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ax_main2017-11-11 04:16 pm
ax_cyclops) wrote in ax_main2017-11-11 04:16 pm
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Bobby and Scott, Backdated to November 11th
Scott and Bobby take on the Danger Room and then, for an exciting change of pace, Scott asks Bobby for some advice over Dairy Queen.
"I hate you. Just so you know."
Alright, it wasn't true. And Scott would know it wasn't true. What Bobby hated was the training sim the other guy had called up. Urban environment, multiple assailants - which translated as a bunch of guys aiming guns at them, somewhere in New York City (he was thinking Lower East Side, but he hadn't really had time to look at the virtual street signs). Because he was trying, very hard, to not get virtually killed, while not killing anyone else.
With that in mind, he stopped, dropped, and rolled away from a shot fired at him, then came up in a crouch and fired off a return blast designed to envelop the guy's gun in a chunk of ice, rendering it useless. He wondered absently whether or not he was going to lose points for freezing the guy's hand as well.
"Just let the rage fuel you, grasshopper," Scott advised. He dropped and rolled beneath the outstretched arm of one of their assailants, and as he stood triggered his visor, blasting a gun out of the hand of one of the other attackers. That done, Scott grabbed one of the guys, and drove his elbow, hard into the holographic man's solar plexus.
"I'm not a rage-y type of guy," Bobby pointed out. "I'm more a 'Can't we all stop this and go have ice cream' kinda guy." Sadly, these guys looked disinclined to head off to the nearest Dairy Queen until after they killed him. Maybe they'd do it to celebrate. Bobby turned, saw that one of them was taking aim at Scott, and fired off another blast, one which hit the guy in the face and drove him backwards into one of his cohorts.
When the guy stumbled because of Bobby's ice, Scott fired a blast at him to finish the job, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the ground. His friend went down beneath him, but was already struggling to his feet. "Maybe when they're done trying to end up on the news, I'll take you for a Dilly bar," Scott said dryly.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," Bobby countered as he concentrated. Ice rose up from the ground, enveloping the other assailant's feet and legs. Right. He was out of commission. Bobby got to his feet, just in time to have his legs knocked out from under him by another opponent. "Ugh! How many of these guys are there?" he asked, rolling to one side and kicking up as the guy tried to impale him with some kind of metal rod.
Scott triggered his visor, hitting the guy with a blast hard enough that he wouldn't be getting up soon, but fortunately managing not to punch a hole through him. With him out, he glanced around them. "I count two," he said, counting on his unique vision to keep him in good stead. He doubted that he was wrong in his assessment. "Unless they're going to respawn or something."
"Do urban assailants respawn? I thought that was limited to monsters in Minecraft?" Bobby joked. He got to his feet awkwardly, one leg sore, and looked around. "Where?"
Scott gestured towards the corner of a building, where he'd seen the last two run. Presumably, he guessed, to ambush them, though he wanted to think that in real life no one would be quite that stupid. "Can you ice me a wall, right.....there?" He asked, pointing to where it would be most effective.
"One ice wall coming up. Do I get to know why you want one?" Bobby aimed for the spot Scott had chosen and bit at his lip, hands extended. A wall began rising up from the ground. "Say when."
"Perfect." Scott triggered his visor twice, rapid fire, sending two blasts towards the wall. They bounced off, ricocheting around the corner and the two distinct yelps of pain told Scott they'd found their targets. "And that's why."
"Show off," Bobby grumbled. Granted, that had been slick as hell, but still. Definite showing off. He pushed his hand back through his hair, dislodging bits of ice that had formed there, then took a deep breath and exhaled. "Right. We're alive, they're virtually alive...we're done here, right?"
"End simulation," Scott called out. "Not bad. I'll get Tessa to look at the tapes. Give us a breakdown."
Bobby let out a sigh of relief as the holographic simulation faded around them, leaving them standing in an empty room. "Why Tessa?" he asked, eyebrows rising.
Scott shrugged. "Because she's good at it. And she's going to watch it anyway, so we might as well get her to share her feedback."
"Hold it - did I say she could do that? I mean, I don't remember having said she could do that," Bobby protested, mostly just on principle. Except if he'd really screwed up, he wasn't quite sure he liked the idea of anyone who wanted to being able to "review" it all.
"I sincerely doubt you said she could do it. Also kind of suspect she doesn't care, but she might stop if you asked her to?" Scott replied, cocking his head as he thought it over.
"It seems like they should be confidential," Bobby grumbled. "Like grades. If teachers can't tell people your grades, why can other students watch video footage of you falling on your ass?"
"Fair enough," Scott admitted. A private person himself, he didn't exactly blame Bobby for his displeasure.
Bobby nodded, satisfied that at least Scott agreed with him. Maybe he'd start a petition or something and present it to the faculty. "So, how'd you know your blast wouldn't go right through my wall?" he asked instead of pursuing the subject further.
Scott shrugged a little. "Saw the thickness of the wall, figured out how dense it would be, how much pressure it could take, just," he gestured to the dial on his visor that controlled the force of his optic blast, "changed my pressure to what the wall could take, and just hit the angle."
"I'm thinking the most insane part of that whole thing - and yeah, you do realize most people can't do that, right? But the most insane thing is that you threw in the word just. Twice." Bobby shook his head and grinned. "Remind me to hit you up for tutoring in Physics next year."
Scott snorted. "Doubt you'll need my help, but sure."
"You overestimate my Physics-ing ability," Bobby countered. "Besides, if you turn me down, Shepherd and I are going to have to figure it all out on our own..." Yep, that was a very innocent smile. But he was quite sure that after the ice slide debacle, no one would want that to happen. Ever.
"If the fall doesn't kill you, I might." Scott warned, rolling his eyes.
"Threats! Help, I'm being threatened!" Bobby called out, then grinned. "Anyway. You said you were going to buy me a dilly bar?"
"Of course that's your takeaway from this session." Scott shook his head, mock-disappointed, but gestured towards the door. "Aren't you cold enough in your day-to-day?"
Bobby shrugged. "I don't get cold. And I'm taking more than that away from this." He grinned as he headed towards the door. "I've learned that I am very definitely never playing pool with you."
"Aw, c'mon,I'd give you excellent odds." Scott smirked.
"Dude, you just banked a shot off an ice wall. There are no odds that could make up for that," Bobby pointed out.
"Maybe you should just practice more," Scott joked dryly. "That way if your Monopoly takers dry up, you have a back-up in scamming at pool."
"Hmm. There's that. Sadly, it's hard to scam people at Monopoly," Bobby sighed. "No one wants to stick around long enough."
Scott shook his head. "No appreciation for the long-game scams. What is this world coming to?"
"A society full of people with really short attention spans, if you ask my dad," Bobby supplied helpfully. "He blames the Internet."
"A pity. Takes all the art out of a good con," Scott mused. He followed Bobby into the hallway, and headed in the direction of the garage. He didn't think they had any Dilly bars in the freezer.
"You sound like you're an expert on the subject," Bobby observed, surprised to see that Scott had apparently actually meant they were going for ice cream. He wasn't about to argue that, though, so he hurried along.
"Evil overlord, remember?" Scott pointed out.
"So, as an educational experience for your minion, you're going to take me along so I can watch you hustle pool?" Bobby grinned.
Scott snorted. "Believe it or not, I promised the Professor my might-be-arrested activities were over." His mind flashed to their whole little vigilantism plan, so he amended, "mostly."
"But how am I supposed to learn if not by example?" Bobby asked mournfully.
"Books? YouTube tutorials? Ouija?" Scott offered.
Bobby shook his head sadly. "My faith in you as an evil overlord is slipping. Just so you know. You're going to have to do something pretty spectacular to make up for it." He made a face. "Also, my mom would kill me if she found out I was screwing around with a Ouija board."
"Telling your mom before you oujia to learn to scam at pool is a poor plan, just speaking as an evil overlord." Scott smirked, and then grabbed keys to the Camry.
"I'll keep that in mind." Bobby noted which keys Scott had taken and headed for the car. "Gonna let me drive?" he asked hopefully.
Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm inclined not to go with....no." He pushed the button to unlock the doors.
Bobby grinned. "Which means yes, because double negative." He headed for the driver's side, silently thanking Dr. McCoy for his lecture earlier that week.
"Sure, I'll meet you there," Scott said dryly. "Just remember, when you get pulled over by the cops, your name is Charles Xavier."
Bobby made a face and sighed as he skirted around the front of the car to the passenger's side. "I have my temps," he pointed out. Granted, they were only valid with an adult licensed driver, but Scott could pass. Almost.
"True, and when I turn eighteen that will be a lot more relevant," Scott said, shrugging. He went around and slid into the driver's seat.
"And that happens when?" Bobby climbed into the car and fastened his seat belt.
"About a year, give or take a month or two." Scott slipped the key in the ignition, and started the engine. Watching carefully, he took them down the long, secluded driveway that led to the mansion. At least they were far away from the main road; one of those rare security comforts.
"Huh. I thought you were older than that," Bobby mused. "You seem older."
Scott snickered. "Let me guess, my winning and youthful personality?"
"No. Just that you always seem to know what you're doing, I guess." Bobby shrugged.
Scott looked mildly surprised, but quickly schooled his face back to neutral. "I just fake it, Drake. Fake it 'til you make it and all that shit."
"Riiiiight. We'll go with that." Bobby wasn't believing it, not for a minute.
They parked at the Dairy Queen in short order, it was on the edge of Westchester, closer to Xavier's mansion than a lot of the other shops and restaurants. Which was lucky, Scott guessed, given his personal proclivity for deep fried food and ice cream. Dietary choices he and Bobby shared. He cut off the engine. "Did you know Beaubier accused me of eating unhealthily?"
"You? Seriously?" Bobby pretended to stare incredulously as he unfastened his seatbelt. "Did you tell him you barely put enough grease in your cholesterol system to survive?"
"Seriously. I guess some guys just don't appreciate gourmet freezer corn dog cuisine when they see it," Scott said, mock seriously. He unbuckled and climbed out of the car, stretching out his long limbs.
"Did you dip them in ketchup? I mean, maybe he's a condiments kinda guy." Bobby climbed out of the car and started towards the door.
"Plain. I wasn't feeling fancy," Scott said. He followed Bobby in, and went up to the counter. "Chicken strip basket and two Dilly bars, please."
"Hey, I can get my own. I was just messing with you," Bobby protested.
Scott shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it." He accepted the receipt and slid into a booth. "I think I can afford a Dilly bar for my chief minion."
"Pretty sure I'm your only minion," Bobby pointed out as he slipped into the seat across from Scott. "Unless you've been recruiting?"
"Not in the recruiting business." He couldn't help the brief and somehow bitter headshake, at that, but was saved by the delivery of their food.
Bobby caught the odd look on Scott's face and frowned, a little, but helped himself to one of the chicken strips and waited for the Dairy Queen employee to walk away before commenting. "I dunno. You did a pretty good job with recruitment when you showed up in Port Jefferson. Unless you were actually trying to get rid of me, in which case you failed utterly."
Scott snorted. "Damn, you're on to my dastardly plan." He grabbed a chicken strip and scarfed it down, followed by a couple of fries. It occurred to him that Bobby was friends with Shepard, who was definitely friends with the Brotherhood. Or at least better friends with them than Scott was. "Hey, do you know any of the Brotherhood kids?"
"Nuh uh," Bobby took a bite of his chicken strip and shook his head. "I've seen the guy Kitty's roommate's dating, but that's about it. Why?" He grinned. "Y'know, I heard a rumor about you and one of the girls there..." He raised his eyebrows and waited for Scott to confirm or deny.
Scott rolled his eyes. "We both know that I am utterly unappealing to girls," he said dryly. "No, I was just...trying to get a read on one of the kids there."
"Which one? Tommy and Kurt met some of them at the party - I heard bits, after."
"Uh, Alex," Scott said, in what was intended to be a nonchalant voice, but probably came off more as monotonous.
Bobby grimaced. "Oh, the kid in the files, right? I read those. And had nightmares for days, just thinking about Tommy's. Which he doesn't know I read," Bobby added, "so if you can not tell him, that'd be cool." He paused, realizing that something about Scott seemed...off. "Why Alex?"
Scott swallowed. The Professor's only advice had been to think about it. Which Scott had, incessantly. Warren and he hadn't exactly been in an advice place when they'd...well, he guessed he could loosely use the word 'talked.' Jean....was one of the most trustworthy people he knew, but the amount of faith she had in him frequently made him wonder if he'd misled her somehow, severely. The Professor, Warren, Jean, it only made sense that he'd ask Bobby, too. "Secret for a secret. I won't tell Shepard what you know, and you won't tell anyone, anyone why I was asking about Alex. Deal?"
Bobby frowned, but nodded. Partially because he was now more intrigued than ever; partially because he knew if he made the deal with Scott, he'd never tell Tommy Bobby knew anything. It was a surprise, though, that Scott would want to strike a deal over it. "Deal."
Scott caught the look and, realizing how what he'd said sounded, held up his hands slightly for a pause. "I didn't mean....I'm not blackmailing you Drake. I wouldn't tell anyway. You know that, right?'
"Yeah, I know. I'm just wondering what the big secret is that you'd make it sound like you would." Bobby shrugged. "Anyway, it's not blackmail-able, really. I just don't want Shepherd to get weirded out that I know all the gory details. If I were him, I wouldn't want me to.""
Scott ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. "Sorry, I suck at this....I just....Alex is my brother." And there it was, blunt and metaphorically right in the middle of the table.
Bobby blinked. "Your brother." He felt an odd sinking feeling at the idea he didn't think about further, and just blinked again before forcing a grin. "Damn. I'm going to have to pay up on my bet that you weren't born, you were hatched. What's the story? I didn't think you had family around?"
"I didn't. It's been....years. But now he's here. Or, well, there." And it was seeming like it would be that way for awhile. Scott forced himself to push that aside and focus on the present.
"Huh." Right, that was articulate. "So, are you going to lure him away from the Dark Side or something? Or are we going to have to break out lightsabers?" Bobby frowned. "Actually, with you being the evil overlord, we've got two dark sides to consider. Who gets the red lightsabers?"
Scott was grateful for the humor. "I think I have dibs on red. Color-matching and all that. But no," he shook his head a little. "I'm not entirely convinced I have a right to intrude on his life at all. I'm not going to try and convert him right off the bat."
Assuming he even spoke to him at all.
"Save it for the sequel. Always a sound practice," Bobby replied, nodding. "And seriously. Isn't randomly intruding on people's lives what defines a family? That's the impression I always got from my mom's sister, anyway."
"Wouldn't know," Scott confessed. Since 10, family had been a theoretical concept at best.
"Well, I'm not an expert," Bobby admitted. "The closest thing I've got to a sibling is my cousin Mary. But she used to pop in at random all the time, and her mom was way worse. Pretty sure this just constitutes a bigger in-popping? Y'know, 'Hey, nice to see you, sorry it's been a few years?'"
He couldn't help a soft snort in response. "Think that will work?"
"I'd try it. Which probably tells you everything you need to know?" Bobby shrugged. "Seriously, man, I think you probably need to just tell him. I'm not sure there's an easy way around that."
"So you'd tell him, if it were you?" Scott was becoming more and more certain that was the right thing to do, too, but having that viewpoint reinforced by someone whose opinion he valued never hurt.
"I'd tell him." Bobby shrugged. "Besides, it's gonna drive you nuts until you do. And you're crazy enough without it."
Scott smirked. "Gee, thanks." He shoved a few fries into his mouth to cover his genuine gratitude that Bobby was....well, Bobby.
"I hate you. Just so you know."
Alright, it wasn't true. And Scott would know it wasn't true. What Bobby hated was the training sim the other guy had called up. Urban environment, multiple assailants - which translated as a bunch of guys aiming guns at them, somewhere in New York City (he was thinking Lower East Side, but he hadn't really had time to look at the virtual street signs). Because he was trying, very hard, to not get virtually killed, while not killing anyone else.
With that in mind, he stopped, dropped, and rolled away from a shot fired at him, then came up in a crouch and fired off a return blast designed to envelop the guy's gun in a chunk of ice, rendering it useless. He wondered absently whether or not he was going to lose points for freezing the guy's hand as well.
"Just let the rage fuel you, grasshopper," Scott advised. He dropped and rolled beneath the outstretched arm of one of their assailants, and as he stood triggered his visor, blasting a gun out of the hand of one of the other attackers. That done, Scott grabbed one of the guys, and drove his elbow, hard into the holographic man's solar plexus.
"I'm not a rage-y type of guy," Bobby pointed out. "I'm more a 'Can't we all stop this and go have ice cream' kinda guy." Sadly, these guys looked disinclined to head off to the nearest Dairy Queen until after they killed him. Maybe they'd do it to celebrate. Bobby turned, saw that one of them was taking aim at Scott, and fired off another blast, one which hit the guy in the face and drove him backwards into one of his cohorts.
When the guy stumbled because of Bobby's ice, Scott fired a blast at him to finish the job, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the ground. His friend went down beneath him, but was already struggling to his feet. "Maybe when they're done trying to end up on the news, I'll take you for a Dilly bar," Scott said dryly.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," Bobby countered as he concentrated. Ice rose up from the ground, enveloping the other assailant's feet and legs. Right. He was out of commission. Bobby got to his feet, just in time to have his legs knocked out from under him by another opponent. "Ugh! How many of these guys are there?" he asked, rolling to one side and kicking up as the guy tried to impale him with some kind of metal rod.
Scott triggered his visor, hitting the guy with a blast hard enough that he wouldn't be getting up soon, but fortunately managing not to punch a hole through him. With him out, he glanced around them. "I count two," he said, counting on his unique vision to keep him in good stead. He doubted that he was wrong in his assessment. "Unless they're going to respawn or something."
"Do urban assailants respawn? I thought that was limited to monsters in Minecraft?" Bobby joked. He got to his feet awkwardly, one leg sore, and looked around. "Where?"
Scott gestured towards the corner of a building, where he'd seen the last two run. Presumably, he guessed, to ambush them, though he wanted to think that in real life no one would be quite that stupid. "Can you ice me a wall, right.....there?" He asked, pointing to where it would be most effective.
"One ice wall coming up. Do I get to know why you want one?" Bobby aimed for the spot Scott had chosen and bit at his lip, hands extended. A wall began rising up from the ground. "Say when."
"Perfect." Scott triggered his visor twice, rapid fire, sending two blasts towards the wall. They bounced off, ricocheting around the corner and the two distinct yelps of pain told Scott they'd found their targets. "And that's why."
"Show off," Bobby grumbled. Granted, that had been slick as hell, but still. Definite showing off. He pushed his hand back through his hair, dislodging bits of ice that had formed there, then took a deep breath and exhaled. "Right. We're alive, they're virtually alive...we're done here, right?"
"End simulation," Scott called out. "Not bad. I'll get Tessa to look at the tapes. Give us a breakdown."
Bobby let out a sigh of relief as the holographic simulation faded around them, leaving them standing in an empty room. "Why Tessa?" he asked, eyebrows rising.
Scott shrugged. "Because she's good at it. And she's going to watch it anyway, so we might as well get her to share her feedback."
"Hold it - did I say she could do that? I mean, I don't remember having said she could do that," Bobby protested, mostly just on principle. Except if he'd really screwed up, he wasn't quite sure he liked the idea of anyone who wanted to being able to "review" it all.
"I sincerely doubt you said she could do it. Also kind of suspect she doesn't care, but she might stop if you asked her to?" Scott replied, cocking his head as he thought it over.
"It seems like they should be confidential," Bobby grumbled. "Like grades. If teachers can't tell people your grades, why can other students watch video footage of you falling on your ass?"
"Fair enough," Scott admitted. A private person himself, he didn't exactly blame Bobby for his displeasure.
Bobby nodded, satisfied that at least Scott agreed with him. Maybe he'd start a petition or something and present it to the faculty. "So, how'd you know your blast wouldn't go right through my wall?" he asked instead of pursuing the subject further.
Scott shrugged a little. "Saw the thickness of the wall, figured out how dense it would be, how much pressure it could take, just," he gestured to the dial on his visor that controlled the force of his optic blast, "changed my pressure to what the wall could take, and just hit the angle."
"I'm thinking the most insane part of that whole thing - and yeah, you do realize most people can't do that, right? But the most insane thing is that you threw in the word just. Twice." Bobby shook his head and grinned. "Remind me to hit you up for tutoring in Physics next year."
Scott snorted. "Doubt you'll need my help, but sure."
"You overestimate my Physics-ing ability," Bobby countered. "Besides, if you turn me down, Shepherd and I are going to have to figure it all out on our own..." Yep, that was a very innocent smile. But he was quite sure that after the ice slide debacle, no one would want that to happen. Ever.
"If the fall doesn't kill you, I might." Scott warned, rolling his eyes.
"Threats! Help, I'm being threatened!" Bobby called out, then grinned. "Anyway. You said you were going to buy me a dilly bar?"
"Of course that's your takeaway from this session." Scott shook his head, mock-disappointed, but gestured towards the door. "Aren't you cold enough in your day-to-day?"
Bobby shrugged. "I don't get cold. And I'm taking more than that away from this." He grinned as he headed towards the door. "I've learned that I am very definitely never playing pool with you."
"Aw, c'mon,I'd give you excellent odds." Scott smirked.
"Dude, you just banked a shot off an ice wall. There are no odds that could make up for that," Bobby pointed out.
"Maybe you should just practice more," Scott joked dryly. "That way if your Monopoly takers dry up, you have a back-up in scamming at pool."
"Hmm. There's that. Sadly, it's hard to scam people at Monopoly," Bobby sighed. "No one wants to stick around long enough."
Scott shook his head. "No appreciation for the long-game scams. What is this world coming to?"
"A society full of people with really short attention spans, if you ask my dad," Bobby supplied helpfully. "He blames the Internet."
"A pity. Takes all the art out of a good con," Scott mused. He followed Bobby into the hallway, and headed in the direction of the garage. He didn't think they had any Dilly bars in the freezer.
"You sound like you're an expert on the subject," Bobby observed, surprised to see that Scott had apparently actually meant they were going for ice cream. He wasn't about to argue that, though, so he hurried along.
"Evil overlord, remember?" Scott pointed out.
"So, as an educational experience for your minion, you're going to take me along so I can watch you hustle pool?" Bobby grinned.
Scott snorted. "Believe it or not, I promised the Professor my might-be-arrested activities were over." His mind flashed to their whole little vigilantism plan, so he amended, "mostly."
"But how am I supposed to learn if not by example?" Bobby asked mournfully.
"Books? YouTube tutorials? Ouija?" Scott offered.
Bobby shook his head sadly. "My faith in you as an evil overlord is slipping. Just so you know. You're going to have to do something pretty spectacular to make up for it." He made a face. "Also, my mom would kill me if she found out I was screwing around with a Ouija board."
"Telling your mom before you oujia to learn to scam at pool is a poor plan, just speaking as an evil overlord." Scott smirked, and then grabbed keys to the Camry.
"I'll keep that in mind." Bobby noted which keys Scott had taken and headed for the car. "Gonna let me drive?" he asked hopefully.
Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm inclined not to go with....no." He pushed the button to unlock the doors.
Bobby grinned. "Which means yes, because double negative." He headed for the driver's side, silently thanking Dr. McCoy for his lecture earlier that week.
"Sure, I'll meet you there," Scott said dryly. "Just remember, when you get pulled over by the cops, your name is Charles Xavier."
Bobby made a face and sighed as he skirted around the front of the car to the passenger's side. "I have my temps," he pointed out. Granted, they were only valid with an adult licensed driver, but Scott could pass. Almost.
"True, and when I turn eighteen that will be a lot more relevant," Scott said, shrugging. He went around and slid into the driver's seat.
"And that happens when?" Bobby climbed into the car and fastened his seat belt.
"About a year, give or take a month or two." Scott slipped the key in the ignition, and started the engine. Watching carefully, he took them down the long, secluded driveway that led to the mansion. At least they were far away from the main road; one of those rare security comforts.
"Huh. I thought you were older than that," Bobby mused. "You seem older."
Scott snickered. "Let me guess, my winning and youthful personality?"
"No. Just that you always seem to know what you're doing, I guess." Bobby shrugged.
Scott looked mildly surprised, but quickly schooled his face back to neutral. "I just fake it, Drake. Fake it 'til you make it and all that shit."
"Riiiiight. We'll go with that." Bobby wasn't believing it, not for a minute.
They parked at the Dairy Queen in short order, it was on the edge of Westchester, closer to Xavier's mansion than a lot of the other shops and restaurants. Which was lucky, Scott guessed, given his personal proclivity for deep fried food and ice cream. Dietary choices he and Bobby shared. He cut off the engine. "Did you know Beaubier accused me of eating unhealthily?"
"You? Seriously?" Bobby pretended to stare incredulously as he unfastened his seatbelt. "Did you tell him you barely put enough grease in your cholesterol system to survive?"
"Seriously. I guess some guys just don't appreciate gourmet freezer corn dog cuisine when they see it," Scott said, mock seriously. He unbuckled and climbed out of the car, stretching out his long limbs.
"Did you dip them in ketchup? I mean, maybe he's a condiments kinda guy." Bobby climbed out of the car and started towards the door.
"Plain. I wasn't feeling fancy," Scott said. He followed Bobby in, and went up to the counter. "Chicken strip basket and two Dilly bars, please."
"Hey, I can get my own. I was just messing with you," Bobby protested.
Scott shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it." He accepted the receipt and slid into a booth. "I think I can afford a Dilly bar for my chief minion."
"Pretty sure I'm your only minion," Bobby pointed out as he slipped into the seat across from Scott. "Unless you've been recruiting?"
"Not in the recruiting business." He couldn't help the brief and somehow bitter headshake, at that, but was saved by the delivery of their food.
Bobby caught the odd look on Scott's face and frowned, a little, but helped himself to one of the chicken strips and waited for the Dairy Queen employee to walk away before commenting. "I dunno. You did a pretty good job with recruitment when you showed up in Port Jefferson. Unless you were actually trying to get rid of me, in which case you failed utterly."
Scott snorted. "Damn, you're on to my dastardly plan." He grabbed a chicken strip and scarfed it down, followed by a couple of fries. It occurred to him that Bobby was friends with Shepard, who was definitely friends with the Brotherhood. Or at least better friends with them than Scott was. "Hey, do you know any of the Brotherhood kids?"
"Nuh uh," Bobby took a bite of his chicken strip and shook his head. "I've seen the guy Kitty's roommate's dating, but that's about it. Why?" He grinned. "Y'know, I heard a rumor about you and one of the girls there..." He raised his eyebrows and waited for Scott to confirm or deny.
Scott rolled his eyes. "We both know that I am utterly unappealing to girls," he said dryly. "No, I was just...trying to get a read on one of the kids there."
"Which one? Tommy and Kurt met some of them at the party - I heard bits, after."
"Uh, Alex," Scott said, in what was intended to be a nonchalant voice, but probably came off more as monotonous.
Bobby grimaced. "Oh, the kid in the files, right? I read those. And had nightmares for days, just thinking about Tommy's. Which he doesn't know I read," Bobby added, "so if you can not tell him, that'd be cool." He paused, realizing that something about Scott seemed...off. "Why Alex?"
Scott swallowed. The Professor's only advice had been to think about it. Which Scott had, incessantly. Warren and he hadn't exactly been in an advice place when they'd...well, he guessed he could loosely use the word 'talked.' Jean....was one of the most trustworthy people he knew, but the amount of faith she had in him frequently made him wonder if he'd misled her somehow, severely. The Professor, Warren, Jean, it only made sense that he'd ask Bobby, too. "Secret for a secret. I won't tell Shepard what you know, and you won't tell anyone, anyone why I was asking about Alex. Deal?"
Bobby frowned, but nodded. Partially because he was now more intrigued than ever; partially because he knew if he made the deal with Scott, he'd never tell Tommy Bobby knew anything. It was a surprise, though, that Scott would want to strike a deal over it. "Deal."
Scott caught the look and, realizing how what he'd said sounded, held up his hands slightly for a pause. "I didn't mean....I'm not blackmailing you Drake. I wouldn't tell anyway. You know that, right?'
"Yeah, I know. I'm just wondering what the big secret is that you'd make it sound like you would." Bobby shrugged. "Anyway, it's not blackmail-able, really. I just don't want Shepherd to get weirded out that I know all the gory details. If I were him, I wouldn't want me to.""
Scott ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. "Sorry, I suck at this....I just....Alex is my brother." And there it was, blunt and metaphorically right in the middle of the table.
Bobby blinked. "Your brother." He felt an odd sinking feeling at the idea he didn't think about further, and just blinked again before forcing a grin. "Damn. I'm going to have to pay up on my bet that you weren't born, you were hatched. What's the story? I didn't think you had family around?"
"I didn't. It's been....years. But now he's here. Or, well, there." And it was seeming like it would be that way for awhile. Scott forced himself to push that aside and focus on the present.
"Huh." Right, that was articulate. "So, are you going to lure him away from the Dark Side or something? Or are we going to have to break out lightsabers?" Bobby frowned. "Actually, with you being the evil overlord, we've got two dark sides to consider. Who gets the red lightsabers?"
Scott was grateful for the humor. "I think I have dibs on red. Color-matching and all that. But no," he shook his head a little. "I'm not entirely convinced I have a right to intrude on his life at all. I'm not going to try and convert him right off the bat."
Assuming he even spoke to him at all.
"Save it for the sequel. Always a sound practice," Bobby replied, nodding. "And seriously. Isn't randomly intruding on people's lives what defines a family? That's the impression I always got from my mom's sister, anyway."
"Wouldn't know," Scott confessed. Since 10, family had been a theoretical concept at best.
"Well, I'm not an expert," Bobby admitted. "The closest thing I've got to a sibling is my cousin Mary. But she used to pop in at random all the time, and her mom was way worse. Pretty sure this just constitutes a bigger in-popping? Y'know, 'Hey, nice to see you, sorry it's been a few years?'"
He couldn't help a soft snort in response. "Think that will work?"
"I'd try it. Which probably tells you everything you need to know?" Bobby shrugged. "Seriously, man, I think you probably need to just tell him. I'm not sure there's an easy way around that."
"So you'd tell him, if it were you?" Scott was becoming more and more certain that was the right thing to do, too, but having that viewpoint reinforced by someone whose opinion he valued never hurt.
"I'd tell him." Bobby shrugged. "Besides, it's gonna drive you nuts until you do. And you're crazy enough without it."
Scott smirked. "Gee, thanks." He shoved a few fries into his mouth to cover his genuine gratitude that Bobby was....well, Bobby.
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