the DR to break stuff."

Scott groaned. "Once again, not surprised. I'd better go find him, or Jean won't leave me alone."

"And we couldn't have that, could we?" Evan grinned at him over the rim of the milk bottle. Scott's cheeks coloured pink as he left. "Be careful. Sometimes the door handle gets full of static if he's in a bad mood."

Scott waved over his shoulder.

Evan downed the last of his drink, running the bottle under the cold tap and placing it on the draining board to dry out. A wry smirk twitched his mouth. He shook his head at his own absent-mindedness. "Ray of Sunshine? Now why didn't I think of that?"

Ray lounged on his bed, shoes somewhere near the potted aspidistra in the corner. He hated that plant, but Ororo had donated part of her garden as a welcoming gift to each new recruit when they first arrived at the Institute. Her plants meant a lot to her, and it'd been a symbolic gesture giving so many up at once, so the aspidistra stayed.

He played absently with the edge of the bed sheet and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn't meant to snap at Evan. The Professor was always going on at him to be more cordial to his teammates, but sometimes it was so hard; almost like his mouth wasn't connected to the part of his brain telling him to slow down.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Leaving his books at school had definite advantages.

The thought of textbooks stirred another. He rolled off the bed and picked up his backpack, examining the damage with a critical eye. He'd never had to sew anything before, and didn't know the first thing about needlework. He wasn't in any hurry to learn, either, and wondered if he could just use even more safety pins instead. Or else just endure the sniggers and carry his things in a plastic bag –

The knock at the door startled him. He jerked his head up sharply. "Who is it?"

Scott's voice muffled through. Ray suppressed a groan. "It's me – Scott. Can I come in?"

"That depends. Are you just here to yell at me some more?"

"No, I – look, Ray, could you just open the door? This is difficult enough without holding a conversation through oak panelling."

Difficult? Ray brushed past his puzzlement and stood, crossing the cluttered room in a few steps.

Scott's hair fluttered a little as the door was wrenched open. He stood there, one hand raised as if to knock again, and Ray glared his patented glare.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"If you must. Say a word about the mess and I'll toast your ass." He gestured, and closed the door behind him.

When he turned around, Scott was standing at the edge of the miscellany liberally sprawled across the carpet and every other available surface. He looked as if he didn't know exactly where to step. Or where was safe to step, to be more precise.

Ray was the first to admit that he was untidy, and saw no point in trying to dress the matter up or defend it. When he'd lived with his parents his mother had always picked things up after him, hoovering his clothes before she'd let him in the house and diligently cleaning everything from top to bottom every morning. Yet that was more because she was a neatness freak than for any other reason. His father never said anything, but they both reckoned it was some sort of obsessive-compulsive variation.

Ray preferred his clutter to her well-ordered, almost militant approach to housekeeping. His room was a mess, but it was his mess, and it reminded everyone that this patch belonged to him and him alone.

Sharing a sewer as a living space would do that to a person.

There was a cardboard box on one of the chairs, still leftover from moving-in day. It had sat there for nigh on a year, battered and useless, occasionally migrating to the closet and then back again. He shifted it aside for Scott to sit down.

Scott picked his way through, wrinkling his lip only once when his shoe came up with something sticky on the sole. Politely, he held his tongue, and sat down very precisely, as if he was expecting the chair to spontaneously collapse under him at any second.

"Well?"

Scott opened his mouth, but said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words.

Ray watched him, not sitting down. He gained a little psychological height that way, and the fact hadn't escaped him. However, it was a complete shock when the answer finally did come, and he had to wonder whether sitting down might've been preferable.

"I'm sorry."

"Excuse me?"

"For chewing you out like that. I'm sorry." Scott sighed and nibbled his lip. "I guess I got too caught up in the whole 'protect whatever the cost' schtick. Too many army movies, maybe. I... I had no right to treat you that way. You were right, I showed less faith than I should've, and I accused you of things you'd never do – so... I'm sorry for that."

Ray went to the French window, but didn't open it, instead leaning on the wall next to the curtain. Rain streaked the glass. Lightning briefly lit it up into a shining white portal. "Three sorrys. That's some apology." He licked his lips. "Some apology indeed..." He was stalling. He hadn't been expecting an apology – Scott wasn't exactly famous for them – and he didn't know how to respond other than with suspicion. "Did Jean put you up to this?"

"What? No. Well, I talked to her, yeah, but - "

"So she did put you up to it."

"No, she didn't, I just - " Scott stopped, frowning. "Evan's right, you do make it difficult to be a good teammate. Look, I just came to apologise. Whether you accept it or not is your own business; I didn't say it for my own peace of mind, I said it because I was out of line and you didn't deserve to have me accusing you when all you did was – ach, I don't have time for this." He braced his hands against his knees as if to stand.

"Sit."

"Look, I'm not gonna - "

"Just shut up a second." It was a command, not a request.

Scott glowered at being ordered around.

Ray stayed exactly where he was, closing his eyes to better organise his thoughts. He could feel Scott's glare like needles in his skin, but he ignored it. "I'm... sorry too," he gritted after several seconds. The words came out stilted, like they were difficult to say – which, in fact, they were. Apologies weren't really a part of Ray's nature, and before coming to the Institute he'd never had much use for them. There had been the obvious times when he'd cocked up yet another mission in the tunnels, but Callisto generally preferred to cause bruising first and listen to speeches later. Most of the time he was too busy tending to his hurts to say much of anything afterwards.

"Huh?"

That had Mr. Leadership bouncing backwards. "I ran off at the mouth and said some things I shouldn't have said, and I'm sorry for that. Sometimes when I'm angry... my trap doesn't always listen to what my brain's saying. Or it does, just the wrong bits."

Scott sighed. "I hear that."

Ray opened his eyes again, but kept them narrowed.

"What? I'm human. I make mistakes." Scott spread his hands wide. "It's just that the consequences of mine go up a level when I'm in uniform, so I've had to train myself into not making them. Sometimes... I overcompensate. Like tonight."

"Tough deal being leader?"

"You have no idea."

Ray cocked his head to one side, contemplating the older boy. Scott always seemed so together, the original Captain Responsible, that it was odd thinking of him as anything but that. "It's a pretty coveted role."

"I know. But some days I'd like nothing better than to give up all of this and just be a drone."

"A drone? Is that how you see the rest of us?"

"No, but – you know what I mean." His brows pulled together, like he was wondering how much he should be saying. "Some days I'd rather be following orders than giving them."

"Let me guess, it's lonely at the top?" Ray's voice had a sarcastic edge. He tried to chastise himself for it, with mixed results. Scott was trying hard to apologise, and God knows he'd said it few enough times before. Give him a chance. You're supposed to be an X-Man, aren't you? And X-Men give each other chances. Try acting the part for a change. Maybe that's why you're so FUITH around these guys – because you never put in the effort to be one of them.

When they came, Scott's words were carefully chosen. "You have absolutely no clue. Every time we go out on a mission, it's up to me to make sure everybody comes back safe. I have a responsibility for their well-being, for their lives. If they get killed or hurt, it's my fault. Do you know how much pressure that is?"

Ray shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Never been on a mission before."

"For once in your life, Ray, quit being a wise-ass and just listen."

Ray blinked, surprised enough at the snappish tone to let him continue.

"I'm not the kind of guy who likes to complain, but some days... some days it's all too much, and I hate being leader. I hate being a mutant, period. After all, I'm eighteen years old and I have the power to incinerate a person just by looking at them. There's no distinction between friend and foe where that's concerned. What kind of leader would I be if my visor failed one day and I did that to one of my own teammates? Don't get me wrong, most of the time I love what I do. I love being in charge, and having all the privileges that go with it. But some days... some days..." He stopped, and then went on in a low voice, like he was divulging some great secret. "I left once."

Ray raised an eyebrow.

"No, I don't mean the whole Asteroid M thing. I mean I left – really left. I packed my bag, left a note, and hauled my butt down to the bus station. Didn't say a word to anybody. Didn't think they'd care." He sighed; a deep, heartfelt sigh. "I just wanted to get away. I even waited until the wee hours of the morning to leave, so that nobody would try to stop me."

"So what changed your mind?"

"I realised what I'd be throwing away." The answer was simple, but the implications vast. Scott looked up, expression inscrutable. "Does that surprise you? That I'd do something like that?"

"Well, yeah," Ray said truthfully. "You're Cyclops – the big cheese. You don't get scared and you don't get fucked around when things go wrong. You just get on with what you have to do and do it as well as you can. That's why the Professor picked you to be leader in the first place."

"Is that what you guys think?"

He nodded. Well, it was what he'd thought until a minute ago, at least.

"I'll let you in on a little something. I'm petrified. Each and every single time I have to put on that uniform or whip out that visor my stomach feels as though it's gonna have the bottom drop out of it. I may not look like I get flustered when I'm giving orders, but after everything's over and done with I always wonder if I could've done better, had I done something different. I run through things, pulling out all the worse case scenarios, what would've happened if I'd been wrong. What would've happened if I'd failed."

"Why?"

"Because..." Scott paused, mouth open. Ray watched as he let his arm drop and stared at the floor. "Because, when all's said and done, I'm still just a kid playing hero in a fancy suit."

Silence fell with all the weight of an anvil. Scott kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Ray just stood there, poring over what he'd said.

Just a kid playing hero in a fancy suit.

Small sentence, big admission.

Why exactly did he tell me that? he wondered, but didn't ask it aloud. He couldn't help but wonder, though. He and Scott weren't exactly close. Scott had an older brother rapport going on with most of the other X-Men, but Ray had always kept his distance from such ties, preferring to think of him as just team leader and occasional carpool. He still wasn't quite sure of his place in the grand scheme of things at the Institute, despite how much time had passed since coming here, and Scott had never made any attempt to close the polite gap between them after the freak-show-ground-zero argument.

Yet here he was, telling secrets like Ray was some sort of counsellor or confidante. It was disconcerting on a number of levels, including the realisation that Scott was a real person behind the togetherness and gruff orders. Also, Ray couldn't help but get the feeling that some of the things aired in the last few minutes hadn't even been shared with Jean before, and she and Scott were as close as close could be without actually dating.

"I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this," Scott said, as if reading his thoughts.

You and me both, buster. "Maybe it's my sparkling personality."

Scott snorted, but not unkindly. "Maybe." He sighed, and broke the strange atmosphere by rising to his feet and dusting off his knees. "Sorry, I came to apologise to you and it ended turning your room into a psychiatrist's office."

"That's four sorrys. A new record." Ray pushed himself up off the wall and shrugged, unwilling to become bogged down in dwelling on the moment.

"And one from you. I don't think you've ever apologised to anyone before, let alone me."

"Meh." He shrugged again. "Do you accept it?"

"Of course."

"Then that's that, isn't it?"

Scott looked at him. For a second Ray felt rather uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He wore the same look Callisto had perfected, and frequently treated him to whenever he came back from a mission he'd bungled. "What?"

"Y'know, sometimes I really don't understand you."

"What's there to understand? What you see is what you get."

Scott made no reply, but turned and picked his way over to the door. Ray didn't follow except with his eyes. Suddenly his throat felt inexplicably tight, like he'd told some atrocious lie. He swallowed. The feeling didn't go away.

"If you ever need to talk about anything – anything at all, you know you can go to someone, don't you? The Professor, Beast, Ororo," Scott faltered, "even Logan, if the mood takes you."

"And if I don't mind having my giblets hung out to dry."

That drew a smile, but it was fleeting. "Seriously though, they're there if you need them. So are the rest of us. You don't have to bottle things up to the point where you're smashing stuff all the time. After all, Xavier's the world's best counsellor. Who better to air your grievances to than an empath?"

He might understand, but only up to a point. Nobody else would. After all, he was there. He saw where I came from. You didn't. You don't know what I did. Not even he knows that part.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, I know. An understanding ear and all that shit."

"Of course, if you do decide to go speak to Logan, you'd better not use so much of the bad language. Ororo picks on him something chronic about cleaning up his potty mouth, and he likes to take it out on others who get away with it. Believe me, admiring your own giblets would be a walk in the park by comparison."

Despite himself, Ray felt a small smirk emerging. "Thanks. I'll remember that."

To Be Continued

Review Responses:

Me (Harry Wriggle) – Me, prompt? I'll have to fix that. Can't have anyone think me reliable, can I? ;) I appreciate the review, babs, so thanks.

DaHippo – Glad to see another NM fan out there waves

Ivan Alias – A paranoid android? Now there's a phrase I've never heard before. But I digress. I wasn't about to ask for your name, address and social security number. Although your chequebook and a copy of your signature might be nice ;) And I stand corrected. I think Ally McBeal might have quoted When Harry Met Sally, and that's why that name popped into my head first. Meh. I only ever watched half of one episode over my mother's shoulder, and I'm not a great fan of Meg Ryan, so that line was always going to be a sticking point. And I love you for quoting Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young – although Emmerson, Lake and Palmer are also dear to me, and America have had my heart in a death grip since I first heard Horse With No Name.

Amelia Glitter – I'm glad to hear that you like it. Hopefully it will live up to expectations.

"The Price is Right" Fan – Thank you. You let me know I'd achieved what I was aiming for vis-à-vis characterisation, and for this I am eternally grateful.