the threat is real. scott summers. (visor_vision) wrote in age_of_miracles, @ 2008-05-18 23:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | beast, cyclops |
Log: Beast and Cyclops
Who; Scott Summers and Hank McCoy
When; May 18th, afternoon
Where; The Conservatory
What; Scott wakes up Hank because he's snoring like a jackhammer, which leads to talk of the sleep Scott isn't getting. And then Hank goes totally Doctor McCoy on him and it gets really funny.
Hank was rarely found doing nothing. To quite Sherlock Holmes, his mind rebelled at stagnation. There was never a waking moment that could not be spent learning, or expounding on the things he'd learned, spend enjoying life or conditioning his body. In fact, he would have said that no hours were idle hours. His idle time with coffee and a Twinkie was occupied with reading a scientific journal or the works of Marlow and Webster. He took morning jobs while listening to Wagner in his headphones. He had so much in his mind already and such and insatiable lust for knowing more that he was consistently multitasking, even when he considered himself in a zen-like state of relaxation (because that was time well spent, too). There weren't enough hours in the day and not enough days in a lifetime, and Hank McCoy lived like he was trying to cram a thousand different lifetimes of knowledge into one.
But there were some times when all of that came to a head. He didn't always consider himself overworked, but his subconscious apparently decided that at any point he was caught doing nothing, it was a good time for his brain to shut off. This led to what seemed like a minor case of narcolepsy. He fell asleep anywhere and everywhere for short bursts.
Now, he was taking up space in a chair in he conservatory. Legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted back, his mouth open. He was a big man, with big lungs, and had an incredibly loud snore.
It vaguely resembled a foghorn, if Scott were to throw his two cents in. But maybe that was a bit much.
Either way, Scott spent an unhealthy amount of time alone these days, and the conservatory was a nice place to sit down and work alone when he got sick of his office. Without Charles, Scott had largely taken over, and being headmaster was more than just keeping the peace. Finances had to be worked around, and thankfully, Scott actually knew what he was doing. It wasn't easy, but he was making it happen.
And, swear to God, he really would have just turned around if not for that hideous snoring. Papers in one arm, Scott approached like he expected Hank to bite, nudging the big blue man's shoulder.
"You're scaring small children like that, Hank."
Hank snorted, jerking his head up again and looking around with a startled blink. His arms were folded tightly across his barrel chest, and a massive clawed hand came up to rub at his face, pushing his glasses aside. "Wh----I'm up, I'm up, I wasn't sleeping!"
Scott raised an eyebrow behind his glasses. "I beg to differ."
"Scott! Oh. Hello, there." Hank looked around blearily, stifling a yawn. "I'm sure I just drifted off for a millisecond or two----"
"You were shaking the whole floor." It was hard to tell whether or not Scott was joking. If anyone knew he had a sense of humor, it was Hank, but he'd been so damn depressing lately it was anyone's guess.
"With my----Oh. Oh, dear." Hank chuckled, appropriately embarrassed, and he pulled himself up out of his chair. "Well! I'm certainly glad you were the one who stumbled along, Scott. You of all people know how badly I snore." Considering they lived across the hall from one another in that small alcove with the Professor.
"I'm aware." Then again, Hank was also pretty aware of ... Scott-like things. Things that weren't exactly snoring, so maybe Hank had the better end of the deal. "Did I interrupt anything good?"
"Actually, I was having a very interesting dream involving an intimate walk on the beach in Malibu with Claudia Schiffer."
"That could have easily been yes or no, Hank."
Hank laughed, clapping Scott on the shoulder. "Big hairy blue mutants need their fantasies, too, Scott." He squeezed, a little too hard. He didn't know his own strength sometimes. "It was a good dream."
Scott flinched a bit, glad that Hank couldn't see him squeezing his eyes shut behind his glasses. No offense to Hank, but Scott didn't want to know how good. Maybe he was just a spoilsport, but at least it wasn't personal. "I'm not arguing. I just think people's fantasies should stay private." Including Scott's, thank you very much.
Hank wiggled his eyebrows. He was such a dirty old man sometimes. In a nice way. He adjusted his glasses and prodded Scott with a claw. "I know how you feel; I've been trying to get details of your dirty dreams out of you for years. Then again, I can't imagine that you sleep very much these days. How does it feel, playing headmaster?"
Hank was helping. He wasn't slouching about. He took over for a couple of Charles's classes, he was dealing with extra things, too, but Scott had most of the burden.
"You're a horrible person, Hank McCoy." Hank wouldn't want to know about Scott's dirty dreams. They were all pretty embarrassing, as it were; Jean and Emma were expected, but the chances of Scott admitting to women like Sally Blevins and Mary Jane Watson(-Parker) were nil.
Not that he dreams about the latter two. Of course not.
"It's exhausting," Scott admitted. "But I have to say that I get no more or less sleep than before. Insomnia has its benefits."
"Insomnia?" Hank blinked, startled. "Are you bandying about that medical term lightly, boy?"
"Do I joke about mental conditions, Hank?" Of course not. That wasn't a joke.
"And you haven't been to see me because..."
Scott had to pause. Why hadn't he?
Oh, right. Because it was safer to stay awake and control his thoughts than go out of his way to sleep and dream. That was why. Not that he necessarily realized that himself.
"I'm busy."
Hank certainly think that was a decent excuse. His lips curled into a stern frown. "I'm busy, Scott. I still sleep. One cannot drive a car without refueling."
"I drive my car just fine."
"The hell you do." Hank was then manhandling him, looking him over with a deeply critical eye and trying to find signs of fatigue that didn't involve looking for dark circles under his eyes.
Scott was perpetually tired these days, so signs that Hank may have seen were more or less lost on him. If he had a headache or felt sick, he certainly wasn't sharing it. But he swayed a little on his feet from time to time, just before he could catch himself. He kept himself out of sight of others so they didn't notice. "I do," Scott insisted. "I sleep enough. I do my work well enough. I'd be worried about it if it were hurting anybody else, but it's not." He did his job, he took care of the school. Leave him alone, Hank.
"You've lost weight," said Hank, squeezing Scott's ribs with both hands. He was behind him now, peeking over his shoulder. "Do you know you've lost weight?" He paused, sighed. "Sometimes, Scott, you need to take a little time out for you, instead of thinking about other people all the time. Be indulgently selfish every now and again."
Scott swatted at Hank's hands, naturally shying away and giving him The Look. "I haven't lost weight." Liar. "I'm fine, Hank. I like my work."
"That's completely understandable, but your work isn't liking you." Hank pressed his hands against Scott's face and tilted it up to get a better look. "My stars and garters, you are pale, boy..."
"Stop it!" Scott was a grown man. Younger than Hank, yes, but still old enough not to be clucked and fussed over like that.
therabbitwhite (10:38:41 PM): Hank swatted his cheek. "I'm a doctor, damn it! Hush your mouth!"
Oh, he did not just---
"Give it a rest, Hank. I will be fine."
"No." Hank shook his head and pulled away, grabbing a pen and small pad of paper from his pocket. "Come see me tonight, here's a note to remind you. I'm going to prescribe you----and pick up for you----a non-addictive sleep aid as well as a list of healthy scheduling tips to help you better manage your time. You are to sleep for at least six hours every night. Eight is preferable but that would be asking for a miracle. You are to eat every time there is food in the dining hall."
Scott watched him with something like incredulity but ... what was there to say? "You don't have to do that..." Seriously, Hank. Come on.
"Yes, I do." Hank scowled. "You don't take care of yourself. Someone has to do it."
I don't need anyone to take care of me." Though he made no comment on his ability to actually take care of himself.
Hank snorted and tore off the little page, and pushed it up against Scott's chest. "Shut up. Take the paper. Meet me. You don't know what you need."
Scott grudgingly took the paper, knowing better than to flat out refuse. "Fine. But I don't need the help."
"A person with a problem is always the last to admit he has a problem," said Hank. "You do this. I will come find you if you don't show up."
Scott made a face, sighed like this was painful. "...Yes, sir."
"Good. Now go about your business as you normally would, because after tonight you won't be allowed to do any of that." Hank nodded, and then he was heading off like he hadn't taken a nap in the chair.