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clonerightsenthusiast · 1 year ago

Text

Ringer

[X-Men Comics, Gen, 4.5k words]

It was really Bobby's fault, they'd all decided (except Scott, who stoically shouldered all the blame himself, as usual). Bobby thought that if they were gonna blame him, then really it was the professor's fault for having the horseshoes where he could find them in the first place. And for leaving them unsupervised for the weekend. Was it Bobby's fault he was bored and curious?

(Yes, apparently. Whatever.)

"So it's a… game?" Scott asked skeptically, watching Bobby finish setting up the stakes outside the mansion.

"Yeah, you just throw it, dude," Bobby said, tossing a horseshoe to demonstrate.

Scott's forehead creased. "And the objective is to hook the horseshoe onto the stake?"

"Uh huh." Bobby twirled his last horseshoe on his finger. "You get points based on how close to it you get. I think. I've mostly just watched my dad play it at barbecues and stuff."

Scott hummed thoughtfully. Bobby held out the horseshoe. "It's a game for old people, so you'll probably love it," he joked.

"Very funny, Bobby," Scott said scathingly, but he took the horseshoe. He cocked his head, giving the stake a long, considering look, then tossed it.

[read on ao3]

It landed several feet short. Scott hrmed. Bobby couldn't tell if he was mad at himself for not hitting the stake immediately or just thinking too hard. Knowing Scott, he reasoned, probably both.

"Hand me another one," Scott ordered, sticking out his hand. Oh, that was his field leader voice. He was getting serious. Bobby rolled his eyes but complied.

Scott gave the stake another measured look and tossed the horseshoe. Short again.

Bobby threw the last one. It bounced off the stake and landed a few inches away. Scott gave him such an affronted look that Bobby burst out laughing.

"Sorry, Slim," he said when he got his breath back, still snickering. "Some of us are just naturally talented."

Scott harrumphed and set off in a determined stride to collect the horseshoes.

"Just keep practicing," Bobby called after him. "Maybe some day you'll get on my level."

"It's just geometry and physics," Scott said, taking his place at the first stake again. "I'm good at geometry and physics."

"Sure, suck the joy out of it," Bobby said, elbowing him until he reluctantly gave up half the horseshoes. Scott didn't seem liable to budge, so Bobby trudged over to take the other side.

"The joy comes from figuring out how it works and executing a successful strategy," Scott corrected him, eyeing the stake again.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Scott. I say the joy comes from kicking your butt at something for once."

Bobby won the next game, and frankly, that was enough horseshoes for him - especially when Scott was getting visibly frustrated. He handed over the whole lot of the horseshoes and said, "You keep playing if you want. I think I've proven my superiority here."

"You've proven that you have more practice at the game," Scott said stubbornly.

Bobby snickered and waved him off to go back inside the mansion, leaving Scott to keep up his attempts to hit the ring solo.

Inside the kitchen, he found Warren poking at a bowl of half-melted ice cream with one hand and reading a book with the other. Bobby promptly flopped over his shoulder, getting a facefull of feathers for his trouble but successfully stealing a bite of ice cream in the confusion.

"Get your own, you pest," Warren said without any real heat, hunkering over the bowl. His wings lifted defensively.

"Guess what I just did," Bobby said, ignoring him to reach around and get a finger on the side of the bowl. With a little concentration, frost spread out from the point of contact across the bowl and the ice cream inside refroze. Warren begrudgingly lowered his shoulder to give him another bite in exchange for services rendered.

"What," he said flatly, elbowing Bobby until he slid off of him and onto the stool beside.

"I got Scott to play a game," he said archly. "He's outside being, like, really intense about horseshoes."

"Horseshoes barely counts as a game," Warren scoffed. "You just stand there and throw them."

"Barely is still a game," Bobby said, reaching out for the ice cream again. Warren slid it out of his reach. "This is just the first step. Next is some other grandpa game like croquet or whatever. Then we work up to stuff like Frisbee. In a few months maybe he'll even play monopoly. Hey, is there more?"

There was, indeed, more ice cream, and all thoughts of Scott and horseshoes quickly faded in its favor.

–

Scott tossed the horseshoe a couple times in his hand, feeling the weight of it. It was an odd shape. Naturally; that was what made the game what it was. Finding the proper grip on it was a process.

He held it lightly, tossing it with a flick of his wrist. The horseshoe spun off sideways, landing some feet away from the stake next to its fellows.

Scott's feet moved on their own, mechanically carrying him over to the pile of horseshoes to recollect them. His mind was occupied, considering the mechanics of that throw. Too much torque, clearly. He was throwing too much with the wrist. Maybe if he kept his wrist straight and instead rotated more at the elbow…

He would get this. There was no doubt in his mind as he took his place at the line again. He would figure this out. It was only a matter of time.

–

"Has anyone seen Scott?" Jean asked, levitating a slice of pizza out of Hank's reach. "I tried to tell him the pizza was here but he didn't answer."

Hank planted one giant hand on Warren's face and shoved him back long enough to snatch his own slice. "Scott understands the consequences of being tardy to pizza night," he said, fending off Bobby with his other elbow.

"He's never been 'tardy' in his life," Warren said, shoving Hank's hand aside with a pointed glare. "It's good for him."

"Maybe he's still playing horseshoes," Bobby joked through a mouthful of pizza, squirming into the narrow space on the couch between Hank and Warren. "Or he got kidnapped by Magneto."

"Ugh, don't even mention Magneto," Warren groaned, begrudgingly shifting over to make room. "We're on vacation."

"If only the enemies of mutantkind likewise went 'on vacation'," Hank teased. "Maybe we could work out a schedule."

"Bobby, what do you mean, playing horseshoes?" Jean asked, settling herself on the arm of the couch.

"I found stakes and horseshoes in the garage under a bunch of tarps and stuff," Bobby said. "Scott was playing it earlier. But that was, like, hours ago. He's probably just reading one of the professor's old man books and didn't notice you calling."

"It's not an old man book just because it doesn't have pictures, Bob," Warren said, smirking as Bobby stuck his tongue out at him.

"Scott's a big boy, Jeannie," Hank said, patting her arm. "He'll come in when he gets hungry. Although," he added, eyes lighting up in inspiration, "perhaps we could entice him with the siren sounds of a motion picture?"

"Only if it's one of the professor's old movies from back before the dawn of time," Warren snarked.

"We are not watching a black and white movie!" Bobby squawked, popping up straight-backed with an expression of pure affront.

"A film's quality isn't determined by its use of color photography, Robert," Hank said, looking down at him over his glasses.

"Uh, yes it is," Bobby shot back.

"You boys argue about this," Jean said, hopping down from the arm of the couch. "I'll go make popcorn. You better make a decision by the time I get back, or I get to pick the movie."

That set off a new wave of arguing, and Scott was quickly forgotten.

–

Thunk.

The horseshoe hit the stake solidly and bounced off, skipping along the grass once before coming to rest. Scott hummed, weighing the last horseshoe in his hand. Shoulder. Elbow. Wrist. His grip, the placement of his fingers along the groove of the horseshoe. His hips and feet, the bend in his knees… there were so many variables that went into a throw even before it left his hand. The wind, the angle of the stake, how hard the ground was - these also affected his outcomes, but he couldn't control those.

Distinguishing between what was in and out of his control was a vital skill as field leader, and one of the first things Scott determined in every situation he walked into. He couldn't change the weather (wouldn't that be something, having a mutant power to change the weather!) but he could control himself, break each throw down into its component elements and through trial and error and intuition determine the ideal state of each one to achieve his goal. Make a plan, and then put it into action. There was nothing more satisfying than successfully executing a plan.

The light faded around him but it barely registered to Scott. The night was clear and the moon was bright enough that he could make out the stake and collect the horseshoes - and by now he was certain he could hit the stake with his eyes closed. It was just another variable to account for. And he could account for it. He would.

Thunk.

Scott's heart skipped a beat as the horseshoe hit the stake and rattled around it before bouncing off to hit the ground close by. That was the sound of progress. He almost had it.

He just had to keep going.

–

Jean slept in, a rare luxury born of the professor's absence. She woke to bright sunlight filtering through her gauzy curtains, and took her time stretching and basking in the warmth and joy of one last day of no responsibilities before finally sliding out of bed to get dressed and see what the boys were up to.

Warren and Hank were both in the kitchen, divvying up the newspaper. Hank called a garbled greeting around the pencil in his mouth as he set to the crossword. Jean hummed pleasantly in response as she opened the fridge to retrieve the milk, using her telekinesis to get the pantry at the same time.

The box of cereal abruptly dropped to the counter as she got distracted, frowning at the contents of the fridge. The last slice of pizza she'd jealously guarded from the boys and set away for Scott last night was still there. She leaned back and half-closed the door again and sure enough the note in her own neat handwriting letting him know was still stuck to it.

"All right, Jeannie?" Warren's voice prompted her to grab the milk and let the fridge close properly, shaking her head.

"Yes, just – is Scott up yet?" Jean asked, picking up the cereal again with her telekinesis to shake some into a bowl while she poured the milk. She brought it over to the table where the boys were sitting, and Warren graciously pulled out a chair for her.

She knew him well enough to catch the disappointment that flashed across his face as she asked about Scott, but didn't say anything; she didn't want to encourage their silly rivalry. Warren, to his credit, gave no hint of it as he replied.

"I saw him this morning when I went out for an early flight," he said. "He was out there by himself playing horseshoes. Didn't even look up when I buzzed him." He did sound disappointed by that, and Jean snorted into her cornflakes. Boys.

Hank glanced up from the crossword, adjusting his glasses. "Pardon me, Warren – did you say you saw Scott playing horseshoes early this morning?"

"Sure did, Hank," Warren said. "Why, what's all the interest in Scott this morning?"

"It's only that when I went out to retrieve the morning's paper – hardly ten minutes ago – he was out on the lawn, tossing horseshoes, as you say," Hank said. "I'm merely surprised such a simple game has captivated our fearless leader for so long. It seems rather below a strategic mind of his caliber."

Warren whistled. "That's what, a couple hours straight of horseshoes? He must be going stir-crazy without the professor giving him X-Men duties. I was wondering why he hasn't bullied us into the Danger Room all weekend."

"Be nice," Jean admonished him, elbowing his side. "It's good that he's having fun."

"Personally, I'm glad he's found a way to have fun that doesn't involve shooting at me with eye blasts," Warren said with a smirk. "But I bet you and I could come up with something way more fun to do than horseshoes."

Jean smiled at him beatifically. "That sounds like a great idea, Warren," she said blithely. "You go get Bobby, and I'll pick a board game."

Warren looked pained for just a second before manfully accepting that he'd blundered into a trap of his own making and accepting his fate. "Sounds great, Jeannie," he said, getting up from the table and tucking his section of the paper under one arm. "You coming, Hankster?"

"Give me just a moment to complete today's puzzle and I'll gladly join you," Hank said, and Warren waved in acknowledgment and slouched off to find Bobby, hands slung in his pockets. Hank turned an admonishing eye on Jean. "That was mean of you," he said.

"Oh, he asked for it, and you know it," she said, snickering. Jean tipped her bowl back to slurp the last of the milk and stood up, wiping her mouth. "I'll see you in the living room. Bring Scott if he comes in."

"Naturally," Hank said, bending back to his crossword. "I'll only be a moment."

–

The horseshoe sliced through the air and dropped in a neat arc over the top of the stake, clanking against the others sitting at its base. Mechanically, Scott pulled his arm back, transferred the next horseshoe to his throwing arm, reset his stance, and tossed it.

It followed the same path through the air and hooked itself on the stake, sliding down to rest on the small pile of its fellows. A satisfied smile broke through Scott's focused expression as he walked the well-trodden path from the line to the stake and back again, laden once again with horseshoes. He barely had to think about it anymore; he'd done it, he'd solved it, and now it was just throw, retrieve, repeat, in smooth, soothing, repetitive motions, with the bonus satisfaction of seeing each throw land exactly where he wanted it to.

He could do this forever.

–

"HaHA! Take that, Harvard boy!" Bobby crowed, leaping to his feet. "Who's the businessman now?"

Warren groaned and tipped back against the couch in defeat. "You know I haven't actually gone to Harvard," he grumbled. "And Monopoly is hardly a test of real business acumen."

"Oh, don't break out the big words just because you lost," Bobby said, jabbing a finger at him, still grinning.

"It's not a big word just because you don't know what it means, Bob," Warren said, swatting his finger out of his face.

"Oh, don't be a sore loser, Warren," Jean piped up. She and Hank, long since eliminated from the game, had curled up instead in the armchairs to heckle the both of them.

"Go easy on him, Jeannie," Hank said, affecting a serious expression while barely suppressing a laugh. "Bankruptcy is a new experience for him."

"Yeah, and being rich is a new one for me!" Bobby said, tossing handfuls of flimsy paper money in the air.

"Yes, we can tell," Warren said dryly.

"Okay, okay," Jean broke in before Bobby could get out whatever affronted response bubbled up, covering her mouth with one hand to hide her snickering. "Good job, Bobby, you won fair and square."

"Thank you, Jean," Bobby said, sticking his tongue out at Warren.

Warren tossed his top hat token at him, bouncing it off his forehead. "All right, enough Monopoly," he said before Bobby could respond. His wings shot out at awkward angles as he levered himself to his feet, sweeping dice and money off the coffee table. "There's no getting those hours of our lives back. Let's clean up this mess and find something more worthwhile to do with our time."

Jean made eye contact with Hank before rolling her eyes, provoking snickers from him as they both got up to help pack away the game.

"You just hate when I win anything," Bobby said, elbowing Warren.

"New experiences are always difficult," Warren said smoothly. He caught a sputtering Bobby in a headlock and dug the knuckles of his free hand into his scalp for a few seconds before releasing him. "There, there's your victory noogie, mister winner," he said.

"All I ask is acknowledgement," Bobby sniffed, dropping onto his stomach to fish out the money that had found its way under the couch. "Where's Scott? I want him to witness my victory."

"Maybe he's still playing horseshoes," Warren said, reaching out to accept the tokens from Hank and drop them in the box. "I take back what I said about having more fun than him."

"Oh come on, he's not still playing horseshoes," Bobby said. "It's been a whole day."

"What? No, I mean since this morning," Warren said, giving him a strange look.

"He went back out this morning? He must really like horseshoes," Bobby said, flopping down on the couch.

Jean checked her watch. "It's been hours," she said. "He must have come in. Hank, did you see him come in while we were in here?"

"No, I can't say I did, Jeannie," Hank said.

Jean frowned and looked over her shoulder at the foyer. "I'll just…" she trailed off as she got up and headed for the door.

The boys exchanged glances before Warren shut the Monopoly box and they all got up to follow her.

Jean propped herself up against the threshold of the big front door, watching Scott on the lawn. He threw a horseshoe, neatly hooking it over the stake in front of him. Two more followed in quick succession. Scott threw his whole complement of horseshoes, then marched up to the stake, picked them up, and started all over again.

"Wow, he got really good at that."

Bobby's voice made her jump. She looked over her shoulder to see the other three boys coming up behind her. Jean looked at them, then back at Scott, who seemed perfectly oblivious to being watched. She squinted, taking in his practiced, mechanical movements, and the way he swayed slightly when he stopped by the near stake.

"Did anybody see him come in last night?" she asked, biting her thumbnail.

The boys muttered, conferring with each other, and the consensus was reached that no, nobody had. Making up her mind, Jean planted a hand on Bobby's shoulder and shoved him forward.

"Go ask him how long he's been playing," she ordered him.

"What?" Bobby squawked. "Why me?"

"Just do it, Bob," Warren said.

Outnumbered, Bobby shot them a mutinous look before tromping off across the lawn towards Scott.

Scott didn't respond as Bobby approached, and Bobby took the opportunity to look him up and down. Okay, so maybe he did look a little tired. And there was a muddy line through the grass between the stakes that definitely hadn't been there when he set them up yesterday. So maybe Jean had a point.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Hey, Scotty," he said from a safe distance. Not that there was a particularly safe distance to surprise Scott Summers from.

Scott's head snapped up sharply at the sound of his voice and fixed on Bobby. He couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, but he could imagine Scott's focus shifting.

"Hi, Bobby," Scott said, then cleared his throat when it came out hoarse.

"So, uh," Bobby said, scuffing the grass with the toe of his shoe. "You like horseshoes, huh?"

"Huh? Oh." Scott looked down at the horseshoes in his hand. "Yeah, it's really satisfying."

"I guess you took me kicking your butt pretty seriously, huh?" Bobby joked. When Scott gave him a blank look, he cleared his own throat and asked, "How long have you been out here practicing?"

"Oh. Since we played, I guess," Scott said.

Bobby stared at him.

Scott looked back.

"Cool." Bobby said. "Uh. Be right back." He turned and fled back to the others, waiting anxiously in the doorway.

"Well?" Hank asked as he skidded to a stop, peering at him from around Warren's wings and over Jean's shoulder.

"He's lost it," Bobby blurted out. "He's been playing since yesterday. Like, straight. That's, like. More than twenty four hours! What time is it?" He grabbed Warren's wrist to check his watch. "Twenty seven hours! Twenty seven hours of horseshoes! We're gonna be in so much trouble. We have to tell the professor we broke Scott!"

"Bobby, calm down," Jean said firmly. She planted both hands on Bobby's shoulders. "We didn't break Scott."

"Besides, it's not a we. You got him playing," Warren said. "This is your fault."

"I hate to say it, Robert, but he has a point," Hank said.

"Hey!" Bobby protested.

"Boys," Jean snapped. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. What matters is that we snap Scott out of it before the professor comes back tomorrow. So. Bobby." She used her grip on his shoulders to turn him around so he was facing the lawn again. "Go pull out the stakes."

"What?" Bobby yelped. "I can't do that!"

"Sure you can," she said encouragingly. "Just yank them out."

"Why me?" he complained. "What if he blasts me?"

"He's not gonna blast you," Jean said. "And you have to do it because you started it."

"Jean."

"Bobby. Go." With a firm push to his shoulders, Jean sent him stumbling once again back towards Scott.

Bobby trudged back over, shoulders hunched and grumbling to himself under his breath the whole way.

"Okay, Scott," he said, walking past him to the target stake. His shoulder itched where he could tell Scott was staring at him. "Game's over. This is for your own good, so don't blast me, got it?" Bobby tried to sound authoritative, and then realized he was doing an impression of Scott, and quickly changed tack. "Jean says you can't play anymore, and you should probably, like, sleep, dude," he said.

"Hey, what're–" Scott started to say as Bobby grabbed the stake. He made a strangled noise as Bobby ignored him and yanked it out of the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Scott, you've been playing for twenty seven hours, dude," Bobby said, pointing the stake at him. "Pack it in."

Scott stopped short, cocking his head. Does not compute. Recalculating, Bobby thought hysterically, resisting the urge to laugh at him.

"Has it really been that long?" Scott finally asked, a little sheepishly.

"Yeah, Scotty," Bobby said. "And if the professor finds out we let you do that he's gonna be pissed at us, so go sleep it off before the rest of us get in trouble."

Scott huffed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose right below his glasses. "Sure. Yeah, Bobby, okay, let's go inside."

Bobby's shoulders slumped in relief. "Great. C'mon." He slung an arm around Scott's shoulders and steered him towards the door where the rest of the team waited.

–

It was like Bobby had broken a spell, and all at once Scott found himself exhausted, sore, starving, thirsty, and in desperate need of the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later found him perched on a stool at the counter, trying to eat a cold slice of pizza like a human being and not a rabid monster. He raised it slowly with his right arm and winced as the sore muscles screamed at him. He shifted uncomfortably and swapped it to the other hand.

A second later, a blessed cold landed on his upper arm, and Scott glanced sideways to see Bobby pressing an icy hand to his bicep. The corner of his lips twitched upwards into a grateful smile and Bobby smiled sheepishly back.

"So," Warren said, breaking the awkward silence and forcing Scott to acknowledge the rest of his teammates standing around and staring at him. His shoulders hunched self-consciously. "I think I speak for all of us when I say: what the hell, Scott?"

Scott cleared his throat. "I, uh. I guess I just didn't notice how long I'd been out there." It sounded lame, even though it was true. He'd known, abstractly, that he'd been at it for a while. It just hadn't registered as worthy of his attention when he had horseshoes to throw.

"Right. Well," Jean said. "The professor doesn't get back till tomorrow morning, so you can get plenty of sleep tonight and it'll be like nothing happened."

"Okay," Scott said. He didn't know what else to say. He kind of wanted to curl up into a ball until he was so small his friends couldn't see him so they'd stop looking at him.

Jean, bless her, flapped her hands at Warren and Hank, both on the same side of the counter as her, ushering them away. "Okay, okay, let him eat," she said. "Go turn the TV on. We have one more night of doing nothing left. See you tomorrow, Scott."

Hank and Warren let themselves be herded, calling their own goodnights back to Scott as they left the kitchen. Scott waved as they left, then glanced back at Bobby and took another bite of pizza.

"So, uh," Bobby said. "I guess we can say you probably win the next match. You definitely have more practice than me now."

Scott huffed again. "I think I should probably stay away from horseshoes from now on," he said ruefully. "We can chalk this up as a learning experience and move on."

"That's fair," Bobby said. "Eternal draw, then?"

A smile crept over Scott's face and he ducked his head. "Sure. Eternal draw." A huge yawn split his face and he shook his head. "Okay, okay, I should go to bed. See you tomorrow, Bobby."

"G'night, Scotty," Bobby chirped, taking his hand back and heading off after the other three.

Scott shoved the last of the pizza in his mouth and dug his fingers into his sore muscles, filling up a glass of water to take with him upstairs. He wondered what he would say if the professor asked him what he did with his weekend. Training, sir, he imagined himself saying. He had, after all, proved the point he'd set out to prove: repetition and practice were enough to master any skill. Even if he wouldn't be repeating this particular experiment any time soon. Or probably ever.

Professor Xavier probably wouldn't even question him. He didn't need to know the exact form the training took. It would be their little secret, the five of them. Scott muffled his private smile in his shirt and trudged up the stairs to bed, the sounds of his teammates bickering and shushing each other floating up after him.

#scott summers #x men #xmen #bobby drake #jean grey #warren worthington iii #hank mccoy #my fic #im FREE im free of the curse of the 27 hours of horseshoes ive excised the brainworms and put them in this fic

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