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Familial Support; Afternoon Before the Big Event
Topic Started: May 26 2012, 04:52 PM (727 Views)
Cyclops
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The real Slim Shady
X-Men
Scott was at loose ends. He'd done the only day-before wedding task Jean had given him, ensuring that flight paths were cleared for the various planes, spaceships, and whatever-the-fuck-else was flying in the next day. If he hadn't already mistrusted the government - which had always been a glowing example of enlightened thinking and good prioritizing - dealing with the FAA bureaucracy would've done it.

Anyway, a few choice four-letter words, some insinuation that his wedding guests' aircraft would undoubtedly destroy anything in their way, and promise of Tony Stark's autograph later...and their guests should all be able to land.

And if that got fucked up somehow, Scott was more than willing to escort Jean to the FAA.

With the red-tape fight over, though, he now had nothing to occupy his time. He wouldn't work, really - his focus was shot. He couldn't run the DR; if he got distracted and injured he wouldn't have to worry about the limp down the aisle, Jean would kill him long before it was an issue. He wanted to go down to the garage, but with the way his nerves had fucked with his brain, he'd probably ruin his car.

And without work and training, and unwilling to interrupt the whirlwind that was his fiancee, Scott had nothing to do.

Well, nothing to do but think, anyway. Which was a bad, bad idea. His stomach was already churning with nerves about the wedding the next day, and he knew that thinking about it would only make it worse. But Scott knew that shutting off his brain was about as likely as Wolverine turning his on.

Plopping down on the empty rec room's couch, Scott let his head fall back. Fuck, this wedding was going to give him an ulcer.
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Polaris
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Oh god, what had she gotten herself into?

Vowing that she and Alex were going to just live in (relatively) stress free, blissful, sin for the rest of their lives, Lorna Dane made her way down the hall toward the recreation room. Because there was no way she could manage a wedding without either going completely and totally fucking out of her mind, or she and Alex killing one another over place settings or whether to get butter cream icing or fondant on the cake.

The fact that Lorna even knew what those two things were, now, was enough to short out at least a few synapses the green haired woman was sure she couldn't afford to lose and for the millionth time that day she wondered how the hell Jean was managing it. She, herself, had reached overload around the time the last seating card was folded and the final bow tied on the little...whatever the hell those things were.

She was pretty sure her memory was rejecting any and all attempts to fill it with more wedding related terms and, as much as she loved Jean dearly, she needed a few minutes break before wading back into the fray. As for Jean, she just seemed to keep on going, and Lorna wasn't sure if it was nerves, adrenaline, or just sheer determination at this point, but she couldn't help but admire her stamina.

Hopefully she wouldn't be too exhausted after this to do anything but sleep through the honeymoon.

But she had faith in her friend and closest thing she had to a sister. Just like everything else, she'd manage. If for no other reason, to circumvent the Summers Sulk of all sulks from Scott. Especially after the effort it'd taken to get him to actually go on a honeymoon.

Speaking of...

Lorna noted, arching an eyebrow as she turned and stepped through the door into the rec room and spied the groom-to-be, that Scott looked a little frazzled in his own right. She swore she could hear the anxiety eating his already overactive brain from here.

"Mind some company," Lorna asked, one corner of her mouth tugging upward, "or would you rather sit there and vibrate in peace?"
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Havok
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Of all the things that might have come up to drag them back to Westchester, Alex supposed that a wedding was probably the tamest. It wasn't an angry living island, rampaging mutant terrorists, or some unsupervised government agency with a mandate to hunt down freaks with extreme prejudice. In terms of actual physical danger, he and Lorna were probably not going to be sending their insurance premiums up into the stratosphere this time out. So that was something. But fuck him in the ass with an unlubricated two-by-four if this marital shit didn't come with its own unique set of frustrations practically guaranteed to induce sudden-onset crazies.

The chief difference being that these were frustrations he couldn't blast into submission with an assload of superheated matter. The fact that stuff kept coming up that obviously had nothing to do with him wasn't improving Alex's state of mind, either. What did he care about floral arrangements, or who sat where or next to what, or whether or not the hors d'oeuvres were incompatible with the Mephitisoid digestive system? A far more relevant question would have been why the hell should Alex have had an opinion about any of this? It wasn't his wedding. Even if it had been, he probably would have adopted a solidly neutral stance.

And who's genius fucking idea had it been for him to give a speech? Did none of these people know him? In what dystopian hellscape alternate future did that seem even remotely like a good idea?

Currently, Alex was employing a strategy of calculated avoidance; if nobody could find him, nobody could ask him to weigh in on trivial bullshit or bug him about how the toast was coming along. So far, Operation: Run the Hell Away was exceeding all expectations. But since it consisted mostly of heading off in the opposite direction whenever he heard (or even thought he heard) signs of life nearby, it would have been tough to cock it up, even for Alex.

There was, however, still at least one voice that wasn't guaranteed to send him into headlong retreat.

"Mind some company," Lorna asked, one corner of her mouth tugging upward, "or would you rather sit there and vibrate in peace?"

One corner of his mouth tugging upward in the beginning of a smirk, Alex quickened his pace. Stepping up behind the green haired ferrokinetic (magnokinetic? geokinetic? who the fuck knew?), Alex snaked his arms around her narrow waist and pulled her to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder to study his older brother.

"If you're trying to shake your way through to another dimension to escape miscellaneous wedding fuckery, don't bother--I already tried that. Hank said it would jellify my bones and launch my eyeballs from their sockets like supersonic ping-pong balls." Which sounded just gross enough to keep him from trying it anyway. "Hey, Babe," he went on, abruptly shifting gears. "Can we go back to the desert now? Please? Too many more precious moments with friends and family, and I may just go Hiroshima on your dearly beloved asses."
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Cyclops
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He was getting married. Tomorrow. To Jean. Tomorrow. Scott felt his stomach twist some more - possibly in an ill-conceived escape attempt - just thinking about it. This had so much potential to ruin his life, that Scott wondered if he'd actually been high when he'd decided to propose.

Not that he didn't love Jean, and didn't want to be with her forever. That wasn't the problem. But he suspected his chances of winding up divorced from her increased drastically by marrying her. And Scott knew that if he and Jean got divorced for some reason, shit would get really ugly.

Footsteps nearby signified someone's entrance, and Scott lifted his head in time to see his pseudo-sister-in-law smirking at him.

"Mind some company," Lorna asked, one corner of her mouth tugging upward, "or would you rather sit there and vibrate in peace?"

"I don't think you've been 'company' in years," he pointed out, dryly. "Certainly not polite company, anyway."

"If you're trying to shake your way through to another dimension to escape miscellaneous wedding fuckery, don't bother--I already tried that. Hank said it would jellify my bones and launch my eyeballs from their sockets like supersonic ping-pong balls." Alex said, joining his girlfriend and forcing Scott to view totally unnecessary public displays.

Scott considered the fact that he and Alex and their respective issues and neuroses would be a psychiatrists field day.

Yeah, fuck therapy.

"I was actually considering shaking my way into jeliified bones and launched eyeballs. I don't think anyone can expect a wedding from me if I off myself via vibration," he pointed out to his younger brother.

"Hey, Babe," [Alex] went on, abruptly shifting gears. "Can we go back to the desert now? Please? Too many more precious moments with friends and family, and I may just go Hiroshima on your dearly beloved asses."

Scott's eyes rolled behind his glasses. Alex thought he was at the end of his rope? Between recognition that this could be the biggest mistake he'd ever made, realizing that he'd have to interact with his space-cavorting and useless father, and dealing with hordes of people he barely knew...

Scott was so far to the end of his rope that he was basically hanging himself with it.
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Polaris
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It was a damn good thing she hadn't startled him, otherwise Lorna was sure Scott would've snapped with an actual twanging sound, careened off the walls like a superball, and crashed out the window. Probably landing on some of the pack of damned landscaper or florist that were buzzing over the grounds like honeybees on meth.

Jesus christ, the way he was sitting there, practically vibrating in place, was approaching all new levels of nervous tension, even for males with the last name of Summers.

"I don't think you've been 'company' in years," [Scott] pointed out, dryly. "Certainly not polite company, anyway." Lorna just rolled her eyes, smirking back undeterred, because it was all true.

"Yep, but that's what you like about me," she returned easily, then started a little herself as she was snagged from behind by the Amazing Vanishing Boy, also known as Alex. Leaning back against him comfortably, she turned her head and gave him a 'where the hell have you been' look. Because all she'd seen of him since they got here was first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and a few brief glimpses of his ass rounding the far corner any time he was in apparent danger of even cursory contact with another living being.

Not that she didn't appreciate the view, but still...

"If you're trying to shake your way through to another dimension to escape miscellaneous wedding fuckery, don't bother--I already tried that. Hank said it would jellify my bones and launch my eyeballs from their sockets like supersonic ping-pong balls." Well, that explained a lot, and she was almost surprised Alex had let that stop him. She also wasn't sure it would even slow Scott down just now. And she was right. "I was actually considering shaking my way into jeliified bones and launched eyeballs. I don't think anyone can expect a wedding from me if I off myself via vibration," [Scott] pointed out to his younger brother.

"I'm not cleaning that up if you do try," Lorna interjected, because it bore pointing out to both. "For either of you. And Jean would just find a way put your ass back together, then kick it all over the newly landscaped lawn," she added for Scott's benefit, because he really must be losing it if he'd missed that inevitable outcome.

Messing with Jean right now? Such a bad idea. You'd think, being the strategist he was, Scott would've twigged to that already.

"Hey, Babe," [the blondest Summers] went on, abruptly shifting gears. "Can we go back to the desert now? Please? Too many more precious moments with friends and family, and I may just go Hiroshima on your dearly beloved asses." Lorna rolled her eyes again. She couldn't help it. God, they were hopeless, both of them. She loved them (in different ways, of course, otherwise that would be extremely disturbing), but sometimes they were just so Summers about it all.

"You'd have to stop playing Running Man first, Hon." The green-haired girl gave his arm a pat and him a knowing look. In case he'd missed the first one when he came in. "And you know damned well Jamie and Guido'd just follow us, like stray puppies." And they would, too. Right out into the desert. There was a tent on earth big enough for all of that.

"I think Scott's already hitting critical mass on his own, anyway," she added, jerking her head toward the vibrating, potential explode-ee in question, and shooting him another smirk. Because he'd think she didn't like him anymore if she didn't harass. It was tradition. And because he couldn't blast her with Alex to use as a shield. That familial power immunity thing did come in handy at times.
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Havok
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Uh-oh. Lorna was giving him a look that suggested Alex's Master Plan to avoid becoming involved in any of the pre-wedding mania had come to light. Shit. Well, it wasn't as if she should be surprised, or anything; he had practically made a lifestyle out of avoiding this kind of out-of-control, frou frou horsecrap. If it hadn't been Scott and Jean, chances were at least even that he would have tried to excuse his way out of going entirely. Possibly using Brood infection or an unexpected case of death.

If all else failed, he supposed he could give self-induced dimensional shift a try. Consequences be damned.

"I was actually considering shaking my way into jeliified bones and launched eyeballs. I don't think anyone can expect a wedding from me if I off myself via vibration," [Scott] pointed out to his younger brother.

Alex grinned at that, but the expression was short-lived. "I'm not cleaning that up if you do try," Lorna interjected, because it bore pointing out to both. "For either of you. And Jean would just find a way put your ass back together, then kick it all over the newly landscaped lawn," she added for Scott's benefit, because he really must be losing it if he'd missed that inevitable outcome.

The younger Summers couldn't help but shudder at that. Jean had probably put as much effort into making sure her wedding went right as Alex had trying to just stay the hell out of it. Probably more. And there was not a doubt in his mind that if any of them did anything to fuck things up, she would gleefully peel the offender apart one molecule at a time. He wouldn't have blamed her, either.

Things had been so much simpler in the desert. No crazy arguments over napkin prints, no team to manage, no government liaison riding his ass day and night like the world's most most determined bronco-buster. There were definitely times Alex pined for the simplicity of blistering heat, poisonous vermin, and underwear filled with coarse sand.

"You'd have to stop playing Running Man first, Hon." That brought a grimace to Alex's face. So, the jig as up. Oh, well. He guessed he hadn't been all that subtle about it, after all. "And you know damned well Jamie and Guido'd just follow us, like stray puppies."

He hadn't really considered that. "As long as we're not stuck playing parole officers for Mystique anymore, I think we still come out ahead." If not by much.

"I think Scott's already hitting critical mass on his own, anyway," [Lorna] added, jerking her head toward the vibrating, potential explode-ee in question, and shooting him another smirk.

"Veritable walking Chernobyl," Alex agreed, nodding as best he could from his present comfortable, if awkward position. "But I knew as soon as I heard the words 'wedding' and 'Scott' in the same sentence that it was only a matter of time before all of Westchester county went up in a bright red mushroom cloud."
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Cyclops
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"I'm not cleaning that up if you do try," Lorna interjected, because it bore pointing out to both. "For either of you."

Scott shrugged, unconcerned. If it worked, he wouldn't have to clean it up either. Hey, there was that silver lining everyone was always telling him to look for.

"And Jean would just find a way put your ass back together, then kick it all over the newly landscaped lawn," she added for Scott's benefit, because he really must be losing it if he'd missed that inevitable outcome.

He couldn't help the slight flinch. As much as he was overwhelmed with...everything...Jean had been putting in hours that rivaled his DR time for months. Love and all that sappy stuff aside, if he ruined all the work and effort she'd put in, she'd probably kill him. And, it occurred to Scott, she'd probably make it hurt. Badly.

While visions of Angry Redhead danced through his mind, Scott let himself tune-out whatever chastisement it seemed like Alex was getting. The only thing he could really contribute was a half-hearted smirk anyway.

His mind was skipping like a CD that Jubilee'd been allowed to handle. She'll be with you forever, you love her - SKIP - oh, you're going to fuck this up so bad that little soul you have left is going to be torn to a million pieces - SKIP - it's Jean - SKIP - that's the exact problem.

Scott was still fading in and out of attentiveness when someone said his name.

"I think Scott's already hitting critical mass on his own, anyway," [Lorna] added, jerking her head toward[s him and smirking].

"Veritable walking Chernobyl," Alex agreed. "But I knew as soon as I heard the words 'wedding' and 'Scott' in the same sentence that it was only a matter of time before all of Westchester county went up in a bright red mushroom cloud."


Scott was sure that, had his brain been properly functioning, he'd have had something more to say. He was.

But, whatever he would've said, it wasn't coming to him.

So, half-heartedly smirking, he flipped them off. "Pound sand."
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Polaris
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Good god.

One Summers brother playing bridal mania hide and seek (and, yes, she had noticed that, Alex couldn't possibly think she wouldn't), the other about to vibrate right out of his skin and rubberband off through the damned room and into space out of sheer nerves and anxiety. How the hell had the two of them even survived this long?

The answer, Lorna was sure, had something to do with her and Jean and their amazing tolerance for the Summers variety of OCD issues and the restraint that kept them from slamming the two men in question headfirst into a nearby wall on a regular basis. Not that it wasn't tempting sometimes, at least for her, and she'd put money she didn't have on the same being true for Jean.

But they loved them and so they dealt with it, except she was pretty sure Jean wouldn't be so forgiving if Scott exploded on the eve of the wedding she'd been running herself ragged putting together. And the green haired woman knew there was no way in hell they were taking off back to the desert now just because Alex didn't want to deal with the wedding chaos of his only brother and the girl he'd been in love with since practically before he was old enough to shave.

Plus, she knew damned well escape wouldn't be that easy, at least from X-Factor, if not the previously mentioned chaos itself. Jamie, or several Jamies, and Guido would just follow them. Like retarded beagle puppies. There was no damned escape from those two.

"As long as we're not stuck playing parole officers for Mystique anymore, I think we still come out ahead." This time, it was Lorna's turn to shudder. Yeah, ok, he had a point. She reminded herself to demagnetize - or maybe magnetize, she was never quite clear on the best approach there, she'd have to experiment - Val Coopers brain or something tomorrow at the reception for that little 'gift'. By that point, Scott and Jean would be too busy with the rest of the guests from the fifty foot long guest list to notice one flopping around on the floor like beached trout by the buffet.

And, as much fun as it was to pick on Scott when he was looking like he was about to go into nuclear meltdown or vibrate at speeds that'd make Quicksliver jealous out of sheer nerves and tension, he wasn't even trying when he flipped them both off and told them to, "Pound sand."

Sad. Just sad.

Tilting her head back, Lorna arched an eyebrow and shot a somewhat concerned look Alex's way. Well, shit, he might actually be broken this time. That couldn't be good.

Giving her boyfriend's arm a squeeze, the green haired girl slipped out of his embrace to go plop down next to Scott on the worn sofa that'd been there since they were teens. "Not a chance. You just wish you could get rid of us that easy. But keep trying."

Turning her head, and hoping Alex would get his ass over here as backup, Lorna's expression sobered. "Seriously, Scott, breathe or something. It's a wedding, not a lynching."
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Havok
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There was something about seeing Scott in this condition that made Alex's problems seem far less irritating. Given that one of those problems was Mystique, that was saying a hell of a lot. The woman was one hundred twenty pounds of weapons-grade bitchiness, and there was no way he could see her presence on the team ending in anything other than homicide. Possibly several homicides.

Bad enough they had to drag Mystique along on missions and babysit her during downtime, but had they really needed to bring her to the fucking wedding, too? Even to Alex, whose manners wouldn't have compared favorably with an angry mandrill's, that seemed like kind of a shit thing to do. Given the number of times she'd tried to knock off half the people on the guest list, and all. Left a bad taste in his mouth. But they couldn't have just left her tied up at home.

Actually, Alex had been in favor of tying her up, muzzling her, draping her in about three hundred pounds of steel chain, sticking that cocoon of rope and metal and bitchy shape-shifter in a coffin, sealing that coffin in concrete, and dropping the whole thing down the deepest ocean trench they could find. He'd been overruled, though. Fucking democracy.

So, really, what was Scott getting all twitchy for? He was about to marry the hottest, smartest, sweetest redhead on the whole goddamn planet--in short, a woman in every way too good for him. He should have been totally, obnoxiously, skipping-down-the-halls-whistling-Here-Comes-The-Bride happy. Or Scott-happy, at the very least. Which wasn't like the usual Earth-happy, really. More like a subtle relaxation of that perpetually constipated look he'd perfected long before the brothers had reconnected.

The only thing for it was to taunt him mercilessly. That was affection Summers-style.

So when all they got back was an obscene gesture and a suggestion they "Pound sand," Lorna wasn't the only one worried. Scott had managed better than that in the middle of raging firefights. So when his girlfriend moved off to join him on the sofa, Alex let her slip away without protest.

He couldn't be that worried about this whole wedding thing. Could he?

Wow. That was ... a whole spectrum of fucked up.

"Seriously, Scott, breathe or something. It's a wedding, not a lynching." Catching Lorna's look, Alex hurried to the sofa and seated himself on the other side of his older brother. He got the impression he was on thin ice already, and the last thing he wanted to do now was provoke the wrath of the superpowered significant other. There was no way he was getting stuck in one of those magnetic bubbles and dumped in the lake again.

And anyway, he was ... feeling things. Worry. Concern. That stuff. But even if Alex had been any good at articulating that kind of emotional crap, it wasn't like Scott was the easiest guy in the world to talk to, brother or not.

Screw it. This was a special occasion, and he figured he owed it to Scott not to let him fuck up his own wedding. "You're thinking about this way too hard. It's Jean. You guys have been practically living like you're married since forever; the party tomorrow is just to formalize it. Other than the giant hit to your savings and the titanic fucking mess on the lawn, nothing's going to be all that different."

Alex rested the back of his head on the cushion behind him and sighed mournfully. "Anyhow, you have it easy. All you have to do is stand up there and not fuck up two little words when you get your cue. I have to give a speech. In front of everybody." He cast Scott a resentful sideways look. "Cocksucker."
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Cyclops
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"Not a chance. You just wish you could get rid of us that easy. But keep trying." Lorna responded to his suggestion she and Alex screw themselves, making herself comfortable on the couch. "Seriously, Scott, breathe or something. It's a wedding, not a lynching."

"Easy for you to say," Scott grumbled at her. "It's not your wedding."

Unlike him, Lorna couldn't screw up tomorrow, let alone the rest of forever. And Scott had no doubt that, somewhere along the line as a husband, he was going to fuck shit up. Probably relatively badly. And Jean certainly was aware of that - she'd known him for ten years, how could she not be? - but that didn't mean that she might not end up wanting to divorce him.

Alex had apparently decided that this couch was going to be the location of some miniature family reunion and plopped down next to him. "You're thinking about this way too hard. It's Jean. You guys have been practically living like you're married since forever; the party tomorrow is just to formalize it. Other than the giant hit to your savings and the titanic fucking mess on the lawn, nothing's going to be all that different."

"Yeah, well, she can't divorce her live-in boyfriend." Fuck, he hadn't meant to say aloud. They were going to think he was being ridiculous, and even Scott could admit that he probably was. Jean'd had the last decade to tell him she didn't want him in her life, and she hadn't. It was a solid, if occasionally tumultuous, track record. Hell, the lack of legal formality probably made it easier for her to get out now than later.

That still didn't mean he wasn't going to screw it up somehow, though.

He and Jean could fight, really fight. Both stubborn, neither particularly good at apologizing, and with enough neuroses between them to keep a psychologist occupied for years - the truly amazing thing wasn't that they had knock-down drag-out screaming matches, but that they hadn't killed each other yet. And that had been true all along.

Something about marriage, though. The concept of it. The foreverness. The possibility of divorce...somehow that made it all seem infinitely worse. Besides, all Scott had to do was look at his father to see that age didn't improve the Summers men. If anything, it just made them worse. And becoming more...Summers... probably made divorce more likely, too.

"Anyhow, you have it easy. Alex whined. "All you have to do is stand up there and not fuck up two little words when you get your cue. I have to give a speech. In front of everybody." He cast Scott a resentful sideways look. "Cocksucker."

Scott smirked. "If I were, this probably wouldn't even be an issue," he pointed out. "And I am not going to feel for you. Think of it as payback for bringing Mystique to my wedding."
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Polaris
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As long as he and Jean had waited to get to this, you'd think Scott would be beside himself with damn bliss or something. Or the Summers version of it, at least. Which, ok, wasn't so different from most other people's version of 'this isn't so bad', but he didn't even seem to be managing that.

No, he was sitting there like he was waiting for the damned firing squad. And he wasn't even having to deal with the army of caters, florists, bridal party members, and general mountain of details that made Lorna wonder how the hell Jean had managed to keep from making someone's brains leak out their ears by now.

"Easy for you to say," Scott grumbled at her. "It's not your wedding." Came the oh-so-logical reply from Mr. Master of Logic himself, and Lorna rolled her eyes heavenward again. Mostly good naturedly, because it was still Scott, but thank god Alex got the general hint and plopped his own avoidance-prone ass over on the other side of his brother. She was going to need backup for this one.

"Fine, I'll marry Jean, you go back with Alex to X-Factor. We'll send you a postcard from Hawaii," she shot back undeterred. Sometimes, she swore, she just wanted to try to smack the Summers out the both of them, as futile an effort as that might be. But at least Alex was actually trying to help for once. In his own, special Alex kind of way.

"You're thinking about this way too hard. It's Jean. You guys have been practically living like you're married since forever; the party tomorrow is just to formalize it. Other than the giant hit to your savings and the titanic fucking mess on the lawn, nothing's going to be all that different." That...actually didn't suck, as far as looking at the bright side, though she maybe wouldn't have mentioned the savings hit. And not like she didn't know Alex could be helpful and supportive. It was just you never quite knew what you'd get when you mixed him and Scott and a stressful situation.

It might be family bonding and support. It might be be a roiling mass of sibling rivalry, insecurity, and control issues that'd make them all wish Krakoa would come along to suck out everyone's life force again.

Scott, apparently, was stuck in a loop of 'worst case scenario' the likes of which even Nick Fury had never contemplated. "Yeah, well, she can't divorce her live-in boyfriend." And it had made him totally lose his mind, obviously.

Lorna just looked at him, and snorted again, as Alex went on to grumble about his best man duties and add what she was sure was a relatively fond insult, because what the hell else could she do. That made absolutely no sense. He had to know that. And if he didn't, she was getting Hank. Now. Because he'd popped a few fuses she was sure he couldn't do without.

"If I were, this probably wouldn't even be an issue," he pointed out. "And I am not going to feel for you. Think of it as payback for bringing Mystique to my wedding." Oh please. If there weren't fifty former super-villains at this thing, at least, she'd eat her bridesmaid's bouquet.

"Hey, I just offered to let you run off with Alex, what more do you want?" Lorna couldn't resist adding, smirking at the two brothers and hoping that at least broke their brains enough, once it sank in, to stop the wedding related bullshit for five minutes. "And you can blame Forge for Raven tagging along, but it's not like there's not already a dozen former terrorists running around here anyway, what's one more?"

Whatever freaky thing was happening there, she'd already decided she did not want to know. Period.

"Look, Scott," Lorna tried again, more seriously, as she twisted around a little to look at him, drawing one leg up and folding it under her, "Alex is right. Jean loves you. You love her. If she was going to divorce you or kick your obsessive butt to the curb, she'd have done it already. Before she went to all this damned trouble for a wedding."

Sighing, she reached over and gave his arm a brief squeeze. Fine, she was tactless, but not unsympathetic. These guys were the only family she had. That one of them couldn't even enjoy his own wedding was just ridiculous and sad. "The only thing you're doing by sticking yourself in this 'what if' loop is ruining something you should be enjoying. That's not fair to you, or to Jean, either."
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Havok
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Ugh. Wasn't Alex supposed to be the giant fucking baby in this family? But now here was Scott, with his "it's not your wedding" and "she can't divorce her live-in boyfriend bullshit. Honestly? This was the crap that was going through his older brother's head. He was supposed to be the smart one.

Maybe he was, but he didn't make it look like a very appealing alternative to blond dumbass.

Anyway, Scott was just worrying himself into a coma over a bunch of maybes. Alex was the one that actually had to give a toast. In front of, like, fifty percent of the planet's mutant population, and a good chunk of the non-X-affiliated superhero set. Some of them were even from outer space! Bad enough putting himself out there in front of his friends, now he had to be a spokesman for the whole fucking planet.

It wouldn't be his fault of he created some kind of intergalactic incident. They had all known that he was a goddamn idiot when they'd drafted him into this job. Whatever happened, it would be on their heads!

But right now, they were talking about Scott's crap. Mystique was probably pretty close to the bottom of that pile, in the greater scheme of things, and just as his brother had no sympathy for his shitty best man duties, so too did Alex not give a gimpy rat's ass for his problems with Raven. Everybody had problems with Mystique. Even Forge had problems with Mystique, and Alex was pretty sure the two of the were performing profoundly unnatural acts (because those were the only kinds of acts one could perform with the woman) on a regular basis.

Luckily, his girlfriend was present to act as the voice of reason for the other stuff. Reason and Alex weren't always on the best of terms. "Look, Scott," Lorna tried again, more seriously, as she twisted around a little to look at him, drawing one leg up and folding it under her, "Alex is right. Jean loves you. You love her. If she was going to divorce you or kick your obsessive butt to the curb, she'd have done it already. Before she went to all this damned trouble for a wedding."

The blond Summers brother nodded. He completely agreed with all of that, particularly the part where she'd said he was right. That happened so rarely that he'd be damned if he wasn't going to let it go to his head, a little.

"The only thing you're doing by sticking yourself in this 'what if' loop is ruining something you should be enjoying. That's not fair to you, or to Jean, either."

"Or to Alex," Alex added sagaciously. But he was quick to tack on, "Or Lorna." There. Now she couldn't say he was completely self-absorbed. "Look, you giant horse's ass," he went on, "this isn't a fight you're going into. You don't need to plan for every possible contingency, or make allowances for the worst case scenario. If the past should have taught you anything, it's that there's not a helluva lot you and Jean can't overcome, get through, or just plain outlast together. Together, moron. Which is what this is a goddamn celebration of."

He wiggled his fingers in a ludicrous imitation of sign language, all in an attempt to get his point across. "Jean is not the enemy. She's not going to capitalize on the first evidence of your soft, gooey center by cutting you out of her life."
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Cyclops
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"Hey, I just offered to let you run off with Alex, what more do you want?" Lorna asked, smirking slightly.

"People to worship me for the wonder I am," Scott shot back. "Not much, really."

But Lorna had sobered, and they were both starting at Scott like he needed to be talked down from a ledge. Fantastic. Not that they didn't disagree with him and look at him oddly on a regular basis; Alex disagreed with him constantly, and though Lorna was more tactful (not hard to do), Scott was pretty sure she was more in line with Alex's thoughts on most things than with his.

Still, it occurred to Scott that if they were both gaping at him that way, there might be something to it. That or they were just incapable of considering all the alternatives, which was something at which Scott had always excelled - even to his own detriment. Hey, he'd known they wouldn't get it.

"Look, Scott," Lorna [said], "Alex is right.

He couldn't help the amused huff of air that escaped. There was a sentence he never thought he'd hear.

"Jean loves you. You love her. If she was going to divorce you or kick your obsessive butt to the curb, she'd have done it already. Before she went to all this damned trouble for a wedding."

She had a point. Scott knew she had a point. Jean did love him, he knew that, she'd said it - hell, she'd promised him forever - and he felt it through their bond all the time. And God knew he loved her. Hell, he'd moved to fucking Alaska for her. And yeah, the wedding would be a lot of trouble if Jean wasn't sincere in this whole wedding thing.

But that didn't mean he couldn't fuck it up obscenely badly somewhere down the line. Scott doubted Lorna would be quite so confident if she'd seen how he'd proposed. If he even had, really.

"The only thing you're doing by sticking yourself in this 'what if' loop is ruining something you should be enjoying. That's not fair to you, or to Jean, either." his pseudo-sister-in-law pointed out. And Scott felt mildly chastised - because he hadn't really thought about how his ability to lose the forest for the trees was affecting her. But still - what else was new? He dragged down Jean constantly. That was part of the fucking problem; she might get sick of that.

"Or to Alex," Alex added[.] "Or Lorna."

"I apologize if my wedding is inconveniencing you both," Scott replied dryly.

"Look, you giant horse's ass," he went on, "this isn't a fight you're going into. You don't need to plan for every possible contingency, or make allowances for the worst case scenario. If the past should have taught you anything, it's that there's not a helluva lot you and Jean can't overcome, get through, or just plain outlast together. Together, moron. Which is what this is a goddamn celebration of."

And, fuck, Scott hated when Alex made valid points. It made him supremely uncomfortable, and typically was the forerunner of something going really, really badly. He knew this wasn't a fucking battle, but this was just how he thought? What the hell did they want from him?

Sure, maybe it seemed overly pessimistic. Maybe it was unlikely, even. But this wasn't some marriage to some random woman, this was Jean. And any possibility of fucking it up was too big of one.

Scott could've kept building up to solid irritation, but Alex threw up his fingers and started wiggling them. What was it that Jubilee had called that move? Spirit fingers?

"Jean is not the enemy. She's not going to capitalize on the first evidence of your soft, gooey center by cutting you out of her life."

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to cut your fingers out of my life," Scott informed him, deadpan. "I may not be able to blast them off, but I do own more conventional weapons."

He shook his head a little. "Look, I appreciate the pep talk. I do. You're not even mostly wrong. But..." he shrugged a little. "I'm marrying Jean. And I've gotta be perfect."

And that...hadn't come out exactly right, but fuck. What did he look like? This talking about things bullshit? This was not Scott's strength.
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Polaris
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Still under the general, and possibly far too fucking optimistic, impression that there was something that could get through the trademark Summers thick skull besides a hammer and an ice pick, Lorna made an attempt to point out a few things to Scott that maybe he hadn't actually considered, despite his apparent determination to analyze himself into some kind of catatonic state. Like the fact that he was making himself miserable about his own wedding. And, if he kept this up, he'd make Jean miserable, too.

Right now she was a little busy with wedding prep, but she was going to notice if Scott fell over and vibrated himself down the aisle.

Because, sure, every girl's dream was to have a guy who thought marriage to her would be so damned touch and go, even after a decade or so together, they had a nervous breakdown.

So help her god, she was starting to seriously think, Scott had snapped this time.

The fact that even she admitted that Alex was right on this one (and yeah, Alex had latched right onto that and nodded like a bobble head doll, she'd noticed and hadn't really expected any different) should've told Scott something, but apparently he was too far gone for even that to register. Which might've been a sign they'd hit terminal velocity. Even Alex was trying to get him to see actual reason, as opposed to Scott-reason, since they weren't nearly always the same thing, no matter what the elder Summers might think. Or, well, he was in his Alex kind of way. Which is to say even more tactless than she was at her worst.

But those two had their own, unique way of communicating, which usually involved a lot of bitching, moaning, insecurity, and being an ass. From both sides. Even though she knew they wouldn't see it that way. Lorna couldn't help but roll her eyes, though, as Alex brought out the...whatever he was doing with his hands over there. It could be some sort of fit at this point, for all she knew.

She loved them both. Dearly. But she was starting to suspect maybe she really should go ahead and marry Jean herself and just leave them to work out the rest. Problem solved.

Only not, and Lorna took a deep breath as Alex finished his counter rant, which actually had made sense, but she wasn't going to tell him that. He'd already latched onto the last validation like a pitt bull, she suspected. No reason to make it worse.

"Look, I appreciate the pep talk. I do. You're not even mostly wrong. But..." [Scott] shrugged a little. "I'm marrying Jean. And I've gotta be perfect."

Lorna just blinked at him, because what else can you do when someone comes out with something like that and is actually serious about it? Once she determined that, yes, he actually was serious about it and that even Scott looked a little flummoxed now by the things coming out of his mouth, all Lorna could do was cover her eyes with her hand and and shake her head.

"Seriously?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, because living with Alex for years hadn't exactly improved her internal filters. "Do you hear what you're saying, Scott?"

Then taking a deep breath, she let it out, glancing over at Alex with a look that should've very clearly communicated 'what the hell?', before turning back to Scott for one more try. "Jean doesn't want you to be perfect," Lorna said more kindly and reminding herself that she probably couldn't just give smacking the Cyclops out of him right now with a big piece of metal a try. "She already thinks you're perfect for her, that's all she wants."

And you're sitting here, actively thinking of ways to fuck it up, she tacked on mentally, but didn't say out loud. For once. Instead, she smiled crookedly and added, "Now you can argue with us all you want, but we're a piece of cake compared to her, so good luck with that."
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Alex's brother did not appear to be taking his attempts to bridge the communications gap via spontaneously-generated sign language with the gravity it clearly deserved. "If you don't stop that, I'm going to cut your fingers out of my life," Scott informed him, deadpan. "I may not be able to blast them off, but I do own more conventional weapons."

Well, that was a little better. Maybe Scott wasn't as far gone as he'd seemed at first. "I'll just have Hank sew them back on again," Alex returned. "Or get Forge to build me cyborg fingers. With all kinds of fun attachments and settings." There. Let him stew on that for a while.

But now Scott was shaking his head, and looking like somebody had shot his favorite puppy. If the older Summers brother were capable of forming deep emotional attachments with things, anyhow. "Look, I appreciate the pep talk. I do. You're not even mostly wrong. But..." he shrugged a little. "I'm marrying Jean. And I've gotta be perfect."

He ... what? What had that incomprehensible, stone-faced asshole just said?

Lorna was still trying to reason with him. As if reason could possibly penetrate a skull reinforced with extra-thick layers of scientifically-formulated dumbfuckery. How? How could Jean have possibly fallen for this gigantic--

"Horse's. Ass," Alex repeated, rising suddenly to glower down at his otherwise bright, but in this case too fucking stupid for words, brother. "Perfect? Let's ignore for a second that that's the kind of unreasonable demand that Jean would never make of you. You, Scott, have more issues than ... than ..." Okay, that analogy just wasn't coming together like it was supposed to. He would blame it on the fact that he was annoyed. "You have a lot of issues. And you're sure as shit never going to be perfect. Did you really think you were going to pull all your outstanding crap together by the wedding day when you proposed?"

On a roll now, he jabbed Cy-fucking-clops in the elbow roughly with one finger. "You are getting married tomorrow, Scott. Enjoy it, have an aneurysm, whatever. It's going to happen. And I'm going to give a speech, and the whole thing will be one of those fucking magical moments that makes us get all weepy in our twilight years. Get used to the idea, fuckstick, because I love you and Jean too much to let you screw this up with that overactive fucking brain of yours."

Whirling, Alex stomped toward the door. "Now if you'll fucking excuse me, I have a fucking moving, poignant-as-shit toast to compose."

[Exit Alex, unless anybody stops him.]
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