Hellhound | Flint Walker (actorforhire) wrote in superbabies, @ 2013-03-06 00:02:00 |
|
|||
In the brief amount of time since Flint arrived at the school, he’d met many new people and had reconnected with several old friends and flames (the latter was both a good and not good thing, but nobody’d made anything awkward yet). Overall, the students had taken a shine to him and he found himself having more fun in the classroom than he’d had in LA for the last few years. This had been a good decision, he decided.
While he’d had time to pop by and catch up with some of his friends on a surface level, he hadn’t the time to really sit down with them. The snow kind of gave him no choice, not that he was complaining. So when he found Steven in the faculty kitchen/common area, he was glad for it.
“Evening.” He said as he walked over the bread box, grabbing a couple of whole wheat slices. “How’s it going?”
Steven Barnes was the kind of man who kept to himself. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he was used to spending time alone and passing the time by himself. Years of being a lone SHIELD agent meant lonely hotel rooms and long hours staking out targets. He could spend long stretches of time alone not doing anything at all, or burying himself in a book written in another language. Or cleaning his guns. Or practicing with said guns. Or beating up a punching bag. He was perfectly capable of being social; it just didn’t occur to him half the time.
Usually, this meant that he was hard to find. He helped Pella teach, and when he wasn’t occupied he was usually in his room (or, honestly, in Pella’s room). This was like capturing a wild animal out of his normal habitat.
At the moment, he was digging into a bowl of ramen noodles, twirling them around on a fork before shoving them into his mouth. “Hey,” he said, his mouth full. He sucked the dangling noodles up into his mouth and wiped his chin. “Everything’s fine, I’m just grabbing something to eat since I missed dinner. What’s up?” Despite Flint being here a while they hadn’t really talked all that much----Steven was hard to find, after all.
Plopping the toast into the toaster, Flint took the opportunity to really give Steven a once-over. He’d filled out some, both with muscle and with age, and there were lines on his face there hadn’t been before. It was sad now to think they’d really hadn’t spent any quality time catching up at all, not that Flint’s schedule was desperately without company. He turned to rummage around the pantry for peanut butter.
“Nothing much, just surprised to see you out and about.” He commented as he located the jar. “Didn’t know you were going to be this much of a ghost. But I hear you’re helping with the survival classes. How’s that treating you?”
“They don’t call me Spectre for nothing,” said Steven with a chuckle. “Sorry about that. I disappear, I know I do. And helping out with survival is... I don’t know, it’s good? I think Pella likes it, because it means she doesn’t have to try to be personable. Her advice is good but her social skills aren’t.” He took another messy bite of ramen. “What’s this with you teaching acting now?”
Flint chuckled at the thought of a personable Pella. He liked the woman fine and had grown up knowing of her, even if not really knowing her, due to her connection to Steven. In many ways, he appreciated their dynamic.
“Hollywood was the perfect escape until it became the perfect prison.” He shrugged, grabbing a knife and waiting patiently for the toaster to pop. “It didn’t feel right to stay away when the school needed help. The job just...happened. Enough people approached me and asked if I would stay. I’m not great at saying no.” There was a secret smile, one that said he wasn’t as much of a pushover as he seemed to be, but that he didn’t mind much. “Strange to think over a decade later, here we are. Our lives so different and yet not. Sorry. I get oddly reminiscent when I think on it too much.”
Steven went back to his noodles. In the back of his mind, he was calculating all of the ways that Flint had changed over the years, particularly in the last three since his wife’s death. That kind of thing altered people, and not just mentally. It was in the way they stood, the way they moved, the way they wore their clothes. Everything he noticed, he filed away for later.
“We’re not that different,” he said. “We’re both actors, but the difference is you get fans for being someone else and if I’m doing my job right, no one notices me.” He grinned.
Flint smiled back, but it was mirthless. Yes, he'd gotten fans, but he'd also made enemies. Even years later, zealots blamed him for Katelyn's death, attributing it to satanic rituals or something egregiously far-fetched. It was better that they didn't know the truth of her passing, but...it didn't mean he didn't envy Steven's position.
"Is your agency looking for new talent?" He joked.
Steven glanced up, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Why, are you looking for a job?”
It didn’t have to be a joke. SHIELD was always looking for agents, and no one would suspect someone famous like Flint Walker. It was a good cover, using his own identity to hide his line of work.
The amusement was expected, but it did give Flint pause. Would he be good in SHIELD? He’d always loved the arts, but had wanted to be a part of something like SHIELD or X-Men when he was a student and felt he didn’t have the control to be an asset. He still didn’t. The glint of wonder and consideration in his eyes died quickly.
“I’m satisfied here.” He murmured, turning back to the toaster. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah. For a vacation. It’s quiet, in the middle of nowhere, far from the cutthroat world of Hollywood... sure.” Steven shrugged. He didn’t mind being here, but he definitely wasn’t used to not having a defined mission or goal. Something to watch, a target to stalk. “What’s up? You seemed interested in being a super spy for about half a second and then looked like your dreams died in front of you.”
While Steven felt borderline restless without having a mission to call him away, Flint found himself oddly...at peace. In a way. Not having paparazzi dog him as he left his house or reporters asking him who he was dating this week - would he ever date again? - was a weight off his shoulders, though not his heart. “Sorry, it’s not easy. It’s an intriguing prospect, I can’t lie. I’m just sadly lacking in nerve these days.” He paused, contemplating. “You’d really think they’d consider me?”
“Sure. Not for every mission, but they could use a person with the ability to infiltrate certain circles without drawing suspicion,” said Steven. He had his mouth full again, and he waited to continue until he had chewed and swallowed. “With the right training and skills, yeah, you could come in handy. You’re well-known and therefore able to be ignored as a threat, and we already know you can act----though what you do and what I do are two different things.”
Just as Flint was about to respond, the toaster pinged behind him, and he turned to casually remove the bread and deposit it onto the plate. He considered Steven’s words as he proceeded to slab peanut butter on his toast. “It’s something to ponder. I won’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind before and while I’d be late to the game, I still have some experience on the table. Even if they’re two different things, as you say.” A smirk formed on his face. “I can’t imagine this conversation being reversed. I don’t think you’d ever ask me for a hand at getting the lead in a blockbuster. Not that you wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”
Steven smirked, resting his chin in his hand and fingers curled against his lips. “Well, if you want to land me a picture deal that’s going to get me twenty million, I wouldn’t mind it.” He chuckled. “Seriously, though. I’m not saying life as a spy is the life for you, but there are options. You just happen to be lucky enough that ‘super spy’ is a viable career option. Do you know how many little kids would kill for that? Super spy ranks right up there with astronaut and ice cream truck driver.”
Chuckling as he stuck the peanut butter away, Flint said, “I’ll see what I can do. Might start off at a paltry ten million, but we can negotiate.” He sobered up, though, as the spy discussion came back into play. “The life of a spy or the opportunity for that life is meant for a very select few. I know I have no guarantees and I’m fine with that.” A tendril of a smile came back. “It’s true, what five year old boy didn’t want to be a super spy? It came before my archaeologist phase and right after my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles phase. I liked Raphael.”
“Is it bad to say I couldn’t tell any of them apart?” Steven said with an embarrassed wince. “I was clearly the worst little boy ever, I wasn’t into Ninja Turtles.”
Flint laughed good-naturedly. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Taking a bite out of his bread, he munched and swallowed, just as thoughtful as all his other slow-breathing pauses. “How’s it been with Sam back?”
Steven set his fork down. Damn it. Of course he’d have to talk about this sooner or later, and it was an ugly, loaded question. “It’s … you know. I don’t like it, but you don’t see me moving, either. I’m all right with it. Maybe we can make peace at some point. I don’t know.”
“She doesn’t have much of a choice.” Flint shrugged. “She can whine and moan as much as she wants, but you’ve made your choices.” He was sure Steven knew what - and who - Flint was alluding to. “Hopefully peace will come.”
“We weren’t right for each other,” Steven said evenly. “We tried to be, but we weren’t. And Sam’s... propensity for flying off the handle really never sat well with me. It feels so much more peaceful to be away with her than coping with her on a day-to-day basis.”
Flint knew death wasn’t something you compared other life events to, but to put his own marriage aside and look at Steven’s, he felt for him. Fortunately, things were better now than they had been before, and he’d gone through some rough times (not to say Flint didn’t like Sam, but she was a handful) before coming out the other end all the better for it. “You’ve dealt with worse than an ex-wife.” Though ‘worse’ didn’t necessarily translate to ‘personal’. “She can’t do much more than complain and you look like you’re in a fairly good place, all things considered. She doesn’t have the power to change that.”
“That’s...” Steven rubbed a hand over his face and slumped back in his chair. “That’s the thing about it, Flint. Dealing with Sam is different than what I deal with. Yeah, I’ve been through worse. I go through worse all the time; it’s part of the job. But that’s something I can deal with, something I understand. I understand people, it’s not that I’m so buried in the job that I don’t know how to deal with people, but there’s a difference between a mission and day-to-day civ life, you know? It’s like …” He glanced sheepishly at Flint, hoping his analogy wasn’t wrong. “It’s like the difference between reading a script and feeling out your character in a love scene, connecting with someone on that level, but knowing it doesn’t affect your real life, versus dealing with an actual partner.”
Flint smiled, not at all condescending or belittling. He understood exactly what Steven was getting at. Their definitions of reality versus the world of pretend were exponentially different. Each with its merits and with their parallels, they were sometimes worlds apart. And yet, on rare occasions, it all made sense to him. “I understand.” He did. When Katelyn had problems in the months leading up to her death, he’d often found himself desperate to help her, but also desperate to get away and back into the ‘script’ of his job. “But you and...Pella, yeah? It has to make it easier for you, doesn’t it? You get to have a little bit of both without feeling like you’re compromising.”
Steven smiled faintly. “Yeah. Me and Pella.” He ducked his head, almost embarrassed by the fact that he couldn’t hide the fact that his cheeks were a little red. “Yeah, it makes it easier. She understands the life, she understands me. Moreover, I understand her. Sometimes I wonder how people don’t see what I see.”
Pella didn’t relate to people, and people didn’t relate to Pella. She came off as cold and tactical, and didn’t make friends easily. It took her a long time to open up, and struggled with emoting. She wasn’t the easiest person to be with, as Shay had found out.
Flint caught the red on his cheeks and didn’t say anything, but he had his own smile before he bit into his bread. Years ago when Steven and Sam married, saying her name wouldn’t cause that sort of reaction. He didn’t know Pella particularly well - they hadn’t grown up around each other and they had only been briefly introduced at the wedding. Surely he knew better than to judge a book by its cover - after all, not only was he an actor, but the devil inside him created layers within him that few others could conceive.
“That’s good, Steve. That’s what matters, really.” Flint picked up his other slice of bread and moved out of the kitchen with the intention of heading back to his room. “It’s a shame not everyone can. I know I have my difficulties understanding her. But she makes you happy, and really that’s the most important thing. I’ll try to talk to her more.”
Steven chuckled. “Good luck,” he said, without sarcasm. Pella didn’t make friends easily. “Good luck, be patient, and take what she says at face value; she’s nothing if not honest. And don’t get offended if she looks irritable, bitchy, or sour. That’s... just her face.”
Flint appreciated that. ‘Good luck’ seemed to fit, especially when it came to Pella Castle. With an elbow on the counter, he chewed on his peanut butter sandwich. “No offense will be taken. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll certainly keep it in mind when we cross. Is she happy here? I mean...it has to be so different for her, too, given her own time in SHIELD. Is this what she wants?”
“She was never SHIELD, she was Marines, but … close enough. Weirder, even.” Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t say teaching is her strong point, but she’s here with her family. I know she’s been taken on as a SHIELD agent, and she’s incredible at what she does, but she needs a home to ground her. Don’t we all?”
Ah. Well. That’s what happened when you weren’t in touch with your friends as often as you liked. A reminder that he really should have known more about Pella. He nodded, slowly, at the question. They did need homes. And that was the draw of Xavier’s to him. Despite all of their backgrounds, their families, their histories, nearly everyone here found this place to be home. Nowhere else had he gone where people didn’t stare at him for his red eyes or demand to see the pentagram on his body. As different as these people were, they were the same as him.
“We do.” He nodded. LA hadn’t been home for years. This wasn’t home yet, but he was looking forward to the day it would be. “I’d...better get back to my room. Sheri’s going to be coming by with Sam to talk about the spring musical. I feel like I need to hide all of my sharp objects.”
Steven made a face. “Spring musical? Really? Oh, Flint. Man. That sounds like torture, and I have actually been tortured. A bunch of these kids up on stage, singing and dancing? Really? Or just... in the foyer, since we don’t have a stage?” Theatre wasn’t really Steven’s thing. He had a soft spot for ballet because of his mother, and he was an excellent actor, but musicals? Xavier’s kids, doing a musical? Shit.
Yeah, Flint laughed. He really did love theatre and had even been on Broadway, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing. And some of the kids here had real talent. But this wasn’t Broadway. This was a school full of mutants and it was kind of a madhouse organizing everything. “I think we’re going to build a small amphitheatre or something for when the weather is nicer. Use the forest as backdrop. But come on, Steve, think about this as payback for all the times they drive you and Pella nuts during class. It’s better than picturing people in their underwear. Just picture them belting out show choir tunes.”
Steven groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re trying to kill me, Flint. But you know what, if it makes them happy, make ‘em go for it. And don’t go easy on them. You’re the drama teacher, make sure the little bastards are flawless. Maybe if they’re any good we could charge the general public to come and we’d fund the new apartments.”
“No, killing you would be trying to get you to take part.” He chuckled. “Get your great debut going, huh?”
But he definitely had no intentions of going easy on the kids. Memorizing, practicing, all of it was work. He’d be good to them, of course, but it was more than enthusiasm. “That sounds like a lucrative plan. First the apartments, then maybe a faculty jacuzzi or something for the fall musical. The possibilities are endless.”
“Oh, my God, why didn’t we think of this before? Put the kids to work in a song-and-dance show and profit endlessly. Who needs benefactors like my brother when you’ve got all this free labor?” Steven grinned and ducked his head to snicker. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from actual work.”
Laughing now, the retired actor shook his head. “I’m amazed with all the super geniuses at the school, nobody’s ever thought to make the connection.” The smile remained on his face as Steven apologized for the distraction. “No need to say sorry. Sheri will be fine and Sam’s late most times anyway. It’s just nice to talk to you again.”
Steven rested his chin in his hand. “I hope so, because it seems like you’re gonna be stuck with me for a while. Glad you’re back at the school, Flint. I hope things work out for you here.”
He nodded, the smile settled comfortably in his gaze. “Thanks, Steve. Me too. And if not, I’ll be asking for a letter of recommendation from you. Gotta love SHIELD.” A final, farewell jerk of the head. “Night.”