Getting out of bed was a lot of work. Physically he was fine, he knew that. He could hear his body, nothing was out of the ordinary except for the pounds he'd lost and that lingering broken rib. It was all in his head, and if Stick had taught him anything, it was that what was in your head didn't matter. What mattered was what was right in front of you. So he got up and found the clothes he'd been wearing when Scott picked him up, now washed, and got changed. And he put one foot in front of the other until he found himself in the hallway.
Scott wasn't on the third floor, that was certain. There were some heartbeats downstairs and a gentle clanking of somebody at work in the garage, too far away to say who. Matt decided to try the garage first, trailing the wall with one hand so he could focus less on his immediate surroundings. By the time he reached the first floor the air was bustling with life. Someone was putting away dishes and setting the silverware to sing in their drawers. A few kids were at work in the danger room with one of the teachers, not someone who's heart he could recognize at this distance. A few people puttered in their rooms and Matt caught Kurt on the phone in the living room, speaking softly over the ever present hum of the television. But no Scott, so perhaps the garage was the right choice.
It was blustery outside, the cold immediately cutting into his exposed hands and feet and oh. He'd left his shoes up in his room. But no mind, it wasn't far to the garage. The cobbles were icy to touch, so he walked quickly until he got to the garage side door. There was music on, a band he remembered Scott trying to get him into back when they were kids. Scott hummed along with the backing vocals, picking up the harmony when they dropped off. Matt let himself in.
There was a clank as Scott dropped something, wrench, maybe. Then it bounced and the room became an echo chamber. Matt barely stopped himself from lifting both hands protectively to his ears.
"Shit, sorry Matt. You surprised me there," Scott said, placing a hand on the fallen wrench to stop it singing. He hoisted himself to his feet, giving the motorcycle he'd been working on an affectionate pat before walking over. "Need something?" he asked, passing Matt to get to the sink and try to wipe the haze of grease off his hands.
"I need to go back," Matt said.
"Were you doing something important before I picked you up, Matt? Because you looked like you were living on the streets and very slowly dying of malnutrition. Was that a cover for some Daredevil operation?"
And of course, Scott knew about Daredevil. Of course he did. And of course, his first thought was to offer a rationalization (Matt hadn't gotten far enough in his thinking to make one up). All Matt would have to do is that that olive branch and spin it till Scott let him go back.
Scott had, at one point, been his friend. And Matt had lost so many friendships to his lies, his mistakes and his arrogance in the past few months. He couldn't quite manage to take that olive branch and the deceit that would go with it.
"It wasn't for Daredevil," he said. "I gave that up. But I need to go back."
Scott waited a few moment, felt like minutes, before he replied. It had been his habit in Matt's company. "Would you go back to doing the same thing?"
He should lie. Lying was easy, he'd been doing it all his life. Some days he felt more lie than human. "Yes."
"Why? Matt, I don't know what happened, and I'm not willing to ask Jean or Rachel find out for me. I don't know what you think you deserve. But it's not this, okay? We all want you to be okay."
"I have to." He can't tell Scott, if he tells Scott he'll tell Jean and she'll tell Ororo and she'll tell Logan and then the school will get involved and he's not putting more people at risk. He can't tell Scott. "I have to keep them safe."
Scott is suddenly thunder and rumbling protectiveness and it sounds so much like Jack Murdock trying to find out the bully in 7C who'd pushed Matt down the stairs, age seven, that Matt has to consciously pull himself back into the present, be present to catch the words and not just the tone. "Who exactly are you keeping them safe from?"
X The Near Future X
"He'd stopped coming to Mass three weeks ago," Father Lantom said, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his coffee. They were in the meeting room, Foggy hadn't been aware that Catholic churches had meeting rooms. He wondered if clubs met here or just bible study groups. Father Lantom had been grave when they mentioned Matt's sudden disappearance, merely motioning them to follow him into the back. He'd known what was going on with Matt before, but he had no idea where he was right now.
"Matthew had been convinced that the death of a person he cherished deeply was his fault. I tried to reason against that, but he's stubborn. And, unless I miss my mark, probably suffering from depression."
Foggy grimaced. "Off and on since I've known him. He went to counseling, back in the day, but I don't think they ever proscribed anything. He hadn't mentioned anything about it in years, I thought maybe he was finally past it."
"Well, I am not trained in these things, but that was my impression. He got a job briefly, but either couldn't hold it or didn't want to. Some nonprofit legal clinic. Then, the next week, I begin hearing from parishioner's that Matthew has been living on the streets. It made no sense. I went out, but couldn't find him. There are crisis workers for such things, it's winter and we don't want anybody to freeze, but they all said that Matthew refused to go to any shelter. He'd take food, if you gave it to him, but wouldn't take money or go to any of the local soup kitchens. It was like he'd lost all will to live."
"Shit," Karen said, turning away and fetching a pack of tissues out of her purse.
Father Lantom paused, but didn't comment. "I stopped getting sightings a week ago. He hasn't been seen at any of his regular spots since. I know he doesn't have any family, but does he have any other friends who might have been in contact with him?"
"I'm pretty sure we were his only friends," Foggy said.
Re: Matt + the X-Men [FILL 6/8]
Getting out of bed was a lot of work. Physically he was fine, he knew that. He could hear his body, nothing was out of the ordinary except for the pounds he'd lost and that lingering broken rib. It was all in his head, and if Stick had taught him anything, it was that what was in your head didn't matter. What mattered was what was right in front of you. So he got up and found the clothes he'd been wearing when Scott picked him up, now washed, and got changed. And he put one foot in front of the other until he found himself in the hallway.
Scott wasn't on the third floor, that was certain. There were some heartbeats downstairs and a gentle clanking of somebody at work in the garage, too far away to say who. Matt decided to try the garage first, trailing the wall with one hand so he could focus less on his immediate surroundings. By the time he reached the first floor the air was bustling with life. Someone was putting away dishes and setting the silverware to sing in their drawers. A few kids were at work in the danger room with one of the teachers, not someone who's heart he could recognize at this distance. A few people puttered in their rooms and Matt caught Kurt on the phone in the living room, speaking softly over the ever present hum of the television. But no Scott, so perhaps the garage was the right choice.
It was blustery outside, the cold immediately cutting into his exposed hands and feet and oh. He'd left his shoes up in his room. But no mind, it wasn't far to the garage. The cobbles were icy to touch, so he walked quickly until he got to the garage side door. There was music on, a band he remembered Scott trying to get him into back when they were kids. Scott hummed along with the backing vocals, picking up the harmony when they dropped off. Matt let himself in.
There was a clank as Scott dropped something, wrench, maybe. Then it bounced and the room became an echo chamber. Matt barely stopped himself from lifting both hands protectively to his ears.
"Shit, sorry Matt. You surprised me there," Scott said, placing a hand on the fallen wrench to stop it singing. He hoisted himself to his feet, giving the motorcycle he'd been working on an affectionate pat before walking over. "Need something?" he asked, passing Matt to get to the sink and try to wipe the haze of grease off his hands.
"I need to go back," Matt said.
"Were you doing something important before I picked you up, Matt? Because you looked like you were living on the streets and very slowly dying of malnutrition. Was that a cover for some Daredevil operation?"
And of course, Scott knew about Daredevil. Of course he did. And of course, his first thought was to offer a rationalization (Matt hadn't gotten far enough in his thinking to make one up). All Matt would have to do is that that olive branch and spin it till Scott let him go back.
Scott had, at one point, been his friend. And Matt had lost so many friendships to his lies, his mistakes and his arrogance in the past few months. He couldn't quite manage to take that olive branch and the deceit that would go with it.
"It wasn't for Daredevil," he said. "I gave that up. But I need to go back."
Scott waited a few moment, felt like minutes, before he replied. It had been his habit in Matt's company. "Would you go back to doing the same thing?"
He should lie. Lying was easy, he'd been doing it all his life. Some days he felt more lie than human. "Yes."
"Why? Matt, I don't know what happened, and I'm not willing to ask Jean or Rachel find out for me. I don't know what you think you deserve. But it's not this, okay? We all want you to be okay."
"I have to." He can't tell Scott, if he tells Scott he'll tell Jean and she'll tell Ororo and she'll tell Logan and then the school will get involved and he's not putting more people at risk. He can't tell Scott. "I have to keep them safe."
Scott is suddenly thunder and rumbling protectiveness and it sounds so much like Jack Murdock trying to find out the bully in 7C who'd pushed Matt down the stairs, age seven, that Matt has to consciously pull himself back into the present, be present to catch the words and not just the tone. "Who exactly are you keeping them safe from?"
X The Near Future X
"He'd stopped coming to Mass three weeks ago," Father Lantom said, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his coffee. They were in the meeting room, Foggy hadn't been aware that Catholic churches had meeting rooms. He wondered if clubs met here or just bible study groups. Father Lantom had been grave when they mentioned Matt's sudden disappearance, merely motioning them to follow him into the back. He'd known what was going on with Matt before, but he had no idea where he was right now.
"Matthew had been convinced that the death of a person he cherished deeply was his fault. I tried to reason against that, but he's stubborn. And, unless I miss my mark, probably suffering from depression."
Foggy grimaced. "Off and on since I've known him. He went to counseling, back in the day, but I don't think they ever proscribed anything. He hadn't mentioned anything about it in years, I thought maybe he was finally past it."
"Well, I am not trained in these things, but that was my impression. He got a job briefly, but either couldn't hold it or didn't want to. Some nonprofit legal clinic. Then, the next week, I begin hearing from parishioner's that Matthew has been living on the streets. It made no sense. I went out, but couldn't find him. There are crisis workers for such things, it's winter and we don't want anybody to freeze, but they all said that Matthew refused to go to any shelter. He'd take food, if you gave it to him, but wouldn't take money or go to any of the local soup kitchens. It was like he'd lost all will to live."
"Shit," Karen said, turning away and fetching a pack of tissues out of her purse.
Father Lantom paused, but didn't comment. "I stopped getting sightings a week ago. He hasn't been seen at any of his regular spots since. I know he doesn't have any family, but does he have any other friends who might have been in contact with him?"
"I'm pretty sure we were his only friends," Foggy said.