Fruitloops, Nutcases And Prophets: Part Five

by Diamonde

"Good morning Mr Summers, I'm Dr Edith Quinn."

Scott looked at the fifty-something psychiatrist and stood carefully on his own foot. He should have known that watching daytime TV with Rogue would be a mistake, although it had been fun at the time. "Nice to meet you." He shook hands nicely, trying to be polite even though he didn't feel like talking with anyone.

She gave him a shrewd look over the top of her delicate spectacles. "No, I don't think you are. You don't really want to talk to me, but I understand that. Don't worry, I'm not here to condemn you, I'm just trying to help. This is all unofficial, so let's just talk, hmm?"

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "Okay. Bring on the inkblots." Scott sat down in an armchair and swung his legs over the arm. When you were tall with long legs you didn't tend to sit in conventional positions very often.

Edith Quinn sighed. "I didn't bring any inkblots with me, Mr Summers, I do not consider them a good test since most intelligent people will simply tell you what you want to hear. I repeat, this is unofficial."

"I was _joking_. Sheesh. And since we're being all friendly-unofficial, call me Scott."

"I prefer a little formality. Call me old fashioned, but I feel it maintains a professional distance." She smiled. Scott wasn't impressed.

"If you aren't here in a professional capacity, then why do you need professional distance?"

"Mr Summers, do you want to talk about your visions or not?"

"Not works for me." He went to get up, met her glare, and sat down again with a sigh. "Okay, go ahead." She pulled out a notebook. He winced.

"How long have you been seeing these apparitions?"

"The shortest was about fifteen seconds, the longest about an hour. That was the nutty guy who thinks it's 1912, Jacob." He watched her frown with complete innocence.

"I meant, how long ago did you start seeing them?"

"Thursday morning. That was Jacob too. He's the most common one, and he talks back."

"You talk to this man?"

"Oh yes. He doesn't tell me I'm insane, you see. It's quite refreshing."

"I'm sure nobody thinks you're insane."

"They do, they've told me. My wife said that I was as nutty as a fruitcake. They talk over my head and won't let me near anything sharp in case I hurt myself. As soon as you commit me then Logan's going to run off with Jean, and the Professor will probably give my job to Sam."

"Mr Summers, Charles is not planning to give Sam your job and I'm sure your wife-."

Scott sat up and looked horrified. "Well I certainly wouldn't trust any of the others with my job! Can you imagine if Warren or Bobby... oh no, it's just to terrible." He flopped gracefully, looking appalled and secretly wondering why nobody had ever told him paranoia could be this fun.

She was starting to look a little strained, but recovered magnificently. She checked her notes and looked up with a bright new smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss Jacob with you a little more."

"Sure."

"Good. Now, Charles tells me that you were orphaned at quite a young age and were never adopted. I-"

She may have been planning to ask a perfectly innocuous question, but nobody will ever know.

"He is not some imaginary father figure! He's a nutty old guy who has no idea what year it is and I'm only FAIRLY sure I'm not making up! He tends to be pompous and snobby, but goddamnit I like him anyway! We play checkers! It passes the time! I don't care what Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman says about him, HE IS NO DIFFERENT FROM ANY OTHER STUPID HALLUCINATION EXCEPT THAT HE TALKS BACK!"

"Please, calm yourself. We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to." She was writing more things down. He didn't trust that.

"You see that, Grunfle?" Scott whispered to the ground next to him. "The medicine woman's writing things down again."

She ignored the slur on her name again. "Are you seeing a vision now, Mr Summers? Could you describe it to me?"

Scott looked at her suspiciously. "Grunfle is the little purple man who tells me what to do. Why do you want to know about him? You're on their side, aren't you?"

"There aren't any sides here, Mr Su-"

"You're right, Grunfle, she is." Scott was enjoying himself. He leaned forwards and tried to look as insane as possible. "She's writing things down so that they can use them to say we're dangerous. But we're not dangerous, are we Grunfle? Not if they're on OUR side."

She managed a weak smile. "Of course I'm on your side, Mr Summers. That's why I'm here."

"What's the secret password then?"

"Excuse me?"

He gasped with enjoyable melodrama. "She doesn't know the secret password, Grunfle! She's a spy! Quick, How do I make her on OUR side?"

Dr Quinn was beginning to look alarmed. "Calm down for a moment-"

"Grunfle, I'm married! I'm not allowed to do things like that with strange women anymore." Scott looked seriously at the empty air he had named Grunfle. "No, I don't think Jean would understand. Maybe little purple women are different, but big redheads are notorious for not understanding. I mean, Madelyne went nuts and tried to sacrifice our son to demons so she could create a hell on earth." He paused again as he thought of what to say next. He was fairly sure he'd terrified Dr Quinn, just a little more would do it. "Okay Grunfle, that we can do. Remy's not married, he can handle the rest of the initiation ritual." He turned to a frightened psychiatrist and gave her a completely benign smile. "We've talked it over. Just take off all your clothes so we can give you the tattoo..." The door slammed and Scott sighed with relief. Pretending to be crazy was fun, but he was starting to run out of inspiration.

Charles heard the door close and wheeled himself out into the hall. Edith was grabbing for her coat. He winced. "So how did it go?" he asked in a last flash of optimism.

She turned and glared at him, lips pressed firmly together. "That man is one of the MOST unstable people I have ever met! I firmly recommend that you have him confined until you can get a more qualified psychiatrist to see him. Perhaps someone specializing in psychopaths."

Charles sighed. "I take it that his condition is easily treatable with medication of some kind."

"On the contrary, a large measure of cyanide would solve it quite satisfactorily."

"Now dat's not very nice." Remy stepped out of another doorway. Edith gave him a startled look and left in a hurry.

"Scott, what did you say to Edith?"

"Hardly anything."

Gambit shook his head. "You don't expect us t' believe dat, do you? You get a certain look on your face when you've been a bad little X-Man."

"Do not." Scott squirmed a little.

The professor sighed. "She is a very experienced psychiatrist, Scott."

"Well she isn't a very good one, is she? She couldn't tell when I was pretending to see things." He shook his head and turned back to the book. "Little purple men! Who'd believe a thing like that?"

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