Logs:SITREP: No Place Like Home

SITREP: No Place Like Home
Dramatis Personae Kitty, Scott	2023-10-26 Is this actually a social call?
Location <???> between New York and Illinois
Is Kitty busy? Scott is calling without so much as a warning text first, ring-ring-ring. Who knows how his number shows up on her phone -- on his, she is saved as "PRYDE, KITTY (Cellular)". There is not much background noise wherever Scott is calling from, just a slight hesitation before he says, "Hello? Kitty? You're not busy, are you?" Somewhere else, Kitty's phone is totally on Do Not Disturb mode, Scott should feel honored and/or respected that his number is among the handful on her exception list. Scott 🕶️ is all that shows up on her screen when her phone starts buzzing — whether that's her settings or Literally All She Saved, a question for another time. Ring ring ring. On the fourth buzz someone picks up — voice familiar, but not Kitty's. "Who is this?" asks Terri Pryde, sharp and distinctive, milder than the last time Scott heard it. "Kitty's busy, I can take a message —" Somewhere, distant and tinny through the phone speakers, "-- ohmygod Mom, what am I, twelve, give me —" A brief scuffle, a solid omph of sound of the phone probably falling flat onto its microphone on some surface. Then, finally, the voice of actual Pryde Comma Kitty, anxious and flustered. "Hi, sorry, I left my phone — it doesn't matter, sorry. What's up?" There's a shift on the last sentence, in her voice, away from her own anxieties and back towards a familiar focused concern. "Has there been — is everything okay?" "Oh, hello, Mrs. Pryde, can I speak to --" Scott is starting to say, though he cuts himself off abruptly when he hears actual Pryde Comma Kitty in the background; when Kitty finally seizes control of the phone, he politely pretends she just picked up, speaking in a casual telemarketer's cadence. "Hi, Kitty -- hope I'm not interrupting anything. There's nothing wrong. I just wanted to call and see how you're doing." "--Oh." It sounds like Kitty is letting out a held breath, some relief bleeding through the line just on that one syllable. "Sorry, I thought — after Freaktown, with everything, I —" She cuts herself off. Starts again, slower, lighter. "I mean, I'm writing my dissertation? I'm always writing, though, that's not much to interrupt and I'm at a good stopping point, anyway. I'm stressed, but. I'm okay. It's been nice to be —" only the briefest hesitation, here, "-- home, for a while." In the background, the faint noise of Terri and some lower voice are fading out. "PT's going well, too." Kitty is quiet for a moment. "How are you? How's everything at the school?" "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you." This doesn't sound all that apologetic, but after a moment Scott, too, lets out a short breath, and there is a slight, muffled sound on the other end, like he's moving the phone to his other ear. "That's good to hear," he says finally. "Things are -- quiet enough. School's under control. The team is -- well, it's been..." this trickles into an awkward little cough. "So. How's your degree going? Are you close to done?" The static of the line fuzzes out the edges of Kitty's puff of laughter, leaving it unclear if the edge in its warmth is a trick of the connection. "Typing isn't my physical therapist's favorite thing, but it's getting there. I should be done with this part by —" a faint click-clack of slow, one-handed typing, then, "-- well, I should be defending by December, if nothing else happens. I'll be back before then." Kitty's awkward pause doesn't come with a cough, just silence until — "What's wrong with the team." Not quite a question, but the worry is clear, even when she backtracks to, "please don't tell me Jean is taking leave, too, I can — I can put school off a little longer if…" She doesn't say if there aren't enough of us. Probably she does not have to. "That's good to hear," comes again, half-automatically; maybe Kitty can infer Scott's approving nod. There's another faint rustle before his voice comes back. "No, nothing is wrong. With the team. I meant -- well, it's been a while since we were all together. I didn't mean..." More rustling, then a quiet thunk and a shift in the ambient white noise of Scott's background noise. Kitty is on speakerphone, now. "You don't have to take any more time off school, Kitty, that's not what I want. You've been working for this for a long time, you -- have your own life, too." Scott is not on speakerphone, but there is a sudden shift in sound quality for him, too, when Kitty plugs in her earbuds. "That's – that's good, I don't know who else is still on leave but, if nothing is wrong, if you're not asking me to come back early, then why are you…" She trails off, before a sudden sharp intake of breath. "Scott Summers." Kitty's voice has gone deathly serious. "Is this actually a social call?" She can only maintain the faux-scandalized voice so long, and by the end of the sentence she sounds warmly amused. "Aw, Scott. You miss me." Kitty's gasp is followed by a slight scrabble of Scott picking up his phone again, but he doesn't actually interject anything before Kitty's said her piece. There is a pause just long enough for a few startled blinks before Scott says, only slightly disgruntled, "Well, come on, Kitty, 'course I do. Doesn't take a detective to -- you're on my team, I care about you." "Aw," Kitty says again, clearly cheered by this news. "I didn't take you for a 'call-just-to-say-hi' kinda guy. It's sweet." There's a soft thwump from Kitty's end. When she speaks again, she sounds – just as loud, actually, even though the quality of her voice is softer. "It's not like I don't know you care, it's just like, there is always something going on, you know? Missions or community emergencies or people going missing or dying. There's always something." Melancholy is creeping slowly, but not subtly, into her voice. "And it's all important but — I have goals beyond the team, you know? Of course you know," she's correcting quickly, "you just said. But like, it seems easier for you, sometimes, the team is like, part of your actual job. It's not stacked on top of your life, y'know?" There's a brief pause as Kitty seems to realize the Implications. "-- Not that you don't have a life, that's not what I mean, just that you've worked at the school forever — oh no that sounds worse —" Scott lets out a short, huffy chuckle. "Yeah," is a little bit lower, gruffer than his usual register. "There's always something." He lets that sit for a while, though maybe Kitty can hear the faint noise of movement through the phone as she's speaking -- his chair legs scraping on hardwood, window blinds clicking, footsteps, finally a genuine moment of absolute silence. He's a little bit further from his phone now, maybe; his laughter, more genuine than before, is nevertheless a little more faint. "Yeah, I know," he says, before Kitty can dig herself any deeper. "It seems that way sometimes, doesn't it? But I -- like my life this way. I mean --" this is a little hasty -- "obviously, it's not for everyone, but -- it suits me just fine." On the other end, there is just attentive quiet, the faint sounds of Kitty breathing. "Seems nice, sometimes. Having everything sort of, neatly boxed up together like that. Less constant running back and forth from Manhattan, at least, that's nice." Scott knows her well enough to know there's more she's not saying, a but lingering unspoken in the air that she's not saying even when she continues. "I don't think L- my- I wouldn't love to live on campus forever, but it's nice that it works for you and Jean." "I guess." Is this all Scott has to say about it? Either he's thinking or he's bluescreening -- there's nothing at all through the speakers, not even the distant rustle of motion, until, with a vague sense of finality, of settling the matter, "It is nice." "Hmm." Somewhere in the Chicago suburbs, Kitty isn't saying anything either, but her microphone is still close enough to pick up her steady breathing. "...I didn't think being back in Illinois this long would be nice, but it is. Maybe if I worked at the school, I'd change my mind, too." There is something careful and considering to this hypothetical. Brighter — "Do you want anything from here? Popcorn? Magnets?" A little more teasing — "A Bears' jersey?" "Mm, yeah, easier than you think," Scott says, some amusement filtering into his low voice; after a moment he adds, "Sometimes." He's not breaking the silence, but there's a slight intake of breath like he was about to just before Kitty changes the subject. When he lets it out, it resolves into a chuckle -- "No, thanks, I go for the Chiefs." There's a little more lightness in his tone too, now; he breathes out another almost-tremory chuckle. "You want me to let you go again? Hopefully I gave you a long enough break to satisfy your physical therapist." "Ugh, I know," comes with another static-crackle of gentle laughter, and a deeply unserious – "Maybe I'll get a cap for Jean." There's the shuffle-clatter of Kitty rearranging herself and her phone. "Ugh," again, more resigned this time. "I should get back to it soon, yeah." All in a rush, she adds: "But before I do—" Kitty seems to slam up into a conversational wall, here. There's something across the line that could be the beginnings of a ch- or j- sound, another pause, then a barely voiced "is m—" that doesn't make it into a full phrase either. "--just tell everyone I said hi? And, thanks. For calling." "Mmhm?" This isn't much more articulate than any of what Kitty is not saying; it sounds like Scott is saying it through a yawn. "I -- yeah, I will. See you -- soon, I hope." Then there is a pause, like he's unsure this was a normal way to end a phone call, and then a click once he's made up his mind.