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[Forge]

“Oh, come on,” Forge groused around a bite of sandwich. “How’s that not a strike?”

As if on cue, the ESPN Pitch Tracker popped up during the instant replay and proved that the pitch had indeed caught the bottom, left corner of the strike zone.

“Told you,” he said, matter-of-factly as he shifted the dinner tray standing over his lap. The tray held a plate with two Forge Specials, a bag of freshly opened tortilla chips, a bowl of salsa and a large tumbler full of an honest-to-Heammawihio Arnold Palmer. Forge hadn’t had a good Arnold Palmer in ages, and the mood for one struck him for no apparent reason earlier this morning, so he had made some fresh-squeezed lemonade and a pitcher of unsweetened tea in the name of quenching that particular thirst.

Speaking of ‘It’d Been a While’, Forge had gone most of the baseball season without sitting down to watch his Astros play. Such were the hazards of being the government’s favorite Maker and a friend of the X-Men. When he’d seen that ESPN was broadcasting an early game special between the ‘Stros and the St. Louis Cardinals—division rivals who were fighting it out for a playoff spot—and the match-up featured the Astros’ ace pitcher Roy Oswalt facing off against the Cardinals’ ace Chris Carpenter, Forge cleared his afternoon To-Do list for a little Lunch & Leisure.

So far it’d been a quick-paced pitcher’s duel—just like Forge liked it. Or such was the case until Albert Pujols got into a high Oswalt fastball.

At the crack of the bat, Forge straightened in his seat, jarring the tray. Fortunately nothing spilled.

“It’s a drive to deep centerfield,” crooned the announcer.

“Get down. Get down,” Forge demanded.

“…Back, back, back…”

“No. No, no no.”

“Bourn’s back to the track… To the wall… He’s up… And makes the catch! Michal Bourn just reached over the wall and robbed Pujols of a long-ball! Dial up SportsCenter, we just got your play of the day.”

With a deep breath, Forge slumped back down in his seat. “Give an old man a heart-attack why don’t you?”

[Cyclops]

Scott hoped that the rain settled down so that they could have a barbecue again tomorrow. He'd made himself lunch with some of the leftovers from last Sunday – they'd only lasted this long, because he'd put his name on them, and dared anyone to touch them. Even with the stomachs in the house, they at least respected the label.

He'd been trying to decide where to go to eat, when he heard something that sounded like sports coming from the day room. He decided that he didn't want to spend lunch alone and gathered up his hamburgers, walking through to the day room.

Scott opened the door with his elbow, holding his tea easily. He was just bumping the door closed when he heard Forge behind him.

“Give an old man a heart-attack why don’t you?”

“Well,” Scott said, letting the door click shut. “That would require you to be old.” He said dryly. “Got room for one more?” Scott asked. He found a place to sit, and propped his feet on the table. The students weren't around, he was allowed.

“Good game?” He asked, putting his drink down and picking up a hamburger. Finally, he had time to eat.

[Forge]

“Give an old man a heart-attack why don’t you?” Forge grumbled at the television.

The sound of the door opening told Forge that someone was about to try and fulfill his request for a myocardial infarction. “Well,” Scott said, letting the door click shut. “That would require you to be old.”

Forge turned to find the new arrival was none other than Scott Summers, the X-Men's main man himself. “Hello, Scott,” Forge replied with a wry grin. “Had the prescription for those lenses checked lately?”

“Got room for one more?” Scott asked.

“Always," Forge said with a nod. "Pull up a seat. I’ll even share my tortillas if you’d like.”

Scott took a seat, and to Forge’s amusement, the X-Men’s leader flopped his feet up on the table.

“Good game?” He asked.

“Well,” Forge hedged, “the Astros aren’t winning yet, but as long as you like a good pitcher’s duel, it’s been a beauty.”

“I take it you’re on a break from classes?” Forge asked before re-acquainting himself with his sandwich.

[Cyclops]

Forge offered his food – after a crack about Scott's eyesight, something he was used to – but Scott declined. He had leftover burgers, prepared just the way he liked 'em. “Good game?” He asked, putting his feet up on the table. There were no students around, so he could stop being the Good Example for ten minutes.

Lightning flashed outside the day room doors, and Scott made a mental note to ask Sage to track it, and see how long it was going to last. He'd ask Ororo, but she always gave him a cryptic answer about it lasting as long as it needed to. Not helpful when he wanted an estimated time.

“Well,” Forge hedged, “the Astros aren’t winning yet, but as long as you like a good pitcher’s duel, it’s been a beauty.”

Scott liked pitchers' duels. He always loved arguing about whether it had been a strike or not. No one had argued with him in a while. Most just accepted that he knew what he was talking about. Something about his math skills sucking all the fun out of it.

“I take it you’re on a break from classes?”

Scott nodded, swallowing his bite of burger. “Planning, mostly. Trying to convince a few parents to let their children come back, and trying to work out interesting field trips that won't be too interesting.” He smiled crookedly. “Considering what's been happening, lately, I doubt the kids will even want to go.”

Scott, frankly, wouldn't blame them. This was supposed to be a sanctuary... and was turning out more of a magnet. He didn't understand what continued drawing so many woes. He couldn't just put them all down to being X-Men.

“Think they'd enjoy something as mundane as a baseball game?” He glanced at Forge. “We could drag them to a Yankees game.” Scott said, completely dead pan.

[Forge]

“I take it you’re on a break from classes?”

There was nodding and swallowing before Scott responded. “Planning, mostly. Trying to convince a few parents to let their children come back, and trying to work out interesting field trips that won't be too interesting.”

It was Forge’s turn to nod, and he did so with an appreciatively pained expression. Trouble had always had a habit of following the X-Men around, but it seemed to have taken an unnaturally avid interest in the students. And, not surprisingly, a great many parents had pulled their children. The alien incident had just continued that unfortunate trend. “How’s that been going?” Forge asked, figuring for once he already knew the answer.

[Scott] smiled crookedly. “Considering what's been happening, lately, I doubt the kids will even want to go.”

“Could always give them a choice between field trips and Danger Room sessions. That might motivate them a little,” Forge said before reacquainting himself with his sandwich.

“Think they'd enjoy something as mundane as a baseball game?”

Scott was actually paying Forge attention as he asked the question, which Forge took to mean that Scott was looking for an answer. And, no, the usage of the phrase ‘mundane’ did not escape the inventor’s notice; he simply chose to not acknowledge it. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Pretty sure I’m the last person in this house you should be asking about what teenagers would like.”

“We could drag them to a Yankees game.” Scott said, completely dead pan.

Forge took a draught of his Arnold Palmer, shaking his head slowly and sadly. “Oh sure, possibly their first baseball experience and you want to ruin it with designated hitters,” he joked. Kinda. Well, he was joking, but seriously, pitchers should hit, damn it. They took the field like everyone else; they should take the bat like everyone else, too. Then he added with his version of a smirk, “Then again, at least they’re not the Mets.”