Calling the Shots

The early-morning jog around the grounds didn't help-- instead of warming me up and starting the day running, it just ended up reminding me just how tired I was and how little sleep I'd gotten. Chowing down breakfast hadn't helped, either. I'd come in at the tail end of service, and gotten the runny eggs and the sludge coffee, and the questions I'd gotten from the students were mostly not of the mundane, extra credit and report extension nature that I'd been hoping for. Instead, they were looking for reassurances that I hoped sounded sincere when I gave them.

My office, at least, I was guardedly optimistic about its providing me with a little pick-me-up. There, theoretically, I could bury myself in day-to-day paperwork, and the minutiae of running a small private school.

As usual, "theoretically" was a decidedly different thing from "actually".

An amber light flashed on the upper corner of my computer screen, letting me know that there was a message waiting for me. The fact that it wasn't a phone message implied that it was a teammate or some ally, rather than the morning's next irritated parent.

It was a parent, of sorts.

"Scott," the Professor's recorded image began, "I must say I'm surprised to not find you at your desk at this hour, but I do trust that your duties as Headmaster are keeping you on your toes at the moment. I can't begin to reiterate just how proud and impressed I am with the job you-- and Emma-- have done with the school."

Behind my visor, I rolled my eyes at the man, something I doubt even now I'd have been able to do in person. I wanted him to just get on with it.

"Unfortunately, there is nothing of great import to pass on to you from here in Genosha. Henry is having quite the time rummaging through the debris here, and assures you that although he is working as expediently as possible, he foresees a few more weeks' work, at least."

And, I thought.

"Scott, son, I understand that at the moment, my standing with you has ebbed quite low, and I cannot blame you in the least for that. Please rest assured that when I am able to return, I will make every effort to discuss this situation and find a compromise in everyone's best interests. Good luck, Scott. And thank you."

My finger hovered over the key that would start recording my reply. What to say to any of that, I wondered. And that really was the problem-- I had nothing to say because I had no idea just how I felt about any of it. No, that wasn't true. I felt angry and disappointed and more than a little betrayed. I clicked the button marked "DELETE" and let the message disappear.

I couldn't deal with it now. I didn't know when I'd be able... I just knew that time wasn't now.

The great thing about routines is that they don't involve a lot of thinking. You can be productive, get things done and not have to expend a lot of mental energy while doing it, either saving it up for later or using the time to think about something else. In the past, I'd gotten a lot of thinking done while elbows-deep in a car or plane engine or going for a run around the lake.

This time, though, as step by automatic step, I went through the post-flight checklist for our loaner jet, I opted for the other route-- not thinking much at all.

Unfortunately, every routine comes to an end. Engines get cool, batteries start recharging and hydraulic systems hiss to a stop. And once all that happened, I didn't feel any more at ease.

Emma wasn't in our room when I got there. The questions about her sudden absence during the fight in Genosha still turned over in the back of my mind, but simpler needs were more pressing, at least for the moment. I showered and changed, then, as so often happened after getting back from a mission, I finally realized just how hungry I'd gotten.

The halls were quiet, and I was grateful. There would be the inevitable tide of questions from teammates and students alike, and one hell of a big mess in the sub-basement to clean up. We'd have to think of alternate training methods and figure out when-- or maybe more importantly, if-- we would rebuild the Danger Room.

For now, I headed into the kitchen, where it seemed I wasn't the only one unsettled after getting home.

((Open))

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