Log: Beast & Cyclops Who: Hank McCoy & Scott Summers When: Afternoon, Monday, May 26 Where: The medlab What: Logan drops Scott off in the medlab after the debacle at the ravine, and Hank finds out that Scott hasn't been obeying his medical advice. And is Not Happy. Angry!Beast? Yes.
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Hank was pissed.
It was practically radiating off of him, and Scott was torn between feeling horribly guilty and not caring. After his stunt with Logan and the car, Logan had dragged him right back to Hank, practically dumped him in Dr. McCoy's lap and stalked back off.
It was like being nineteen again, sitting in front of Hank's desk and waiting for the shitstorm.
Hank adjusted his glasses and tapped his claws against the desk. "Are you going to explain to me what's going on or am I going to have to hazard a guess?"
Scott wasn't really looking at him, his mouth resting against his fist, arm propped up on the arm of the chair. "Nothing's going on."
"Mm." Hank didn't look amused. "This is the part where you lie to me and I get to see through all of your smoke screens. You know that, don't you?" He went into his drawer and pulled out Scott's medical file, which he kept on hand for just such an occasion.
"Are you eating?"
"When everyone else does." Like Hank had told him to. He made the effort to .. try to remembet to eat with other people. He really didn't like doing it around other people.
"Regularly? Or only when it's convenient?" Hank was hip to your jive, Scott. He pulled a pen from his pocket and started to write something down.
"If I remember. I work." Like that made not eating all right. He might have opened up a bit and gone crazy on Logan, but Scott was pulling it all back in, internalizing again.
"I work." Hank shook his head quietly, muttering. "Are you taking your sleep aid?"
"...If I remember."
Hank marked something else down. "Mm. And how many times have you remembered? Were you taking them regularly you would be in need of more. I only put a few pills in that bottle, so you would have to come to me soon if you were in fact taking them as prescribed----soon if you were taking them correctly, sooner if you were abusing them. You aren't abusing them, that's a start, but you also aren't taking them. I told you to take them; do you enjoy flippantly ignoring my medical expertise like it's some sort of sport or are you simply a masochist?"
He removed his glasses and set his notes down, a clear sign that he was serious. This was not funny, Scott. This wasn't a game.
"I don't need your help." Scott wasn't really offering any answers, and with his eyes covered, it was difficult to read his expression. "I'm fine." Which was bullshit, and they both damn well knew it.
"Damn it, Scott!" Hank showed an unusual outburst of anger, slamming his hand down onto the desk. He took his page of notes, crumpled it up between his hands, and threw it violently aside. "I can't help you if you can't help yourself!" he said, stranding. He was frustrated and at this point, he was angry. "This isn't a disease! You aren't dying of cancer or, God forbid, Legacy. You haven't lost a limb. You're doing this to yourself, you're ignoring any attempts to improve your quality of life. You are blatantly and rudely blowing me off! The longer you continue this cycle of not eating and not sleeping and pushing yourself to your limits, the worse you'll get! The reason you're this bad right now is because you won't take care of yourself. Don't expect me to fix you when you can't take the time to care."
With that, Hank was storming off into another lab room and slamming the door shut.