FIC: Paideia

Title: Paideia
Author: musamea
Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel and affiliates. The Odyssey belongs to Homer (sort of).
Warnings/Rating: PG-13, since John has a potty mouth.
Summary: Kalos k'agathos. Scott teaching in the classroom, and out of it. Pinch-hit for renata_kedavra, who requested Scott with students (friendship, teaching, paternalistic moment, whatever), Scott being a geek, Scott being cool. (Bonus points if you can do both geek and cool, but either/or works too!) I hope this suits!

"Paideia: the process of educating man into his true form, the real and genuine human nature" -- Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture, Werner Jaeger

I. Philosophía: Love of Knowledge

"This is stupid," John declared, for the third time in as many minutes.

Scott sighed. His gradebook and a stack of Calculus exams were laid out on the desk before him. An hour and a half and he'd gotten through less than a third of the tests that he'd planned to finish while John served his detention. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

He looked up from the neat columns of numbers and symbols on Piotr's exam and focused on his newest student. John had been at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters for exactly four weeks, and Scott was beginning to think that John's only gift was an infallible radar for trouble and a vocabulary colorful enough to make any sailor blush. Right now, John was tapping his pencil on the edge of his desk, in time to a song that only he could hear. He was slumped in his chair in the insouciantly bored posture only attainable by a certain class of teenaged troublemakers. The sheet of trig problems in front of him looked untouched.

"What's stupid is drawing pornographic pictures in the margins of your test instead of actually completing the test," Scott pointed out. "Labeling the subjects of said pictures with the names of your fellow students is stupider. Turning the test with said pictures in to your math teacher… do you want to take a stab at where that falls along the scale of stupid things you shouldn't do?"

John smirked. "Like you didn't get off on it."

Scott resisted the urge to throw his Calculus textbook at John's head. "You're lucky I didn't put you on stable duty for a month."

"For a couple of drawings? Man, you guys are a bunch of tightasses at this school."

"You're not here just for that, John, and you know it. Though I hardly take 'a couple of drawings' that turned the girls in your class into sex objects lightly."

"The hell do you care?" John muttered. His voice was pitched just loud enough for the words to carry across the space between his desk and Scott's.

Scott dropped his red pen onto the desk and let it roll away from him. "You know why I care? One of these days, if you become an X-Man, Kitty and Jubilee will be watching your back on a mission. Do you really want to alienate two teammates who'll be responsible for getting you home in one piece?"

"Hey," John held up both hands, "I plan on getting along with both of them, if you know what I mean. Now Kitty, she's kinda scrawny. But she's got a nice mouth. And Jubes. Whooee. Her ass--"

"Stable duty, John. I mean it."

"Okay, okay. Christ." He lapsed into silence for maybe thirty seconds before bursting out with, "When am I ever gonna use this shit anyway?"

Scott considered reeling off his usual list of professions requiring advanced math knowledge, but decided against it. John wasn't dumb, but Scott would be shocked if the kid took the road more traveled. No, what he needed was to be convinced that solving these problems could have a direct and immediate benefit to him. Beyond getting out of detention with Tightass Summers, of course.

"Come with me," Scott said, shoving his chair backward and heading toward the door.

John followed, but warily, as if he wasn't quite sure if his teacher wouldn't take him straight to the stables as he'd threatened. But, instead, Scott led him down the hallway to the mansion's rec room. He took a couple of pool cues off their stand and handed John the ball rack.

"Um?" John said.

Scott made his way around the table, retrieving balls from each pocket and sliding them toward John. "Rack them."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to show you one of the uses for the geometry that you find so 'stupid.'"

Scott let John break. He managed to sink the striped ten before scratching on his next shot.

Scott took his place at the table's edge and lined up his first shot. He sent his six-ball spinning toward the four, and sank both in opposite pockets. Another shot and a third ball went straight into the far corner pocket. He banked his next shot to ricochet his two-ball into the pocket closest to him. He put a little topspin on the cue ball on his next shot, just for variety.

When Scott finally missed a shot, he only had his five-ball and the eight-ball left. He looked up at John, who for the first time since his arrival at the school wasn't wearing his trademark smirk.

"You're a fucking hustler," the boy breathed.

Scott stiffened, a little. "Language, John. And no, I'm just good at math. What I just did was all about angles and degrees. Anyone who knows geometry can play like that."

It wasn't strictly true. John hadn't been around long enough to learn that one side effect of Cyclops's mutation was an uncanny ability to track motion and calculate probable trajectories. But what John didn't know couldn't hurt him, and the way he was looking at Scott now, with a gleam of real awe and interest in his eyes… well, even if that interest lay more in learning how to stiff drunken players out of their money, Scott could use it to get him to pay attention in the classroom.

"Could you…" John hesitated. He clearly wasn't used to asking for help and probably resented being put in that position.

"Could I teach you to play like this?" Scott finished for him. "No. That would be dishonest. But I can teach you geometry. What you choose to do with that knowledge… well, I'd like to think you'll use it to benefit others. With knowledge comes responsibility. But I certainly can't stop you from using it for something else. Once you know something, John, it's yours." He leveled his gaze at his student's, so that John would know Scott was looking him in the eye, even with the visor in the way. "No one can take what you know from you. No one."

John considered this for a moment, ducking his head. When he looked up, the blandness was back in his face, but Scott thought that maybe there was just a glint of hope in his eyes. "Another game?" John asked, racking up the balls. "This doesn't make us friends, you know," he hastened to add.

Scott smiled. "I know," he said, and bent to break the huddle of balls centered on the table.


II. Timē: Honor

He found Kitty sniffling alone in the conservatory when he went to find Ororo to go over the monthly chores rotation.

"Hey, 'Ro, who do you think-- oh. Kitty?"

She whipped around, startled, and for a moment Scott thought she'd just drop right through the floor and run away from him. "Mr. Summers! Um. I was just… uh." She dashed a hand angrily at the moisture on her cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay," Scott said. He spread his hands out in front of him, palms facing her, and nodded at the space next to her on the bench. "Would you mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead," she said, looking away from him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Scott ran through all possible scenarios in his head. She'd failed an exam. No, this was Kitty. Okay, she'd gotten a B on an exam. Or she'd gotten bad news from home… no, he would've heard from the Professor already, if that had been the case. Which left… girl things.

Where was Jean when he needed her?

"Um, do you want to talk about it?" he ventured, after another minute or so had passed.

"No," she reflexively blurted out. Then, very low, after more silence, "Yes."

Scott just waited. In these situations, he'd found that it was generally best just to let his students talk themselves through whatever they were thinking about.

"It's... I'm just... gah!" Kitty rolled her eyes. "You're going to think this is stupid."

"Try me."

"We were playing Truth or Dare, and... nngh, this sounds so dumb." She stopped, looked down at her hands, which were shimmering a little. Then the words came tumbling out in a rush. "John dared Piotr to kiss me. Really kiss me, not something he could get out of, like kissing me on the hand because it wasn't specific, but on the mouth, with tongue, and man, I know I shouldn't say this, Mr. Summers, but sometimes I really, really hate John."

Scott thought it was a good thing that Kitty wasn't looking at his face at this moment. He had a feeling that his expression was probably one of rather unprofessional agreement.

"What happened then?" he prompted, when she showed no signs of speaking.

"He..." Kitty bit her lip. "He wouldn't do it. Piotr, I mean. He didn't. Wouldn't."

Scott felt a surge of pride for Piotr, which was, of course, not exactly something he could share with Kitty. He leaned back on the bench and surveyed Ororo's orchids as he searched for an answer. "Kitty... do you think, maybe it's not a bad thing that he refused? Maybe it was the polite thing to do?"

She snorted. "Right. 'Oh, pardon me, Katya, but you are so hideous that no man in his right mind would ever want to kiss you.'"

"He said that?"

"No... but, I mean, what's a girl to think?"

"That he was being nice?" Scott bit back an obviously. He could still remember his teenage years, when he and Jean had awkwardly danced around the issue for months. Moments like this one made those moments of heart-pounding uncertainty seem so long ago. They had been so young, with no idea of what faced them, of how years of waking up to each other's morning breath and taking care of practical things like paying the bills could change and deepen a relationship.

"Nice." Kitty snorted again. Scott wondered who she'd picked it up from. "That's exactly what a girl wants. A guy who's 'nice' to her."

Scott was about to point out that 'nice' was exactly what most women wanted, when she said, under her breath, "I bet he would've kissed Jubilee."

Ah. "You think so?"

He really didn't like it when his students rolled their eyes at him like that. "Duh. Just look at her. She's pretty, she's confident, she gets along with guys really easily. And what else? Oh, she's pretty."

Scott pondered using 'Ro's flowers as an illustration for... for something. Something about how the showy orchids drew the eye, but in the end it was the quieter, more delicate honeysuckles that he favored. Then he decided that would be a really dumb thing to say. "Look, Kitty, you may not believe what I'm going to tell you, and that's okay. But hear me out, all right?" He waited until he had her attention. "Some guys... they're not going to be really bold. For any number of reasons. And usually it's because they think you're attractive."

"But I'm not the pretty one," she interrupted. "I'm always the 'smart one.' 'Oh, go ask Kitty to help you with math.' 'We're playing Trivial Pursuit? I call Kitty for my team.'"

"What's wrong with being smart?" Scott asked. He was starting to feel a little lost as to where this conversation was going.

"The smart girl's always the one with 'the personality,' Mr. Summers."

"Hey, I don't know about those stupid teenage boys, but smart is hot."

"Oh, please."

"I'm serious!"

"That's easy for you to say!" Kitty shot back. "You have Dr. Grey!"

Scott threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, Kitty. Get Jean to show you some of our high school pictures sometime, okay? None of us looked really good back then. Jean had limp hair and she hadn't grown into her nose yet. I had pimples. Even Warren had bad hair days.

"Look," he said, growing serious. "I'm not saying men aren't shallow. We are. But any guy worth having really quickly realizes that he has to be attracted to something more than just looks. And you're not exactly lacking in that department, so I don't want to hear you getting down on yourself, okay?"

She gave him a half-hearted shrug.

"Hey, listen to me. I know Piotr. You know him. He's respectful. That's part of why you like him so much, right? Because he's such a gentleman?"

A small smile touched her lips. "Bobby never used to open doors for girls before Pete came here."

"Exactly. And one thing about gentlemen, Kitty, they'll never make a game out of kissing a girl they like. Piotr's not going to kiss you just because John's egging him on. Maybe especiallynot because John's egging him on."
"But--"

"Besides, do you really want him to kiss you because of some game that you yourself think is stupid? Or do you want him to kiss you when he's ready to tell you how he feels?"

Kitty's smile grew wider. "Well, I guess it would kind of suck to be kissed in front of John."

Scott laughed again. "Smart girl."


III. Xenía: Guest-right

It was three in the morning when Jean rolled over and mumbled into his shoulder, "Bobby's heading down to the infirmary."

"He's what?"

"Infirmary. Bobby. Going." After they'd gotten back from Liberty Island, Jean had stayed up for nearly another twenty-four hours with her patients -- now three -- before Scott had gotten Hank on the phone and made him assure her that Rogue, Logan, and the Professor sounded like they were in stable condition, and it'd be safe for her to go to bed. If she wasn't exactly coherent right now, Scott could hardly fault her. "I should... urgh."

"You stay here," he said, sliding out from beneath their blankets and wondering how her telepathy could've possibly reached the sub-basement from their room on the third floor. "I'll get this one."

He slipped on a shirt and his glasses before making his way down to the infirmary.
Bobby was sitting next to Rogue's bed, looking as if he wasn't quite sure if he ought to take her hand or not. Scott cleared his throat softly and watched his student nearly jump out of his seat.

"I think your crush may have just passed into 'mildly creepy' territory, Bobby," he observed, crossing the room to snag one of Jean's stools. He rolled it over to Rogue's bed and sat.

"Uh. I... I couldn't sleep. And I just thought... well. I thought I could come in and check on her." Bobby's ears were turning bright red. It was almost cute.

"Well, I'm sure you were worried about the Professor, too." Scott's voice was wry and held the faintest reprimand.

"Right! Um, and Mr. Logan, of course."

He had to smile at that. If anyone had more cause than himself to resent Logan's presence at the school, it had to be Bobby. Bobby who had fallen hard for Rogue, who had to watch her face light up every time the older man walked into the room. Scott could almost excuse him for sneaking around the mansion at three o'clock in the goddamn morning.

Scott glanced over at the exam table, where Logan was -- presumably -- sleeping. Bobby's gaze followed his.

"Don't you…" he stopped, clearly unsure of just what kind of protocol was required in talking to one's sleepy, boxer-clad Calculus teacher about matters of the heart in the middle of the night. Bobby changed tacks, with slightly more diplomacy than grace. "Do you ever wish you hadn't gone on that mission? To Canada, I mean. With Storm." To rescue them, him was left unsaid.

Hank had made a joke of it on the phone, earlier. Apparently Jean had told him something of what had been going on at the school since Logan and Rogue's arrival. The idea that Jean found the flirtation important enough to talk to Hank about it… well, Scott wasn't sure what he thought about that.

"I hear there's a suitor in Ithaca these days," Hank had said, laughing.

"Right, I may just have to kill him when I get home."

"Just don't go on a spree and hang the maids, too." Hank's voice held just the slightest edge of warning, beneath the mirth.

"Heh, I think you might have the wrong section in Homer, Hank. Maybe I should be more worried about him blinding me," Scott had said, wondering if he was still joking.

"Well, if that happens, at least you know his name." And that hadn't been funny, not really.

Bobby's voice brought him back to the present. "--I mean, sorry, Mr. Summers, but the whole school's been talking."

Scott sighed. "Bobby, why did the Professor open this school?"

Bobby blinked. "Um. Well, he wanted it to be a haven for mutants… a place where we can learn to use our gifts to benefit society…"

"Right. And where would my abandoning two fellow mutants who were being attacked by the Brotherhood fit into that vision?"

"Mr. Summers, I didn't mean--"

"I know." Scott smiled, trying to show that he wasn't angry. "Look… it's no secret that we're training you up to be a leader among the X-Men, someday." He held up a hand when Bobby began to protest. "I thought we were talking about things that the whole school knows? Well, everyone knows this, and you're going to have to deal with that."

He watched as Bobby processed his statement. When his student nodded, he continued, "I've watched dozens of mutants pass through this school since it first opened, and you know as well as I do that not all our graduates go on to lead lives… according to a perfect moral compass." When did I start to sound like the Professor? "But that doesn't give us the right to turn them away. We give them shelter, food, an education. It's their choice of how they use any of those things."

"But we have rules while they're here," Bobby pointed out.

"True. Though the Professor left 'Don't try to steal the fiancées of faculty members' off the list. Can't imagine why."

Bobby chuckled. "So you don't… you don't mind?"

Scott scoffed. "Of course I mind. But to turn away another mutant simply because he rubs me the wrong way? I couldn't do that and give the graduation speech about this school and the Professor's vision for it."

"Oh."

Scott reached out an put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "It's like when John first came to the school, you know? I know you hated having him for a roommate at times, but you never came to me or the Professor and asked to have it changed."

"Yeah, well…" Bobby shrugged his other shoulder. "It was the right thing to do. And he wasn't that bad."

"Right. Now," Scott stood and stretched, "if I recall correctly, I'm giving your class a quiz later today. I suggest you go upstairs and get some sleep."

Bobby grinned. "Any chance for a hint? You know, since I was being all conscientious about the welfare of my fellows."

Scott stared. "Oh God, you've been hanging out with Hank too much. Upstairs, now."

When Bobby's laughter and footsteps had faded, Scott looked at Jean's three patients. He tucked Rogue's blanket more securely around her, held the Professor's hand for several moments, and then stopped at Logan.

I hear there's a suitor in Ithaca these days.

"Yeah, well," Scott said aloud, to no one in particular, "It's the right thing to do."


IV. Sophrosynē: Moderation

"Read these." Scott unceremoniously dropped two three-ring binders stuffed with papers in front of Rogue. They landed with a thump on the coffee table as she looked up at him from her seat on the den floor.

"For your flying lessons."

"I have to read for that?"

"They're manuals for the Blackbird," Scott explained. "I want you to go through these cover to cover before we even go near the jet."

He saw half a dozen questions chase their way across her face, but the one she settled on was, "I thought the Blackbird didn't have manuals? Not accessible ones at any rate. Didn't they break the molds?"

"Yeah. I wrote those," Scott said, gesturing at the folders.

"And he is much too pleased about this fact," Ororo said from behind him. He turned to find her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression amused.

He grinned at her. "Damn straight I am."

She came into the room and made her way over to sit by Rogue. "Let's see," she said, picking up one of the binders and leafing through it. "Scott, have you added to these since you last showed them to me?"

"Yeah, well, I found a better way to deal with the runoff from the engine fluid and--"

"You know, I think there is some American saying about reinventing the wheel," Ororo said, winking at Rogue.

"Or fixing what ain't broke," Rogue offered in return.

"Exactly. So why, Mr. Summers, are you amending your already excellent manual?"

"Hey, why do something the hard way if there's a better, or more efficient, or more intuitive method?"

"What he means is, 'I need every excuse I can get to fiddle with that jet. Because it's fun,'" Ororo translated.

"Huh. Like I've never caught you executing some crazy flying maneuvers just for the hell of it."

One delicate eyebrow arched upward. "Scott Summers, I do not do many things 'just for the hell of it.' The Blackbird is an extremely sensitive jet that serves a very specific purpose in this school, and treating it lightly--"

"Her."

"Excuse me?"

"The Blackbird. She's a her. I mean, she's a she. You know what I mean!"

Rogue was laughing aloud now, and Ororo's eyes held a gleam of devilment.

"Scott, a little balance is required, don't you think? What would Jean think if she heard you talking like this?"

"Jean already calls her my 'other woman,' but that's not the point. Flying is all about balance."

"Not the way he does it," Ororo muttered to Rogue.

"No, really." Scott was vaguely aware that he was slipping into his teaching stance -- legs slightly spread, one hand nudging his glasses into place. "Rogue, when you fly the Blackbird, you're not just flying her. You're dancing with her. You're taking everything you know in here--" he tapped his forehead "--and combining it with everything you feel in here--" He placed a palm on his heart. "It's the mix of intuition and information that makes a good pilot… sure, you know what your readings are telling you, but at some point, you'll have to make a decision based on what feels right.

"That's why I'm having you start on the manuals. Because once you know the rules, you can help me do the jet's upkeep and I'll take you up as my co-pilot sometimes. And once you've been working with her for a while, you'll learn to listen to her. You'll know when to throw the rulebook out the window. And that's the most important thing."

"Breaking rules?"

"Trusting yourself."

There were other things he wanted to tell her, things he wasn't sure if she was ready to hear. At least not from him, not with Ororo sitting right next to her.

He wanted to tell her that flying was good for people like them, mutants who had no conscious control over their mutations. Flying could be the unnatural made natural, and as such, it was a good reminder that such a phenomenon could occur. Could occur to them, to her.

He wanted to tell her that flying felt right, because she could lose herself in it, in the way she would never allow herself to lose herself in her mutation. He wanted to tell her that few things in her life would ever give her such a thrill as her first solo flight -- finding her calling, maybe, reconciling with her parents. Sex.

Well, no, he didn't actually want to tell her that last thing. One day, some guy who was both clever and good (he'd make sure of it) would show her that her skin didn't have to mark the end of all intimacy. Until then… Scott knew better than to think it was his place to convince her otherwise. That wasn't something he could give her.

But he could give her this. So he said, "I want you to read the first five chapters by Saturday. I'm going to quiz you on the diagram of the console then, all right?"

Rogue was still holding one of the folders like it might explode at any moment, but the expression in her eyes was undeniably one of excitement. "Okay."

"Okay, then. We are going to have so much fun." He walked out of the den with a grin on his face and a bounce in his step, chased by the women's mingled laughter. Let them think he was plane-mad, utterly unbalanced by his obsession with electrical systems and jet engines. He knew better.

He knew exactly what he was doing.


V. Arête: Excellence

They gather one by one as the moon reaches its highest point in the sky. The night is a little hazy with warmth, and the black asphalt of the basketball court still holds some of the day's heat.

They come dressed in black leather. Uniforms that are beginning to shape themselves to their wearer's bodies, a suppleness born out of countless hours of sweat and strain, as specific to each new team member as the color of the X embroidered on his or her collar.

They come bearing booze, since this is a wake, after all, even if Storm would throw a fit if she heard of it. They're not stupid. They're doing this on a school night, because it means the students, both old and new, will be soundly asleep in their beds by now.

They come and greet each other quietly with codenames that they may have finally earned, a month ago at Alcatraz. Shadowcat. Colossus. Iceman. And Rogue, still one of them, even if her only gift now is Cyclops's uncanny way with planes.

They sit, quietly at first, and drink together. Comrades in training and in battle, now bound by their shared goal of continuing the vision of three dead mentors.

They are here tonight to honor one of them.

They tell stories, because that is how heroes are celebrated. Stories of their own early days at the mansion, how they came to be there, why they stayed. Stories of the first days of training as X-Men, how they weren't sure they'd make it, how they all felt like imposters. Their stories all revolve around one man with red shades and a grin that could have the devil himself agreeing to take a bad bargain.

They laugh, because Cyclops was always laughing. They cry, because they miss him. They each make a silent pact that they will be to future students what he had been to them.

And in the end, it is Piotr who raises his bottle of beer high, holding it up to glow of the court's amber lights until the glass shines like a golden talisman against the night.

"To Cyclops," he says. He uses the codename, the hero's name, because tonight their fallen teacher is more than a man, though less than a god. They are making a myth out of him, a new one that casts him as both a wounded soul and a wandering king.

"To Cyclops," the others echo.

They tilt their glasses back and drink.

And remember.