Peripeteia and the City
Posted on Mon Jan 15th, 2024 @ 1:53pm by Scott Summers & Jean Grey
Edited on on Thu Jan 18th, 2024 @ 11:21am
3,017 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Episode 3: X-Tra Ecclesiam
Location: New York City
Timeline: August 22nd, 1990
The Law Office of Hodge & Associates was located in a historical skyscraper in the Flatiron District. A massive office on almost the top floor, it took up the entire level of the building, allowing the office to have a view of both the Empire State Building and the New York Supreme Court. In a city where your view reflected your status in the city, this was a rather impressive one.
As Scott exited the elevator, he was greeted by a perky brunette sitting behind a large, white reception desk.
“Hodge & Associates, how may I direct your call?” She raised a well-manicured red fingernail towards her headset, indicating to Scott that she was on the phone. “Yes sir, he’s on vacation until the end of the month. I understand, sir… okay… leave a message with his voicemail? Okay.”
Scott watched the workings of the office through the massive glass wall behind the receptionist. The office was bustling with more than a dozen people, buzzing between desks and talking on the phone while closed doors obscured private offices and conference rooms. Cameron Hodge had a rather impressive law firm.
The receptionist seemed slightly annoyed by the conversation on the phone before transferring the call and looking up at Scott.
“Hello,” she said to him with a wide, bright smile. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Scott said. “A standing one. My name is Scott Summers. Charles Xavier sent me.”
“Sure.” The brunette used her long red nails to type some information into her computer, a loud click with every keystroke. Once finding the information she required, she typed in an extension into her phone.
“Gina. Yeah, I have Scott Summers here on behalf of the Xavier Estate. Okay, sure.” She looked up at him again, ready to talk to him once more. “His secretary is expecting you. Head through the door and turn left, just go straight. You’ll see a receptionist at the end of the hall. That’s Mr. Hodge’s office.”
The phone rang again and her attention returned to answering it, leaving Scott to escort himself to the office.
He opened the glass door to the floor of legal clerks, the sound of all their voices and the copy machines created a cacophony of office noise, adding to the feeling of urgency that all of them worked with. It seemed like a stifling place to work.
The receptionist in question was easy enough to find, her blonde hair and pink suit made her stand out as soon as he saw her.
“He’s ready to see you, Mr. Summers," was the only phrase the women offered him before opening the door and letting him in. Scott knew Cameron Hodge had to be important enough just to have a woman who sat outside his door and determined who could come in and when.
Cameron Hodge was sitting behind his massive oak desk while skimming through documents in a folder titled “Xavier.” A view of the Empire State Building and a display case of what looked like old robot parts filled the large office behind him.
“Ah, Mr. Summers, please have a seat.”
Hodge looked up at him and gestured to the officer chair across from his desk. Cameron was middle-aged, with dark hair graying at the temples and crow's feet in the corners of his eyes.
“Charles called me the other day to review his estate. Do you have any questions before I start?”
Scott shook his head. Lawyers were like white-collar sanitation workers. There was no amount of ugly shit they hadn't seen or handled. It was unlikely Mr. Hodge would care enough to give a damn one way or another about anything apart from whatever instructions he had been given from Xavier.
“I'm honestly just eager to get this over with,” he said. Bracing himself for the final nail in the coffin of his old life, Scott stared at Hodge head on and waited to hear the damage report. “No offense.”
“Fair enough,” Cameron said with a shrug, he got paid by the hour regardless of how much or how little they talked during that time.
“Mr. Summers, since your role as a faculty member at Xavier’s Institute has been terminated, you are entitled to severance pay. Charles is rather generous with wage compensation and the duration of pay is determined by the amount of time you were employed. Based on what was agreed upon, you’ll receive the following weekly stipend for the following number of weeks. The payment will be delivered into your current account every Friday until completed.”
Cameron reviewed his file and wrote down several numbers on a piece of paper before sliding it across the desk to Scott.
“Secondly, you are named as a trustee of X-Corporation as well as one of Xavier’s beneficiaries. Despite your termination of employment from the Institute, you are still entitled to and privy to all benefits associated with that contract and will. See my reception on the way out and she’ll give you a copy of the documents for your records.”
Cameron folded his hands across his desk, his gold pinky ring catching the light.
“I can answer any additional questions now or you can schedule another appointment later on if you need to.”
Scott was stunned. He had been cast out of house and home. There had been an idle thought of coming here with hat in hand to see if he could wrangle anything out of Xavier's assets before being cut off completely, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. He had broken trust but he wasn't a total cad. Only by the Professor's own direction had he come at all.
Severance pay? That was shocking. Scott stilled his hand by force of will alone and slid the paper closer to him. Slowly turning it over, he looked at the number and felt his soul leave his body.
Was this a mistake? No. No, it wasn't. This was exactly like Charles Xavier. He was a man who showed mercy even to his enemies in hopes of winning them over to his dream.
Scott didn't know what to say. The previous night he'd slept in his Jeep inside the parking garage across the street. An overnight security guard had nearly thrown him out until Scott had pleaded with the man to give him a break.
Now, here he was, essentially situated with early retirement until eventually inheriting a portion of the Professor's entire estate on the dreadful day death took the man from this world. It was too much. After the events of the past week, it was all simply too much.
Bent forward, hands covering his face, Scott lost it. Like a prison inmate given a pardon, he wept in confusion and relief.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Hodge,” he snorted through his saline fingers. “I just need a minute.”
“Of course, Mr. Summers.” While Cameron may be an attorney, he wasn’t completely heartless. His office covered a wide range of legal matters, many of which produced a good number of tears.
Hodge opened his drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. He placed them on the desk in front of Scott as he stood.
“Take your time. My secretary will see you out when you’re ready.” While Cameron had some compassion, but he wasn’t going to sit and watch a man cry for an undisclosed period of time, so he made his way to the door of his office.
“Read through the documents on your own time and set up another meeting if you need it. Charles Xavier is a good man and based on the way his estate is set up, he loves you like a son. I’m sure you’ll be on better terms again someday.”
Hodge left the office muttering something about taking lunch to his secretary as he exited and closed the door behind him.
Once Scott had composed himself, he dried his face and signed the documents where indicated. This was the first legal business of this nature he'd ever conducted but even he could tell this was too simple. Charles was taking a large risk with Scott equal to the investment he'd already made.
With the forms completed, Scott left them in the folder on Hodge's desk before returning to the secretary.
“Mister, uh, Mister Hodge said you had some copies for me?” Scott did his best not to sniffle. This was the real world and he needed to face it head on like a man and not a man-child.
“Oh, sure, sweetheart.” The secretary was overly nice to him, it was obvious to everyone how upset he was. She picked up a manila envelope and handed it to him. “There’s a card in there with our number if you need to schedule any additional appointments.” She gave him a sweet little smile. “And don’t worry, we see all kinds of people come through here who are upset like you are right now. It gets better, I promise.”
They may have been words from a stranger but they were still kind and supportive. “Sure, right,” Scott said. “Thank you.” He tucked the manila folder under his arm and gave her a parting nod. “Pass my thanks to Mr. Hodge as well if you would.”
Leaving the office building, Scott took a deep breath of hot smog and immediately coughed. Right. He had to get out of here. But through the fumes of car exhaust and sweat of millions of people compressed into two square miles was something actually appetizing.
A deli sign caught his eye. Scott looked up and grinned.
After several hours of aimlessly driving through city traffic, Scott had toured four of the five boroughs. The pastrami sandwich wrapper in the passenger seat had long since cooled. Circling back over the Brooklyn Bridge, he started to give thought to that night's sleeping arrangement. He hadn't figured out what to do with his new financial setup, but he did know he sure as shit wasn't sleeping in his Jeep again.
Pulling into the next motel with a vacancy sign, he nabbed his document folder from the glove box along with his spare glasses and anything else he didn't want to risk being stolen. He stuffed them into his windbreaker jacket.
Once he finally got a room key from the front desk, he was pleased enough to find it wasn't filthy. Nothing was new and the mattress had a visible sag to it. Still better than the Jeep, he reminded himself.
By the time he hauled his single suitcase inside the room, daylight was fading. He drew the curtains against the setting sun.
Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. Both were just as well. The pastrami sandwich hung heavy on him and there was a vending machine in the office if he really couldn't stand the tap water. He didn't trust himself not to buy something more intoxicating should he go back out in public.
Instead he clicked on the TV. Basic cable news anchors gave reports of random crime stats followed by some kind of dog show. He clicked the TV off and flopped back on the bed.
“What now?” he asked the ceiling.
For almost ten years, he had people to ask. Now he had the man in the mirror and that guy wasn't exactly forthcoming.
“I ruined everything. I have a second chance to…do something. But what do I do? Where do I go?"
The ceiling was no more helpful than anyone else had been. All that loomed overhead were his responsibilities. He sat up and faced the wall mirror.
“Why are you still here?” he asked himself. “Everybody left you or you left them. Why? There has to be a reason. There must be.”
But his eyeless crimson gaze reflected only his image back to him. How could he help anyone? He couldn't even help himself.
His thoughts drifted to Aurora. The only peace he'd known of late was in her arms. She adored him for reasons he didn't truly understand. But she had become his light in darkness, his breathing tube that kept him from total suffocation.
If only she were here now. Even if she couldn't fix it, she never stopped trying. And her mind was a real livewire. Just the thought of their union brought him a little comfort, followed by a wave of sadness and grief.
Married. Not even that went right.
Scott clicked the TV back on and found some summer showcase hockey tournament from somewhere in Canada. That would do. He rolled onto his side, clutched a pillow to his chest that wasn't even close to the feminine form, and tried to pretend he hadn't reached rock bottom.
At some point Scott had managed to fall asleep, a light and restless form of sleep that blurred the hours together while making them feel long and lonely. It was in that haze between wake and sleep that Scott felt her again, this time without the aid of Cerebro and Aurora. That warm and gentle caress of Jean’s telepathy, like a lover’s touch, it was comforting and reassuring.
~* ‘Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?’ *~
Her voice was faint inside his mind, as if she was far away and her tone was dreamy like when someone is lost in nostalgia.
~* ‘And I responded with “I know”.’ *~
She softly laughed, a happy sound that he hadn’t heard in a long time. It made his heart ache.
~* ‘It was after our very first mission and we climbed up onto the roof together…’ *~
How could he forget? It was a thrilling and absolutely terrifying day; a day that helped confirm everything that Scott wanted for himself.
He had asked her onto the roof under the pretense of just talking. A common place for the teens to escape to, the roof was a place where they could be alone. She was still wearing her uniform when they climbed onto the roof together, that green dress.
His heart dropped into his stomach when he first saw her in her uniform as everyone’s did. The truth was, when they were young, Jean could have had her pick of any of them. But it was his gaze, his approval, that she had sought out. Because Jean had picked him.
~* ‘I said that I knew because it was the truth, from the moment you first met me, I knew that you loved me.’ *~
Another beautiful and painful moment, how lost and scared they had both been as children. Jean had always been this ray of light for him, her presence removed his darkness, turning it into nothing more than a meager shadow.
~* ‘So I kissed you, I mean I really kissed you, and that was more than enough for you to know that I loved you too.’ *~
Her voice faltered with emotion and he felt her slipping away again.
~* ‘When the pain stops, I sometimes allow myself to feel hope again. Those are the moments when I dare to think about you.’ *~
~Jean!~ The fires of adrenaline began to burn away sleep but Scott's mind clung to fog of his dreams. Was she here? No. Where was she?
“Jean!” He sat up on the bed in a gasp with her name on his lips. “Wh-where?!”
His cry turned desperate as he pleaded with the unknown to have a shred of mercy and reveal something. Anything.
~* ‘Scott?’ *~
Shock in her voice, Jean had tried so many times to contact someone, anyone. Since the first day of her abduction she had screamed and pleaded, but no one had ever answered. Jean reached for him, grasping at the trace of his presence that she could momentarily touch.
~* ‘I don’t have a lot of time, her death only helps for so long. Find me…’ *~
Scott blinked away his bleary eyes and looked around the room. No one. He was alone. But Jean…
~*‘I never left the island. Krakoa.’*~
Finally a clue, a missing piece of a puzzle that no one had been able to put together. While Scott did not remember what happened and the Blackbird’s records were lost, Jean remembered.
~* ‘He’s growing impatient and is getting careless. The pain makes me stronger, but I’m getting so tired. Please hurry.’ *~
Jean’s voice began to fade away and the warmth of her telepathic presence dimmed until it was gone.
Even though he was wide awake now, Scott felt a new level of paralysis. He? He who? What was Krakoa? Scott turned lightheaded. Images in his mind evaporated into starbursts of color as soon as they formed, depriving him of any recognition of what they could be. They felt like memories or maybe a forgotten dream that vanished upon waking.
Maybe it was all a dream. If it was, then this was a hallucination. But Scott didn't care. Losing his mind in order to remember what happened that day was a fair trade. He needed to know.
At last. Purpose. Scott laid back down even though he knew sleep would elude him. He needed to plan. After his ignominious departure, he couldn't go back to the X-Mansion. The Professor might possibly help but then again it could be a dead end. Scott didn't want to darken that doorstep again without something concrete. Otherwise he ran the risk of permanently outing himself as a lunatic. Even Professor Xavier was only good for so many wild goose chases.
There were other allies. Hodge's office had proven helpful. Sean Cassidy was in Interpol. The X-Corporation held contacts from the FBI to the Mossad. This could happen. It might work. Scott might actually have a hope in hell.
There wasn't much to go on other than "Krakoa" but it was a start. Tomorrow would be a new day and he would rise to meet it with a new determination. Scott closed his eyes and let the pieces fall into place until he eventually drifted off again.
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