Again, by request of my beloved reviewers (I love you guys!): another story about Scott, as a companion piece to my other two stories, A Morning Phone Call and Broken Lives Can Mend. Keep those reviews coming, and the stories will keep coming. This follows close after Broken Lives Can Mend.

Disclaimer: In a perfect world, I would own Scott. Does this look like a perfect world? Yeah, I know, I don't own Scott! It can't be a perfect world!

Scott could see her everywhere. He could smell her everywhere. She inhabited this place, even after seven years' absence. She was torturing him with the constant barrage of memories, taunting him with the fact he hadn't been able to save her, tormenting him with the idea she had pushed him away in the moment he might have been able to save her as she had often saved him, physically and emotionally. He hadn't saved her, yet she was everywhere in this cursed place, and he had a constant urge of self-preservation. He wanted to run again.

She, for he could not bear to think or say her name, seemed to be attached to every single room in the entire mansion. He could smell her perfume on every sheet he touched, in every secret niche he ducked into to avoid various staff members well after hours (he couldn't bear any confrontations that would come with his old co-workers coming into contact with him). It had been a week since he had returned to the school, and still, she tormented him.

Scott found himself idle. The Professor understood his need to remain there, alone, and he suspected he had made a mention of it, and after hours of arguing, the other staff members agreed to leave him alone until he approached them, and inwardly thanked the man. He was grateful for the solitude in such a safe environment, but he was bored. A sharp taste of irony hit him, and he wondered sarcastically if this was how most of his students felt in his class. A hint of his old self-assured arrogance returned to him for a moment. That was utterly impossible. Mathematics was the most interesting and useful of all subjects a student learned in school.

The moment of pride passed, and he was left with a shuddering feeling of emptiness. He glanced around at the suite of rooms he had settled in, eyeing the walls as if they were prison bars. He was coming to desperately hate this room. It was styled in the beautiful décor of the rest of the mansion, but he wouldn't have hated it less if its walls were bright yellow and pink. That wasn't because Bobby and John had painted his classroom that color as a prank, but that might have been an influence.

He sighed, and looked at the door. It hung from its hinges innocently enough, but his gaze held fear. He had no idea why, but he turned away from the door and headed for the adjoining bathroom. A quick shower, a quick combing and a button-sized portion of hair gel later, he was pulling on a different pair of jeans and a black sweater that hung from his gaunt frame. At one time, he vaguely remembered that it had emphasized his once muscular chest. It wasn't that he remembered those sorts of things, it was the look on her face he remembered, the appreciative, admiring look. He remembered the swell of male ego that had hit him as well. He had once been her man, and while Logan had that animalistic look, he had always felt like the real man whenever she was around.

Newly dressed, Scott Summers faced the door. He steeled himself and reached his hand out, only to let it fall back to his side. He couldn't possibly leave. It was well past midnight, and everyone would be asleep, and there would be no point to him leaving. There was always tomorrow. He could go back into his sweat pants and baggy t-shirt and fall asleep for several days and just forget about ever leaving that room. The room was safe, there was no one who would call him a coward, or say the worst things he thought about himself aloud. It was safe in here. It was wild and untamed out there.

"Jean, you can't be serious." Scott looked at his girlfriend with a serious face.

No matter how beautiful Jean Grey was or how much she batted her eyelashes at him, he was not going to jump into the lake at dawn. They had stayed up all night, for it was a Friday night (or was it Saturday already?), merely talking and making up for lost time during the week.

Jean laughed and fondly unbuttoned his casual white button up, revealing the wifebeater underneath. He could only watch her as she played with the last buttons. She looked up to his face, her eyes extremely soft in the dim light. Her skin cried out for him to touch, and he was powerless to that call. He brushed his fingers across her chin, smiling affectionately at her. He loved her.

"Please, Scott." She wheedled him. "It would be so much fun."

Scott rolled his eyes behind his red sunglasses and sighed, looking away briefly before glancing back at her. "Fine."

He would do whatever she asked him. He was her slave, to use and abuse as she wished. He would always remain faithful, even if she wanted to jump into the freezing cold lake. Or rather, even if she wanted to push him into the lake and not get in herself. Even if. No matter what. He was hers.

He was hers. He knew she wouldn't want him to stay in there for the rest of his life, and his logical mind knew there wasn't a possible way to stay put. He would go crazy. He raked his fingers through his hair, disregarding the drying gel present. He took purposeful strides and swung the door open, taking care so it didn't slam against the wall. Unless someone was taking a night walk or was raiding the kitchen, there wasn't anyone in the general vicinity.

Scott dismissed all thought and headed down the hallway, away from the kitchen. It was a step to even be out of his room, let alone being in a public place where people could easily enter without him having any sort of warning. The idea chilled him to the bone.

He closed his eyes and let his feet lead them wherever they desired. One hand brushed against the wall, to assure himself that he wasn't about to run into a wall, but other than that, he had retreated into another world.

He allowed himself the freedom of memories. For seven years, he had hidden away from his past, enjoying his status as the stranger who allowed a woman one night of unbridled passion, but never let anyone get closer. His sunglasses did not only keep his power from destroying everything he turned to. They kept him from getting too close. There were times he had bedded a beautiful, vulnerable young woman, and his heart was torn as he saw her tears when he would hurriedly dress in the morning. There were times he wanted to kiss a girl, and offer her some form of apology for his terrible behavior, that there was a deeper story, and it wasn't his fault. His sunglasses kept him from ever doing that.

He had always hated his sunglasses. They branded him as a freak, and he couldn't even take them off at night to stare up into the darkness, at the ceiling. Now, he hated them even more; they had kept him from seeking some sort of redemption for his terrible acts.

His sunglasses, he thought as he adjusted them on his nose that had been broken more than a couple times in the past years, offered him a refuge. No one had ever seen how high he had been because his eyes were covered. No one could see the tears that would drip from his eyes when he'd had a couple too many to drink. His sunglasses isolated him.

No, he decided, his sunglasses hadn't isolated him. He'd achieved that all on his own.

Scott descended a side staircase, and opened up a sliding glass door, the cool night air biting at his skin. He was suddenly glad for the sweater that had seemed almost sweltering and cumbersome inside. He didn't bother to close the door, and walked out onto the grand stone deck. He took several more steps and laid his hands on the railing of sorts, looking over the lawn.

With the mix of eerie moonlight, hopeful starlight, and weak sunlight, the dew on the expanse of grass lit up like a child's tears crystallized into glass so fragile it might break if one even touched it. He took a deep breath and exhaled. It did nothing to release the tension that held his body captive. He knew his fingers should feel cold, but he didn't seem to feel anything at the moment. He was staring out across the grounds of Xavier's School, and could see her everywhere.

It was torture.

"Hey there, stranger."

Scott knew that accent. He turned around, leaning against the stone barrier between him and a fall that might injure him. The left side of his mouth curled upwards, and his sunglasses hid the deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Hey Ororo." He greeted her softly, his voice sounding strange and out of place.

There was a silence between them, but it wasn't strained or painful. It was simply silence. The beautiful African gazed back at him, her features completely clear of any negative emotion. If Scott had been thinking, he would have realized she seemed shy. He had never known her to be shy. She had always been a leader in the classroom and out on the battlefield, and they had once been completely at ease with each other. Seven years could do a lot to change a person. He felt that change keenly.

"How are you, Scott?" She cautiously walked up to him, leaning on the barrier as well.

"It's been seven years, and that's the worst you have?" He would be the first to admit it. He expected her to blow him up with lightning on the spot. He had seen her anger and passion in a fight. It made sense. Hell, he wouldn't blame her if she did!

Ororo merely smiled and chuckled at that. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Scott couldn't help but look at her face. She had always been beautiful, and she had aged well. There were laugh marks around her mouth, and stress marks on her brow. The far sides of her eyes were becoming crinkled, but she was still so beautiful, so beautiful it made him ache. Her beauty reminded him of her beauty, and he wondered what she would look at this age. She would have been chasing a couple kids around, though, he mused, and maybe carrying another one. His nose wouldn't be broken. Instead, his hand would be sufficiently crushed from her giving birth to their children. It was funny how one choice could change two lives forever.

"Scott, I miss you." Her voice was choked. "We relied on you, on your strength to get us through. We needed you, and you were gone." A few tears escaped her eyes. "I needed you there to move on, to remind me that Jean wasn't some beautiful memory…"

Scott found his throat closing up. He reached up and wiped her tears away, trying in the only way he knew to make things better. He let the palms of his hands rest on her cheeks and he leaned forward, placing a kiss on her forehead. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and he held her head gently against his chest. He could feel her shaking as she cried in his arms. His arms went around her shoulders and he supported her as best as he could. He was suddenly transported back to all of those mornings. He wanted to do right in this moment for all of those girls he did wrong to.

"Ororo, I'm sorry I hurt you." Tears were evident in his voice. "I let you down, I let everyone down. I was selfish, forgive me." He let out a strangled sob. "I'm sorry I abandoned you. I tried to… I don't remember, but I didn't move on."

Ororo rubbed his back gently, and he found great comfort in the small gesture, simply because it wasn't something she had ever done. She was always more of a shoulder-rubber. Those were wonderful after a long day of teaching. However, whenever Ororo had ever hugged him when he needed a friend, her hand touched his back and moved up and down slightly, and it was so uniquely Ororo, it calmed him. There were so many differences in both women he held close to his heart that it was almost hard to see why they had become friends, but at the core, both women were passionate about everything they decided to do, and were a united front against enemy. Had been. They had been a united front.

Now both Scott and Ororo were alone, devastated by the loss of a friend.

It had been seven years.

Time doesn't heal.

Time makes wounds fester.

Scott pulled away from their embrace slowly, taking her hands. "Thank you." He gave her a small smile, and was glad that Ororo didn't ask him why he was grateful. It was too long of a story to tell, and she knew anyway. She knew he was grateful she hadn't taken retribution she deserved for his desertion. He was grateful for the mercy he didn't deserve.

"Hey, Cyke, stay away from my girl."

Scott turned his head, and couldn't help but chuckle, though the words brought back memories he preferred not to revisit. "I don't think so."

Ororo smiled, merely shaking her head at Logan, who was leaning against the threshold of the sliding glass door. "We'll be inside in a bit." She accepted the light jacket Logan slid over her shoulders. "Thank you."

Logan obediently entered the mansion once more, closing the door behind him.

Scott turned back to Ororo, his eyebrow arched. "You and Logan?"

The beautiful African waved it off. "It's complicated." She shook her head once more, wonderfully embarrassed by the Wolverine's rare flash of emotion. She often was up at strange hours, just to find Logan in the kitchen, woefully nursing his own pains with a chocolate milk (no matter how many times Logan complained, the Professor still refused to put beer into the refrigerator).

"Alright." Scott accepted it with a nod and a smile. His smile quickly faded as he looked over the grounds. "I never realized how much I loved this place, this peace that can come from just being here. It took me seven years. Seven years, Ororo." He gazed down at her, meeting her eyes. She had always been one of the few people he could look squarely in the eyes and not feel frightened. "I was the absolute opposite of anything I've ever been. I was this high, drunk sex addict. It was hell, for lack of a better term." Any words he had intended to say faded on his lips and he took her hand. "I was selfish, and I'm sorry for it. I did what I thought I had to do, but what I should have done was stay here."

He sighed, feeling the chains of regret as keenly as if heavy weights were on his shoulders. "I just wish I could make things right. I'm so afraid of what everyone will think, of what my students will think. There's so much I missed, when I was gone." He laughed bitterly. "I don't know why I dare ask, but how is everyone?"

"Bobby, he prefers Robert these days, and Marie were married a year ago, and they're very happy. Kitty disappeared a year or so after you left." She closed her eyes, and Scott embraced her. "I don't know what happened. Magneto and most of his partners have dropped off the map, due to the Cure, and John had returned for a short time, but he disappeared soon after Kitty did. Other than that, most are still around, teaching a few classes, helping out. Some have pursued careers, which Warren has been a great help in." She leaned against Scott's body, relishing in the comfort that came from a beloved friend.

"Is that all?" He breathed, his nose buried in her hair.

"Yes." She replied in a soft tone. "It wasn't the same without you."

"I'm sorry."

"You never needed forgiveness. I understand why you left, and I can't hate you for that. I never thought you would come back, but you did, and I don't have room in my heart for hatred." She looked up at his face and smiled at him.

Scott could have sworn that his entire body glowed with happy warmth at that statement. It wasn't often he got the "warm fuzzies", but it was a wonderful feeling nonetheless. He stared down at her, entranced by the forgiveness on her face. A smile eventually spread over his face and he felt a gentle peace settle over him. For a moment in the world, he was calm and at peace with himself and his surroundings.

He tilted his head slightly and tipped her head upwards with a gentle finger. He pressed his lips against hers in a tender kiss. He had no intentions with her, and there was no lust coursing through his veins. Words were useless; he didn't trust his voice to properly convey his thanks and his gratefulness for their friendship that had survived seven years of hell for the both of them. He drew away from the kiss, allowing it linger for a few moments, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Scott, I don't want to…"

He smiled, rolling his eyes at her, even as their foreheads were still touching. "You're not. We both know no one could ever replace Jean Grey. I think it will be years before I'll be so stupid as to try to replace her again."

Scott knew it was the first time he'd said her name in a long time. That was progress. It was possible for him to move on. It wasn't some distant dream anymore. Though the night felt as though it were a dream, his lips still tingled from sweet contact, and his fingers were cold. He pulled himself from their embrace and smiled at her, a true, genuine smile.

"Thank you for everything, Ororo." He kissed her cheek fondly. "It will be a long time before either of us are anywhere close to… healed, but there's hope." He was oddly satisfied with his words, though they seemed cheesy, and like someone would say in a dramatic movie, but never in real life. They seemed fitting, nonetheless.

"Yes, there is." She gave his hand a last squeeze. "Goodnight." She bid him, and then went back into the mansion, leaving Scott to his thoughts and the early morning air.

Hope, he thought with a chuckle. Indeed.

The sun began to peek over the horizon. Another day was beginning, and Scott Summers looked upon the new day as a new beginning for himself. He was finally home, and there was at least one person in the world who knew his pains. It would be a good day.