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While You Were Out
06. Prodigal, Part Two – Lost, and Then Found
Author: OriginalCeenote
Summary: Scott has a long and difficult adjustment ahead of him.
The students try to get on with life as usual. Logan makes a discovery
that turns his world on its ear – again.
Author's Note: You didn't really think I'd make it easy on them this
chapter, did you? Ororo picks up her talk with Scott where it left off.
And Hank threatens her with a home remedy straight out of my own
family's recipe box.
Logan chewed on his Cubar cigar
pensively, remembering the pen scratching on the
short, cryptic note that he left behind for Ororo on
her Post-it pad on Xavier’s desk. A halfhearted
attempt at gulping down breakfast left his stomach
knotted and growling five hours later at the tiny
rest stop. He cursed the cost of fuel as he gassed
up the bike and wolfed down two questionable
convenience store hot dogs, knowing he’d be hating
himself later when they “repeated” on him.
Miles of scenery that didn’t vary any further from
trees changing color and the occasional toll booths
whizzed past him, and his skin smarted from the wind
rushing at him.
Ororo’s eyes still burned into him, defiant and
accusing. Nice to hear you finally admit it out
loud, Wolverine. You were in love with another man’s
fiancée. Her mask of indifference dogged his
footsteps on his way into the kitchen as he fixed
himself a plate of reheated leftovers. It was no
fault of how the food was prepared; Peter was a
helluva cook, but the food stuck in his throat. He
chased it down with a cold beer and ruminated over
the homely crumbs and his own angry thoughts.
Scott called him out. Damn.
A year ago, he couldn’t have argued with him. Sure,
he carried a torch for Jeannie, all but set himself
on fire with it. He argued the point back and forth
with himself as he popped open his second beer.
Jeannie was the whole package; anyone would fall in
live with her. Smart, sexy, sweet, funny and damned
tempting…that was enough to catch his attention
before Scooter warned him to stay away from his
girl. Getting his goat, well, that was just a bonus.
That left him here, running away again, back to the
source of everything fucked up in his life. Alkali
kept pulling back like a magnet. How long would it
be before his nightmares there and his obligations
at the school tore him apart? Logan grunted to
himself; he missed the rugrats already. When did he
become such a softie?
Logan hated the cowardly feeling of running out and
leaving things unresolved with Scott, and just plain
unfinished with Ororo, but there were still too many
questions, too many rocks left unturned. He knew he
smelled Stryker at the lake. Blue would have known
he was right if he’d been there when they lost
Jeannie, his own senses wouldn’t have lied to him if
he had any clue to go by.
That begged more questions. How could he have made
it out of that flood? How did he get away? Where had
he been holing up?
Even worse, who had helped the bastard?
Logan once again silently thanked Scott for making
sure the bike was equipped with satellite radio as
he tuned it to a station of country and old blues to
keep him company on his trek.
{Flashback}:
Logan scraped his plate into the trash bin and
rinsed it before he dropped it with a muted clank
into the lower rack of the dishwasher.
“He was just overwhelmed, Logan. He wasn’t himself,”
Hank rumbled behind him. “Things will look better in
the morning. Just give him the chance to adjust.”
Hank contemplated the beer sitting on the table
briefly before he shook his head, opting for some
coffee instead. He laced it generously with creamer
as he continued. “He’s not quite…himself.”
“Ya weren’t here those last few days before he left,
Blue. That was Scott talking, loud and clear. He
ain’t the same guy ya knew. He’s a lot more blunt.”
He left the thought unspoken that he’d grown a
bigger pair of cojones since he left, too.
Will you try to fuck her in our bed this time,
just for kicks? Ouch. Granted, it wasn’t like he
thought of Summers as a friend anyway, not by any
stretch – guy walked around like the bug up his butt
was choking on all the starch in his shorts
sometimes – but it rankled that he thought so little
of him. He’d changed. The old Logan would have given
as good as he got, maybe egged him on a little with
“Naw, Summers, I wanna give her a little change of
scenery. Ain’t all that exciting in yer bed anyway,
from what I could gather.” And he would have enjoyed
the resulting smackdown to the hilt.
“I get the impression his reaction downstairs wasn’t
unprovoked,” Hank suggested.
“Don’t go there. I ain’t in the mood.”
“Fine. You’ll need to talk to him again eventually,
Logan, and set things straight. The children are
impressionable, many of them empathic, psychic…and
definitely vulnerable. We’re the adults. We set the
example for them to follow. If Charles were still
here, he wouldn’t abide discord like this.” He
sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “I don’t want to
give Scott a clean bill of health and then find the
two of you outside, kicking each other’s asses on
the front lawn.”
“Eh. G’night, Blue.”
{end flashback}
The rest of his trip was uneventful and didn’t leave
him any less restless. By the time he got there, the
sun was considerably lower in the sky, which was
turning that deep sapphire on the edge of the
horizon. He parked his bike and set up his tent,
glad that the firewood that he’d left behind hadn’t
been taken. He decided to start the fire when he got
back from the compound, and unpacked the small
battery-powered lantern from his supplies. He began
his trek through the woods, mumbling to himself,
“Time t’go into the belly of the beast.”
Stryker’s scent was still there, fleeting but
discernible from the myriad aromas of the thickly
wooded copse. He’d smelled it on the rocks on the
shore, but it came back to him the closer he came to
the dam. Logan paused as he reached the tiny
clearing and found the twisted wreckage of Stryker’s
helicopter. His eyes dilated and he felt as though
someone had just walked over his grave.
No body.
The length of chain that had bound him to the
landing gear of the chopper lay in a limp, rusted
heap. Logan knelt down and gripped them in his
palms, running over the length of links carefully,
looking for clues.
There were no cut marks from where Stryker could
have used something to saw through the metal. There
were a few abrasions in the metal where it looked
like the links were pulled taut against the landing
gear and scraped against the sturdier metal of the
wheels. Logan vaguely remembered how the panels of
the hull had warped and twisted themselves back into
place as Magneto slowed their descent, repairing the
jet’s external damage, but doing nothing to repair
the system itself. He wondered if that had been
intentional on his part, knowing that it would
hinder their escape once they made it out of the
compound. He cursed the old terrorist for
endangering the lives of children that way in his
selfishness to use Stryker’s crude Cerebro for his
own ends.
The links weren’t bent apart; he knew this wasn’t
Magneto’s handiwork. It was as though he had crawled
free, or maybe, he mused, someone wrested him free.
The only one who could have pulled a stunt like that
was Jeannie. That left him to ask, Why?
Why show the sanctimonious old bastard mercy?
Logan plodded his way to the ruins of the compound,
satisfied when he found the metal grate over the
holding pen where Artie and the kids had been held
hostage. The metal was rusted like the chains had
been from the immersion during the deluge when the
dam broke free, so that weakened it. Logan’s claws
had no trouble slicing through it. The shock of the
concrete under his feet ran through his legs as he
jumped through the opening. Logan savored one last
glance at the sky above him before he made his way
into the catacombs.
Back at Westchester, the next morning:
“Whaddya mean, we can’t see him?” Kitty eyed Peter
with the “are ya shittin’ me?” glare that she had
picked up from Logan, her face incredulous as she
planted her hands on her hips.
“Doctor’s orders. Scott needs the chance to get his
bearings back. He can’t do it with everyone climbing
all over him with questions.” Peter felt badly about
it, but he resumed scrambling the enormous skillet
of eggs, crumbling a few chunks of cheddar cheese
into the mixture before he turned down the heat on
the burner.
“I’m not everyone. I’m Kitty. And I don’t crawl, I
phase,” she clarified haughtily.
“Doesn’t matter. Sit. Eat. Do something
constructive,” he suggested. He tossed an appraising
glance over his shoulder and liked what he saw.
Kitty was comfortably dressed in boot-cut, low-rise
black jeans and a snug, long-sleeved jersey in
charcoal gray with a pink Happy Bunny logo and
matching pink stitching and trim around the
neckline. Short, black leather boots shod her feet,
and her posture was proud and graceful, making her
appear taller than her mere five feet, five inches.
Years of dancing and gymnastics honed her physique
into a thing of beauty, sparely built and without an
ounce of flab. Her shiny, sable brown hair was loose
about her shoulders, which if anyone had asked him
was his favorite way of seeing her wear it. But
she’d never ask him his opinion.
She was too busy giving him a piece of his mind.
“Constructive? I’ve got your ‘constructive’ hanging
right here, Rasputin! This…this SUCKS. Ororo’s still
recuperating, Logan’s off doing his own thing,
whatever that is, and the hell if I know! And now
Scott’s back among the living, but not back among
us, leaving us with one less adult in this place to
keep the school running like a school. I took
over Ororo’s introductory chemistry class yesterday
and ran a PE class for the K thru fours, just to
pick up the slack. I don’t mind, Pete, since I love
Ororo like the mother I wish I had, but I just want
an ETA on when I’ll get my own life back!”
“Scott’ll appreciate you being so worried about his
well-being.” Peter turned to empty the scrambled
eggs onto a serving platter, just setting down the
pan on the burner before he felt a sharp “thwack!”
against his butt. “Ow! Kitty, what was that for?”
The twisted roll of dish towel was still brandished
meaningfully in her grip, and her hazel eyes blazed
up at him. Yup, Peter decided, she was definitely
cute when she was mad.
“Don’t give me that shit. I AM worried about Scott.
I’m not some unfeeling bitch, thank you very much.
Don’t you think all the kids are wondering why their
favorite teacher, Mr. Summers, isn’t back at the
helm? Or that they’re wondering why they can’t see
him? Haven’t they already been through enough losing
Jean and the Professor?”
“Take it easy, Katya, I’m not the one you need to be
yelling at.”
“Don’t act like I don’t care about Scott.”
“I know you do,” he soothed, reaching out and
twisting the towel loose from her grip before she
decided to zap him again. He tossed the towel onto
the butcher block table, then captured her wrist,
tugging her toward him and wrapping her in a bear
hug that she didn’t expect. “I’m sorry, Katya. I’m
just following directions from Hank. I haven’t seen
much of Scott since he’s been back, but he’s not
himself. It’s best not to crowd him right now. Give
him another day or two to settle in. And if you
needed a little help with Storm’s class schedule,
all you had to do was ask. I can handle a PE class
for a bunch of kids, it’s not rocket science. I can
leave that part up to you.”
Kitty was stunned to find herself relaxing against
the solid bulk of Peter’s chest, and her arms crept
up and wrapped around his waist of their own accord.
Various fresh smells made up his scent as she rubbed
her cheek against his navy Russell Athletic
sweatshirt. “I just hate not knowing when things’re
gonna finally go back to normal.”
“What’s normal?” he quipped, noogeying the top of
her head with his chin and tugging on a lock of her
soft hair. She stifled a laugh, burrowing more
deeply into him.
“It was awful, y’know? One minute, Ororo was telling
me that Jean was back, they had her in the
infirmary, and that the Professor was doing what he
could to bring her powers back in check. It was just
so exciting having her back, and wonderful, and
terrifying and I just didn’t have the first clue of
what to think, how to feel…I never even got to lay
eyes on her to make sure she was all in one piece.
Not until we went to Alcatraz.” Kitty found her
footing less firmly planted on the kitchen floor as
Peter slowly, gently rocked her. Her eyes stung, and
she felt slightly guilty using his shirt as a
makeshift Kleenex. “And that was horrible, Peter.
She was back! She was back with us, and then the
next minute, she was gone all over again! And…and I
couldn’t do anything about it. We couldn’t save
her,” she sniffled. “I hate that we couldn’t save
her. We have these awesome, amazing powers, and we
can’t even save one of our own? How could that
happen? How could we let that happen?”
“Don’t say that, Katya,” he chided her, but his hand
stroked her hair, massaging her scalp very, very
tenderly. “When all was said and done, Jean had to
want to be saved; nothing we could do to help her
mattered a bit if she wouldn’t accept our help.”
“Have you told Scott, about what happened, and what
Logan had to do yet?”
“Hank briefed him this morning.” He paused a moment
to loosen his embrace and let her back out of it,
his hands lingering on her upper arms. She
straightened and scrubbed the stains from her cheeks
with the hem of her sleeve, trying to regain her
composure, but truth be told, his hug felt so good…
“It didn’t go well.”
“Of course it didn’t,” she agreed, then tsked under
her breath. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“My shirts have seen worse. Grew up on a farm,
remember?” She pulled a face, and he read her mind,
silently answering her with crinkling eyes: No, not
this shirt! He passed her a stack of plates and a
silverware caddy. “Now, getting back to doing
something constructive; how about setting the table
for me while I finish this up?”
“Not a problem, Piotr.” Peter found a smile drifting
across his lips at her retreating back. During
simpler times, when things between them had been
less complicated, she always called him by his birth
name, and he always called her by the Russian
equivalent of hers. A lot had happened, a lot of
their previous illusions had turned to dust, but he
felt a familiar warmth sweep through him as he
savored the mild, flowery scent of her shampoo that
clung to his shirt, along with the lingering feel of
her embrace. His morning had been rough after
standing by in the infirmary as Hank delivered the
horrible news to Scott, but at least there was a
bright spot now that he could take with him through
the rest of the day.
Peter was just setting out the fried ham and
sausages alongside the eggs and tossing orange
wedges into the automatic juicer when the students
began to troop downstairs. Kitty took up Ororo’s
customary duty of serving everyone’s plate and
doling out injunctions not to spill or horse around
at the table.
“Hey Pete, what time’s our Danger Room session
today?” Sam yawned as he made his way into the
kitchen, hunting around in the refrigerator for the
milk. He was just about to take a hearty swig out of
the jug when Dani poked him sharply in the ribs. He
met her nonplussed expression with a shy grin as he
realized what he’d been about to do, in clear view
of everyone at the breakfast table.
“That your own personal gallon of milk, Guthrie?
Don’t bogart it, we don’t want your cooties.” She
reached into the cupboard and handed him the
Spongebob glass; it still tickled him that she kept
tabs on little details like that.
“Nothin’ like a little somethin’ extra on your
cornflakes, Dani.”
“Like what, backwash?”
“Ew,” Kitty grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “You guys
are gross.”
“We aim to please,” Dani grinned. She reached for
the Honey Nut Cheerios and a bowl and beckoned for
the milk jug once Sam poured his fill.
“Don’t s’pose ya made any grits?” Sam looked
hopefully at the spread of food on the table.
“Instant stuff in the cupboard,” Peter nodded.
“Ain’t the same. But it’ll do,” he shrugged,
filching a couple of sausages for himself and
searching for the grits. Marie and Bobby eventually
made their way down and scrounged the leftovers.
Peter did a head count and decided to make more food
to accommodate any late risers. He set a place for
Hank and made a note to himself to take a tray down
for Scott; he had to be starving after sleeping
sedated for ten hours. Ororo had asked to be moved
out of the infirmary to recuperate instead in her
own loft, pleading that it wasn’t as claustrophobic
as the laboratory-sterile environment and steel
walls downstairs. Hank released her with the
injunction that she wouldn’t lift a finger or
overtax herself, and he recruited Marie to grade
test papers and photocopy syllabuses and test papers
in the interim until they could get a replacement
teacher for a few weeks. Dr. Mactaggert had
recommended her colleague, Sean Cassidy, very
highly. Hank had finished running a background
check, noting that his work history included a
lengthy stint working with Interpol.
Warren and Jubilee trotted downstairs next, eyeing
the fresh batch of bacon and eggs possessively,
promising that they’d save Sage some, but Peter
didn’t believe them for a second.
While Peter brought Hank and his patient some
sustenance, Ororo studiously disobeyed Hank’s orders
and went to work in Scott and Jean’s old suite,
cleaning it and airing out the space. She washed the
bedding, except for the pillowcases; if there was a
chance that even the faintest scent of Jean remained
in them, she wouldn’t rob Scott of that comfort. The
floors were mopped to a shine, and she polished
every surface, taking steadfast care to replace the
objects in their exact places to keep it the way
Scott was accustomed to having it. It was the least
she could do, she thought miserably.
She hated that she couldn’t do anything else to set
things right. She didn’t have the patent on bringing
those she loved and lost back to life, despite what
transpired on Alkali’s shores. She couldn’t repeat
it if she tried.
The experience left her feeling raw and on edge, and
she still wasn’t one hundred percent. She considered
brightening the space with some of her plants, but
decided that Scott might not be in the mood to
accept anything from her yet, even simple words. She
craved and dreaded the inevitable confrontation with
equal fervor. The mansion had to be big enough for
the two of them, or she didn’t know how they would
manage.
Ororo reached for the framed photo of the two of
them, taken for their engagement announcement in the
Daily Bugle. The black and white four-by-six
glossy stared out at her from a “shabby chic”
tarnished silver frame that she and Jean had picked
out at Pier One and felt cold and heavy in her
hands.
“I felt you, Jean. Goddess knows how, but I felt you
working through me.” She set the frame back down,
swiping the dust rag over it one last time. “I wish
you’d tell me where you are. I can’t…can’t keep
losing you like this. It hurts too much.”
“Beating yourself up won’t help matters any. Nor
will disobeying an old friend who confined you to
your bed until you were back up to snuff.” Hank
leaned his heavy bulk casually against the door
frame. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“This hurts too much,” she confessed. She needn’t
have bothered; as soon as he saw her look of
anguish, he’d already hurried forward, wrapping his
burly arm around her shoulders and nudging her out
of Scott’s suite.
“Of course it does, Ororo. It’s just too soon,” he
crooned. “Up to bed with you now. Gray hair mingled
in with all this blue will look ridiculous, don’t
you think?”
“Distinguished, Henry, not ridiculous.” She didn’t
refuse his help as he assisted her up to her loft.
“You’re still not back up to full strength. My aunt
Mathilda would have made you take a spoonful of cod
liver oil, gargle with salt water, and sleep with
onions in your socks; I’m a much softer touch.” He
let her collapse onto the foot of the bed, and she
was surprised at how relieved she felt as she landed
on the springy mattress. Hank rearranged her pillows
and fluffed them up as she settled herself.
“What would that have accomplished, other than
giving me stinky breath and feet?”
“It would have scared the sickness right out of you.
That’s how the old-fashioned home remedies worked,
they encouraged you to take better care of yourself
in the first place. Speaking of which, look at your
bare feet, young lady. You’ll catch your death.”
“Colds are caused by viruses,” she corrected him.
“You lose body heat through your extremities,” he
retorted. “Humor me. Put these on.” He brandished
her slippers at her before inserting her feet into
them with a great deal of pomp and chivalry. “Stay
put. I’m going downstairs for some coffee. I’m
making you some tea, and you’re going to down every
drop.”
“Yes, Mom.” Hank reached out and tweaked the pert
tip of her nose between his finger and thumb. “Hank,
how is Scott?”
“Coping,” he rumbled. “Only time will tell. He’s
coherent. A good night’s sleep helped with that.
He’s not in pain, but he’s still very weak and
off-balance. Physical therapy and a few sessions
with a wonderful psychiatric colleague of Charles’
might help him make the adjustment…” his words
trailed off as he bowed his face into his hand,
massaging his temples.
“Do you think he can adjust, Henry? Do you think
he’ll want to stay, after everything that’s
happened?” Ororo wasn’t so sure anymore. He’d been
so quick to leave before, so willing to part from
the only family he had, as though he couldn’t look
at them anymore, and after last night’s revelations,
it would be harder to face him now.
“Scott will have to find his own reasons to want to
stay, Ororo. We won’t make up his mind for him.”
Beast knew how hollow his own words sounded, even to
his ears. With the Professor gone, he might not
cling so steadfast to his dream the way he once had.
And with Jean gone, he might place as much
importance on his own life.
“Henry…I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know
how to convince him he should stay.” Her hands
twisted the blanket in her hands, wringing it
anxiously, and Hank knelt by the bed with concern in
his eyes.
“Ororo…will you blame yourself if he leaves again?”
“Yes!” Darkening clouds rolled across the sky,
washing away the glow of the mid-morning sun
streaming in through the window. “You heard him last
night. He blames me, Henry.”
“Charles related the details of the retrieval at
Alkali, Ororo. You were in the cockpit. Scott
attempted to bring Jean Back inside the cabin of the
Blackbird, and he drove him back with her teke.” His
furry hand covered her and stroked it in an effort
to ease the tension from her body. “Didn’t she?”
“Yes, Henry, she did.” Her eyes were still haunted
and smudged with dark circles. He heard the
disbelief in her voice and pressed on.
“Jean was a stubborn, determined girl, Ororo; couple
those qualities with the immense power she harnessed
that day at the lake, and I will tell you right now
that you never stood a chance of bringing her back
inside. Kurt tried, according to Charles. She
teleported him back inside, Ororo! She manipulated
his powers in the interest of keeping him safe. What
would you have done if you were outside the jet? You
focused your powers on lifting the jet, Ororo. You
were responsible for the lives of everyone in that
cabin, exerting unimaginable levels of wind. You
don’t know that your power would have held back that
wall of water. Jean wouldn’t have let you fly her
free any sooner than she let Kurt ‘port her back to
the bloody plane.” Hank forced Ororo to look him in
the eye, lightly gripping her jaw to still her
adamant shake of her head at his logic. “There was
nothing else that you could do, Ororo. I miss her,
too! Don’t you think I wish I could have been there?
It killed me to see her like that, raging out of
control, as if we didn’t matter to her anymore.”
Ororo’s shoulders shook, but she held his gaze. “The
cure was based on my research, and I couldn’t
use it to stop one of my closest friends from
destroying herself.” Ororo bit her lip, struggling
against the cries that clawed their way out of her
throat, but sagged against her old friend in defeat
when he asked her, his tone smooth as honey, “Ain’t
we a pair?”
Thunder rolled and boomed overhead, reverberating
like a chorus of timpani drums, and Henry murmured
platitudes into her hair as she clutched at him.
“Ororo, when you blame yourself, and beat yourself
up for something that was beyond your control,
you’re hurting someone I care about very much. It
frustrates me to witness that. And when I get
frustrated, I do foolish things, such as holing up
in my lab, gorging on Twinkies, dreaming up genetic
research that falls into the wrong hands…you get the
general idea.” She lifted her face long enough to
favor him with a quivering smile.
“Right. Blaming myself equals overindulgence in
Twinkies and potentially disastrous research. And if
I don’t obey your injunction to stay in bed, you’ll
stuff onions into my socks?”
“Glad you took that away from this discussion.”
“I love you, Henry!” She cuddled him close for one
last hug before releasing him.
“Stinker. You’re just saying that so I’ll ignore
that you got out of bed.”
“Did it work?”
“Of course not. And I love you, too.” He nodded to
her slippers. “Keep those feet covered, young lady.”
“I’ll try to behave myself,” she promised. Well,
she’d try, anyway.
Alkali Lake, Weapon X compound catacombs, two
days later:
Logan mopped his sweaty brow with his tattered
flannel sleeve, cursing at himself to bring more
water with him on his next trip inside. He knew that
his work was just about done here. His knuckles
throbbed mercilessly as they healed from the last
round of “excavating” that he’d done working his way
inside, slicing through airlocks and doors as he
navigated through each tunnel and hangar.
Stryker’s scent was stone cold here; this wasn’t
where he was hiding himself, that much Logan knew.
He might have taken temporary refuge, but he hadn’t
lingered. There were no rations, no supplies; no one
had even so much as used the toilet in the tiny
lavatory off to the side of the control center. The
facility was abandoned, much the way that his team
had left it.
Except that two bodies were missing.
He was inside the mildewy, moss-covered walls of the
duplicate Cerebro unit, sitting on the end of the
ramp and pedestal. He smelled old blood – he knew it
was Stryker’s son’s, he saw the mangled metal of his
wheelchair buried beneath the rubble, but there was
no body, not so much as a severed limb. Bloody
fragments of a hospital gown were his only clues
that yes, he’d been injured during the collapse, but
he wouldn’t make the same mistake again in assuming
that the mind-bending invalid was out of the
picture. After all, he’d had help.
Deathstrike’s scent was cold, too, but it led him in
here, once he’d finished his walkabout through the
control room and discovered the adamantium tank.
Algae and noxious bacteria floated on the mildewy
yellow nutrient fluid, and the metal mesh net was
rusted just like everything else was from submersion
under tons of water, but again, the tank held no
body, no physical sign of the woman he’d left there,
incapacitated and staring up at him with blank eyes.
More old blood spattered a trail of gruesome stains
through the complex. He eventually found wider
marks, streaked across the floor as though someone
had been dragged away.
Logan grunted to himself. Well, this stinks.
Back at Westchester, Scott Summers’ suite:
Scott stared blankly at the furnishings and
draperies in his room, absorbing the colors and
textures slowly, scarcely believing they were real.
Color. He ground his knuckles against his
eyes, squinting at the low-grade headache that
seemed to linger ever since he came back upstairs
from the infirmary. The get-well cards from the
students lay in a small pile on the bureau, still
unopened.
The past two days found Hank giving him a clean
enough bill of health to leave the sub-level and get
some much needed daylight. He could walk well enough
on crutches for the time being, but he occasionally
still lost his balance and tired easily. His
equilibrium was still off, and his depth perception
couldn’t be fully trusted yet, either. His entire
spatial awareness changed once his powers were
pronounced inactive. Hank warned him that they may
indeed be only “dormant,” as opposed to “gone.”
Scott tucked his goggles into his bedside drawer out
of long established habit, following Hank’s
suggestion that he wear a pair of them looped around
his neck on a lanyard, “just in case.” Scott joked
dryly about looking like a librarian with glasses on
a chain, and Hank felt a flare of hope that he was
on his way back to them that was quickly
extinguished when Scott announced that he just
wanted to be left alone.
Scott took his meals in the kitchen after normal
mealtimes for the students were over, clinging
possessively to his solitude and shrugging off
questions about how he was. He still didn’t know how
he was, if anyone wanted the honest truth. Every now
and again, curious eyes would peek around the edge
of his door, but he waved them away with a limp
smile, doing nothing to convince anyone that he was
all right.
Ororo had taken alternative routes around Scott’s
room for a while, but she reached the decision that
she couldn’t – refused to – do that indefinitely.
Scott was her teammate and fellow teacher. More
importantly, he was her friend, once. She wanted him
back, even if she risked widening the rift between
them for her efforts.
She knocked lightly on his door, which was only
slightly ajar.
“Go away, please. Not in the mood for company.”
“Then I’m truly sorry, Scott. But I’m not in the
mood to cooperate.” She swung the door wide, letting
in the cooler air of the hall with her.
“I could just throw you out,” he muttered, staring
her in the face for the first time since his
retrieval and giving her a weighty stare with his
cobalt blue eyes. It still unnerved her to see those
eyes out from under the obstructive ruby quartz
lenses. They were intelligent, intense eyes,
deep-set and widely spaced with enviably long lashes
and tapered dark brows. And right now, they were
full of barely suppressed rage and resentment. This,
she realized, could easily become ugly.
“Ten minutes of your time, Scott. Then you can have
the rest of the day to wallow up here undisturbed.”
“I’ll give you five.” He glanced at the tiny brass
clock on the dresser. “Four minutes and fifty
seconds.”
“Fine. I’ll be brief. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for
everything.”
“You can be a little more specific.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save Jean.”
“On second thought, let’s skip this altogether. Go
back to your plants. Or your classes, or your desk
in the headmistress’ office, but just don’t come
here and open a new wound. I’m already bleeding,
‘Ro. I don’t need this.”
“What do you need?”
“I need Jean. That’s all I ever needed in the first
place.”
“Scott, she’s gone.” She admitted it without
hesitation, even though her own heart cried out that
it couldn’t be true; she’d felt her presence, felt
her wielding her lightning, guiding her hands…
“You don’t really believe that.” And there it was.
“She came back once…” His voice trailed off.
“What does that mean then, Scott? That you just drag
your whole life to a screeching halt, waiting for
her to come back again?”
“Fuck you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.
She saw the tightening around his lips, his nostrils
flaring like an agitated animal. “You call this a
life? I have no life without her. What I had before
I met her was a steaming pile of dogshit. I lost my
parents, Ororo. I lost my brother, I lost my home,
and I woke up with powers that won’t even let me
look anyone in the eye…until now, but in the
meantime, what the fuck am I doing at a school for
‘gifted youngsters’ when I don’t have that gift
anymore, huh?”
“You should leave that up to Cerebro to decide, and
let Henry run some tests.”
“Who’ll run Cerebro, Ororo? Answer that one, genius.
We don’t have any psychics on campus anymore to even
operate it anymore. What do you suggest next? A
metal detector? Litmus paper? Divining rod? I’m open
to suggestions.”
“I could go one better than that. Why don’t I drop
you off the roof to see if you can teach yourself
how to fly?”
“Cute. That’s three minutes down, Ororo. Round this
up, ‘kay?”
“Henry told me something a couple of days ago that
really opened my eyes, Scott. He said that if Jean
made her choice, and that if she really thought we
could have saved her without jeopardizing
everything, without being buried under that water,
then she wouldn’t have fought us so hard. She did
what she did because she felt she was the only one
who had a chance at buying us the time to break free
and get airborne.” Scott looked away, stubbornly
gluing his eyes to the shuttered window. Seeing him
avoid her gaze, Ororo planted herself in his line of
vision, angrily yanking open the blinds in his
window to let in some sunlight.
“Close that damned thing, now!”
“No.” Her tone was blunt. “I won’t let you rot away
in this dungeon and wallow in the dark.”
“It’s my dungeon, and no one invited you.”
“I’ll be sure to tell that to the children the next
time they ask me or Henry if it was their fault that
you don’t want to come back and spend time with
them. Sure, they’ve lost Jean, whom they loved as
much you did, and they lost the Professor, the one
man on the planet who wanted to help them live
normal, worthwhile lives after society and their
families abandoned them, but hey, they’ve learned to
live with disappointment. They’ve gotten pretty good
at grieving, too, Scott, let’s give them some more
practice. Better yet, why don’t go out back, into
that damned memorial garden that I spent so much
time tending and caring for over the past few
months,” her voice broke, but she didn’t pause, “and
dig a hole in front of your headstone, so we can
finish the job! We can kiss your ass goodbye!” The
words flew out before she could stop them. Ororo was
out of reasons, and the truth defied sympathy as she
vented the anger and helplessness that she’d locked
away these past few months. “I’ve mourned you once,
Scott,” she moaned, “I can do it again…if I have
to.”
“Maybe…you’d be doing me…a favor,” he hissed, and
his face crumpled before he rolled to a sitting
position, planting his bare feet on the floor and
supporting himself against his knees. “Because I
can’t live without her. And I can’t…can’t live
knowing that I didn’t do enough to bring her back.”
“Jean took you away from us, Scott. You realize
that? You were dead. Or at the very least, not of
this world anymore. Henry never gave up. He believed
he could bring you back.”
“I wish he hadn’t.”
“Please don’t say that!”
“What d’you want me to say?” Tears rolled hotly down
his cheeks, and he scrubbed them away. Ororo
resisted the urge to go to him; his posture was
still too stiff, his anger still rolling off of him
in waves, thick enough to cut with a knife. His
wounds were still too raw. “Wherever I was, wherever
she sent me, I didn’t want to leave. I was safe.
Nothing could hurt me. She put me away where nothing
could touch me, Ororo, and for the only time in my
life, I felt peace.” He trained his bloodshot stare
on her, forcing himself to look at her, to really
see her. She was trembling again, hugging herself
and leaning against the edge of his bureau. That’s
when he heard the first crack of lightning. “Do you
have any idea of what it’s like to lose that?”
“Yes, Scott. I do. In the space of a week, I lost
you. I lost Charles, and saw my best friend kill
him.” He bowed his head into his hands and shook it,
trying to dispel it, but it was out in the open. He
couldn’t shut it out. “You don’t just get over
something like that, Scott. How much worse was it
for me when we discovered that Jean killed you? How
do you think that affected us, Scott? Don’t you
know…don’t you have any clue what you mean to us?”
“Stop. Stop this. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“I’m not finished. You will listen to what I have to
say. I won’t keep this bottled up, because it’s
killing me, and I hate seeing you like this. I died
that day, Scott, when we buried Jean. You haven’t
been downstairs yet, to the garden. Her headstone’s
right next to yours.” A yelping groan of anguish
escaped him, dripping with sorrow, and she couldn’t
stand it anymore. “I know. I know. It’s too much to
swallow, but it’s true. We lost you. And you haven’t
truly come back if you won’t embrace your life
again, among us, your family.” Ororo thought back to
her parting shot to Logan when he left the school to
go after Magneto: If you’re with us, then be with
us. That sentiment haunted her now, but held the
same impact and meaning.
She sighed heavily and glanced at the clock. “That’s
six minutes. I won’t keep you…”
“No! Don’t…don’t leave. Please.” More tears slipped
free. “I need you. Don’t go. I can’t do this alone.”
“I won’t let you.” Three steps and she was at his
side, kneeling up into his arms. Her tears mingled
with his as she kissed his cheeks soundly, burying
her face in his neck as they held onto each other
for dear life. It had been too long, and it felt so
good to have her brother back. “So help me, I would
have killed you if you made me get that shovel from
the garage and dig that hole, Summers.” They
remained like that for some time, while a steady
rain drummed against the mansion’s roof. Scott’s
heartbeat was strong and even, comforting as his
sobs ebbed away and she reassured him that yes, he
still had a family and a place in the school, and
that he was still loved, mutant or not.
“Jean’s out there somewhere,” he finished at last,
wiping away the last of her tears as before she
straightened up. “She’s in here,” he indicated,
pointing to his temple.
“She’s also in here,” she said, indicating her own
head, “and here,” she said, placing a fist over her
heart. There was little left to say. Ororo called
down to Peter to fix Scott a lunch tray and to bring
it up to her loft before she helped him upstairs.
She stopped long enough to grab a pair of socks for
his chilled, bare feet, threatening him with Henry’s
onion remedy if he didn’t cover them properly. It
was good to finally hear him laugh.
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