In Flagrante Delicto

Posted on Wed Nov 15th, 2023 @ 1:15pm by Scott Summers & Connor Bruin & Sean Cassidy
Edited on on Thu Mar 7th, 2024 @ 4:12pm

2,685 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 3: X-Tra Ecclesiam
Location: X-Mansion
Timeline: August 15th, 1990 - Morning (before "The Mirror of your Dreams")

Scott had been in the garage, tinkering with his Jeep, when he'd seen a government vehicle pull through the gates and park near the main doors. A single sedan meant nothing, at least no immediate trouble. The Professor didn't confide him in as he once did. If there was anything significant, Scott would find out in short order.

Right now, he had other matters on his mind. The search for his missing team was proving so much more difficult than he'd anticipated. They'd found Bobby, which was wonderful, but with no sign of his brother, his girlfriend, and the others. They had rescued a couple other mutants, Aurora among them. He had dodged Tammy's advances so thoroughly that he hadn't been fully aware of them until the night before. Tammy was a gem, but she was also a student and he had to squash that firmly.

Just like he should have done with Aurora. Instead, spurred by the madness-inducing event when Jean's voice seemed to come out of Aurora's mouth during a Cerebro session, he had run headlong into a terrible mistake. He had kissed a student. The fact that he saw Jean's face on hers didn't make it better. If anything, that only compromised him more. He should go straight to the Professor, but they were not on the best of terms. Scott didn't know what to do.

"THAT IS WRONG."

Connor had snuck up on Scott, making him drop the wrench and bang his head on the propped-up hood cover.

"Damn it..." He muttered to himself. When he turned around, though, his voice was far louder. "Connor! Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to sneak up on people?"

"YES." The acknowledgement was followed up by an indifferent shrug. Then, by way of typing on his device, he offered an explanation. "I WAS NOT GOING TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL I SAW YOU PUT THE INTAKE MANIFOLD GASKET ON BACKWARDS."

"Connor, I know what I'm do—" Before he could finish, Scott took a second look and realized Connor was right. He threw his wrench on the ground and kicked the Jeep tire. "All right... you got me, Connor. I put the damn thing on backwards."

"DO YOU WANT HELP?"

Scott looked at Connor who stood there expressionless save for his sea-blue eyes. "Sure," Scott said. "First, you want to grab that wrench?"

Using his bare feet, Connor snatched up the wrench and flung it from his toes to his fingers. He handed the tool to Scott with a flourish.

"Fancy," said Scott with a chuckle. "You keep the wrench. Let's see you tear into this beast. You break it, you buy it, though, my friend."

Connor had no money, so he just grunted. When he looked over the engine assembly, it appeared mostly sound and intact to him. All that was required was for the intake manifold gasket to be properly applied. In short order, he'd completed the repairs and let out a hoot of victory.

"BOO!" Scott shouted behind him.

The sudden noise made Connor jump several inches off the ground and bang his head on the hood cover in the same way Scott had done earlier. Connor let out a howl of pain and grabbed the back of his head.

"ROOO! UH GAH ROOO!" Connor yelled in Scott's face.

But Scott couldn't do anything but laugh hysterically. "Not so cool now, is it?"

Connor held up a middle finger in Scott's face before walking off.

"Connor! Hey, Connor, I'm sorry, buddy!"

With Connor leaving the back of the garage, another voice interjected from the wide open bay doors. "Ees that what they call a teachable moooment?"

Spinning around, Scott let out a sigh. ~What now?~ But the voice was familiar enough for him to stay his frustration. When Scott finally laid eyes on the man, he forgot all about Connor and broke into a grin. "Sean! What are you doing here?"

The old enemies turned friends came together in a brisk handshake that Sean pulled into a hug. "Oooh, INTERPOL business, t'same as per yersual."

"We could use you back on the X-Men," Scott said pointblank.

For awhile, the Banshee Sean Cassidy had been a supervillain with the Factor Three terrorist organization. When it had been discovered he was acting under violent coercion, the X-Men disabled the bomb implant that controlled him, at which point the Banshee flipped sides against his former cohorts. Banshee stayed with the X-Men for awhile, even helped out on a few missions, before he accepted a role in international law enforcement.

"Aye, no doubt ye could," Sean said glibly. "But we all 'ave our places. I've fin'ly foond mine. But if'n ye evar find yerself in a pinch, I'm oonly a phone call away."

Scott smiled, his appreciation hidden behind his ruby-quartz glasses. "Same goes both way, Sean."

Subtlety hadn't been effective, so Sean tried the direct approach. "Pardon me boorish nature but I gotta say from the way ye handled Connor there, something's got yer dander up. Are ye doin' oookay, me ol' pal?"

It was just guys. Sean wasn't one to come around often anymore. Hardly ever, in fact. Scott shook his head. "No."

"I still 'ave lines in t'water." Sean's voice turned compassionate. "Somethin' is bound to turn up sooner or laeter. Ye'll see."

"I know." Scott nodded.

Sean canted his head to one side. If it wasn't the melancholy of his missing team, then what was it? "Some other bug bitin' ye, then, is it? Doontcha' tell me it's woman trouble." It was meant as a joke. Sean knew Scott and Jean at the height of their romance, when they'd quit playing grab-ass like teenagers and formed the makings of a real couple. But the look on Scott's face was hard for the Irish international thief-turned-lawman to miss. "Oi, Scott, you gotta' t'be shittin' me!"

For the life of him, Scott wanted to look Sean square in the eye and deny it. The best he could do was a 45 degree angle and a guilty sidelong glance.

"Yer'ar in deep shiite, Scott, do ye know that?" Sean's curly locks jostled about as he shook his head.

"Yes, I know that!" Scott said.

"Lots o' lil' honeys come through 'ere and ye nevar looked twice b'fore." Sean was still incredulous. "Why you thinkin' wit' yer head and not yer brain, mate?"

"Nothing's happened," Scott protested. "At least..." He sighed. "One of the students is a telepath. She used Cerebro and passed out. Before she did... I heard Jean's voice, Sean. Right from her mouth. I... I don't understand it."

That gave Sean pause. "Does t'Prof know? What's he make o' it?"

"Yeah, I told him," Scott said. "Whatever Professor Xavier thinks, he won't divulge. And that's bad. He thinks I'm spiraling. If he won't tell me what he thinks happened, then it can't be anything good."

Sean lowered his head and chastised himself for his poor jokes. "Sorry 'bout the banter. I'm sorry for the fresh, new hell yer'ar goin' through now." The next question wasn't one he really wanted to know but felt compelled to ask. "So, this new 'un. Ye touch her, Scott?"

Every microsecond that Scott delayed in answering only made Sean feel more tense. At length, Scott said, "No. Yes."

"Well, which is it?" Sean asked.

"A little," Scott replied. "I walked her to her room, she said something, and for the life of me, Sean, I saw Jean's face. I saw her. And... I don't know what came over me. The next thing I know, I'm kissing Jean, blink once, and it's..."

Sean held up his hand. "Damn it all, Scott, I dunna' hear t'sordid details."

"That' was it," Scott cut in. "But that was bad enough. How am I supposed to show my face around here now?"

"By doing the right thing," Sean said, hand on Scott's shoulder. "Like ye always do. Believe that, pal, like I do."

"Easy for you to say," Scott said. "You're on the go all the time now. Doing the 'right thing' doesn't have consequences that look you in the eye every day."

"Livin' out o' a suitcase means I can afford to shit where I sleep bettar than ye could," Sean retorted with a sly grin, "an' I still doon't."

Scott chuckled half-heartedly at that. "You saying you don't have a girl in every city, Sean? Don't know if I believe that. I know you went honest, but that honest?" He blew air through his lips in a mild scoff.

"I am an honest man now, I'll 'ave ye know," Sean retorted. "An' I just may b'fixing to make an honest woman out of me current lady friend."

"Oh yeah?" Scott asked. "Anybody I know?"

"HE MEANS MOIRA." Connor had returned, possibly with a scathing comeback for Scott, but he had overheard Sean's admission.

Now it was Sean's turn to be caught off guard and turn speechless. That wasn't lost on Scott who turned his head back and forth between the two. "Is that so, Sean? Are you and Moira together?"

"THEY WERE TOGETHER LAST WEEK," Connor typed on his device. "I SAW HIS AFTERSHAVE IN MOIRA'S BATHROOM."

"What were you doing in Moira's bathroom?" Scott asked.

Connor began typing. "I WAS USING IT."

"Alright, alright, alright!" Sean threw his hands up and turned his head away in disgust. "Hands up, Connor! Ye caught me in flagrante delicto! Just shaddup 'bout yer privy business!"

"DID YOU HAVE INTERCOURSE WITH MOIRA?" Connor asked. "DOES THE PROFESSOR KNOW?"

If there was ever an exit cue, that would be it. "Well, fuck me runnin'! Wit' that, I'll take my leave. T'was good seein' ye again, Scott, Connor." Sean made his way back out of the garage toward the government-issued sedan. "Slán, one 'n all."

Scott waved goodbye to the fleeing Irish before turning back to chuckle at Connor. "That was cutthroat, Connor. Remind me not to piss you off."

"TOO LATE." Connor still looked mad but he wore a crooked smile.

"Uh huh." Crossing his arms over his chest, Scott asked, "What do you want?"

"I HAVE A FAVOR," Connor typed, "AND YOU CANNOT SAY NO. IT IS IMPORTANT."

That was unusual for Connor. Usually he was right up front about most things. Scott became both intrigued and skeptical. "Maybe. What is it?"

"I NEED YOU TO BUY ME A BOTTLE OF SCOTCH."

There was never any telling what might come from Connor, but this was pretty far down the list. Scott waited half a second for Connor to laugh, but the young man looked deadly serious.

"Are you out of your mind?" Scott turned incredulous. "Absolutely not."

"I NEED IT, SCOTT. PLEASE." Connor was already pleading with his eyes before the words were out of his device.

Scott swayed his hips with arms folded to look around for any other eavesdroppers and sighed. "All right," he rubbed his forehead. "I'll bite. Why do you need a bottle of scotch? And make it good."

The question made Connor tense up and turn giddy all at once. When he regained his composure, he began furiously typing. "BECAUSE I HAD SOME AND IT ALLOWED ME TO TALK." He looked up at Scott as if that ended the discussion.

"I need more than that, Connor. Say more." Scott shook his head back and forth with disbelief. "How did a bottle of scotch allow you to talk?"

Connor shook his head in reply as he dexterously typed without looking away from Scott. "I DO NOT KNOW PRECISELY. THAT IS WHY I NEED MORE. WHEN I IMBIBED SCOTCH, I WAS ABLE TO SAY SOME WORDS AND IT WAS THE GREATEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE."

"That good, huh?" A smirk spread across Scott's face. Nobody, not even Connor, drinks alone and calls it a great night. Scott figured he would keep an eye out for any hungover students, maybe even some girls, but otherwise he would let it go. Being a student was hard. If he became aware of a real problem, he would deal with it or report it, but older teenagers blowing off steam did not make that list. "I wish I could believe you, Connor, but put yourself in my shoes and tell me that doesn't sound ridiculous."

At that, Connor pressed a button that played a prepared speech. "THE CHINESE ART OF Z-U-I Q-U-A-N, KNOWN AS DRUNKEN FIST IN THE WEST, IS KNOWN TO USE ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION AS A MEANS TO ENHANCE THE PERFORMANCE OF ITS PRACTITIONERS WITH THEIR UNORTHODOX MOVEMENT STYLES. PERHAPS IT IS A SIMILAR PHENOMENON WITH MY SPEECH."

"Connor..." Scott groaned because he hated the fact that Connor was making an insane sort of sense. "I'm not buying you alcohol, buddy. You're not a kung fu master. You're not a drunken boxer. I'm glad you had a good time with a special person, but this—"

Whatever Scott was about to say got interrupted by a wordless shout. Connor's face was beyond pleading. There was a touch of rage to it. At first Scott thought it was meant for him, but Connor began typing at a lightning space to explain. "IF YOU DISCOVER THAT A FEW GULPS OF SCOTCH WHISKEY ALLOWED YOU TO WALK AROUND WITHOUT YOUR RUBY-QUARTZ GLASSES, WOULD IT BE WORTH TRYING TWICE?"

The question cut Scott to the quick. He had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. "That's not fair and you know it, Connor." Scott bit his lip. "Damn you. I'll think about it."

"PLEASE," Connor typed. "I'LL PROVE IT. GIVE ME A BEER."

"I said I'll think about it!" Scott snapped. "Now leave me the hell alone or I won't even do that."

"GIVE ME THE BEER OR CALL ME A LIAR."

Scott sighed again. "I'm not..." But he stopped. Connor made a compelling case, one that Scott found personally difficult to argue against. As someone with a disability himself, could he really deny his friend a potential opportunity to feel normal? Connor might be full of shit, but he wasn't a liar. "Fine." Scott went to the back of his Jeep, opened the cooler, and pulled out a warm brown bottle. Twisting the top, he gave it to Connor. "Chug it."

Taking the bottle, Connor lifted the bottom up and drained it into his mouth. Foam dribbled down his chin and onto his tanktop. In a few seconds, he handed the empty bottle back to Scott who replaced the cap and returned it to the cooler.

"All right, you slick talker, let's hear it." Scott's arms couldn't have been folded any tighter across his chest.

Connor opened his mouth only for a five second belch to come out.

"Hare H. Krishna, Connor." Scott didn't know what he expected. He felt so stupid that all he could do was laugh at himself. "Good one. I hope that was worth it."

After his vulgar chorus was finished, Connor looked Scott right in the face and said his name. "Scott." The glottal stop on the syllable was hard in the European fashion, but it was fluent enunciation all the same. "Scott. Friend."

Scott's mouth fell agape. "Holy hell." Then his scowl turned to an excited grin. "Connor! Say something else!"

"I... more." Connor gritted his teeth his teeth in frustration until he resorted to his device. "I NEED MORE. IT IS TOO HARD."

"All right, Connor. I'll do it." Scott could barely believe his own ears but there it was. "Next time I head into town, I'll pick you up something nice and not whatever swill Bobby stashed wherever you found it."

Connor nodded and gave the hand sign for thank-you—touching his fingers to his chin and then flipping them outward.

"Yeah... Go hit the shower. You smell like a hobo now." Scott turned away as Connor left and looked over the engine block of his Jeep. There was more to do with it, but he would do it later. Right now he needed to get far away from anybody. This new class of students would be the death of him.

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