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“There are lots of ways to leave”, Spencer had said once. James and him were sitting in his apartment. They were actually on the floor, for no obvious reason, it was just that the sofa was filled with books and the chair wasn’t any better.
“I think I’ve mostly used one”, were James’ answer.
That made Spencer smile, it must be nice, he thought to himself, predictable.
“Your healing factor doesn’t lend itself well to playing dead”.
“No, it doesn’t,” James huffed out. “Usually just up and leave after a while, it has been rare for me to settle down, though.” James made a movement with his hand, saying as far as I remember.
“It’s different when you actually die for some time, gives you more options.” It wasn’t really options – they both knew that. Knew that Spencer couldn’t choose what was done to him while he was dead.
“Was once down in a coffin for years, apparently my body thought it was safer to regenerate my leg while I was dead.” It hadn’t been nice; it was never nice trying to dig yourself out of your coffin. “They burry you so deeply in the ground, it’s hard to get out.” Spencer didn’t like the dark, didn’t like waking up in a grave. He’d done it enough that he didn’t panic.
“I’d hate the day someone think to cremate me, do you think that would be enough to keep me down?”
James looked at him as he said that, really looked at him. It had to be such a foreign concept, wasn’t anything he would have any problems with.
“I don’t know Spencer, it’s hard to know until you try.”
There were good things about it too, about how Spencer healed, it was a lot less noticeable. People noticed when they shot someone point blank and the person didn’t go down. They didn’t necessarily notice if the person was alive again a day or a week later, at least not if Spencer left.
“You could come to the mansion when you’re done with this,” James told him, had told him lots of times, “would like to have you a bit more around.” That made Spencer smile, maybe he would go there next.
“I’m not really X-men material, too much brain and not enough brawn. And I don’t have a mutation to make up for it – just a body that can’t forget what it looked like at twenty-five.” The same excuse Spencer had given each and every time James had mentioned it.
“It’s a school too,” came the predictable answer from James. And then Spencer just had to say, “I’ll think about it.”
Then Spencer got up from the floor, asked James if he wanted anything more to drink. James, of course, asked for another beer. (Spencer only had beers in his apartment for guests, especially for James, he never liked the taste himself.)
And then it was on to the next topic, that was less serious: This time about the differences in beer production, and whether it was worth it to buy special beers.