After of the Merge
Author: Jenskott Summary: What if when Cyclops merged with Apocalypse, he have accidentally kept a fraction of the power?
Notes: Really I've too many fanfics to work on, but the idea wouldn't let me alone. The thought of how a super-powerful Cyclops would alter the Marvelverse was too good to let it go. Besides, it'd allow me treat to Scott Summers how he must be treated, ignoring the last years of continuity. This can stand alone on its own, but I want doing it a series. Only don't hope constant updates.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but they shouldn't belong to Marvel either. Theirs legitimate creators are Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, who obviously I'm not. Argue me THAT.
Rating: PG-13 for some language, I suppose.
Feedback: To I need opinions, please. They will be read, reckoned with and worshipped. English isn't my primary language so there will be mistakes.
Part One. Outcome-
His finger lingered hesitantly over the switch. Finally he retired his hand, deciding no light up the room.
After all, his vision was excellent even in the darkness. The shapes and the colors were always filtered through red shades.
And of late he was developing a fondness by the shadows.
Ignoring the unsettling discomfort that thought caused him, he strolled in the kitchen, heading for the fridge. He was thirsty, and craved for the cold and bubbling water sliding down his throat.
A sudden idea halted him. Reluctant, but also curious, he stretched out his arm, reaching for the door even though his hand was too far to even touch the handle.
Quietly the metallic, white door opened on its own, and a bottle of shining glass floated out of its slot. He concentrated in pulling the bottle at himself, simultaneously repelling the door's metal to close the freezer. However the strain turned out to be excessive, and his focusing faltered. The jar was smashed to bits on the floor, shattering in thousand tiny shards as the water spilled violently.
"Oh, shit!" He cursed bitterly, palming his head, as he saw the liquid shaping a puddle on the tiles. "Jean will get my head for this."
A sudden click sounded behind him, and the light flickered twice before illuminating the room wholly. He blinked, adjusting his vision to the abrupt brightness, and spun around. She stood on the threshold, draped in her pink robe and wearing her green slippers, yawning loudly. Her long and flaming hair was disheveled, and her bleary eyes gave a gaze dazed, wary. As if she found hard the mere effort of keeping her eyelids opened. He had to have screamed his agitation in her head unintentionally, and had woken up her, he thought ruefully.
Seeing her rubbing her drowsy eyes, he sent the memory of his no sterling deed and his regret. She smiled thinly, despite of the sleepiness numbing her, and stumbled into the room, shooting at once a sidelong, passing glance at the mess spread on the floor. A surge of power jolted the pieces of glass, which darted at the trash bin, as a stream of water molecules slithered towards the sink.
Such fine control and mastery, even half-asleep, he thought enviously. And he felt a pang of shame for it.
She drew closer him, and her hand grazed with a gentle and soothing stroke his cheek. Her fingers put away carefully several long strands plastered on it. He had let grow his hair, and now it was shoulder-length. It gave him a mysterious looking. "Nightmares again?"
He paused. "Yes. But you know that. I was in the desert again... And then I woke up, and God, I was so thirsty..." His hand brushed his throat, feeling it dry and brittle as sandpaper. He thought in fetching a glass of the cupboard, but then he got other idea. Any moment is good for practicing, isn't it?
He cupped one hand and sharpened his senses until he saw the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen floating on the air. A bluish sheen seemed over his palm, and it coalesced and hardened in a circular crust, which grew upwards to shape a glass. A mist condensed above it, and an abundant rain of cold and fresh water poured in the glass. He downed it immediately, moaning in delight. The sensation was heavenly. His power boost could have some perks after all.
He turned to see she was sat on the main table, his hands rolling a steaming mug. Camomile tea, probably. His eyes spotted the teapot still steaming on the board, atop of a tablecloth.
He smirked sarcastically. "Don't tell me this is one of those times of a movie where all characters ended up spontaneously in the kitchen to get a heart-to-heart talk at the midnight."
So sarcastic. So very acid. Biting, even. Despite of the popular belief, her husband had a sense of humor. One very dry and twisted. But he was now blacker, more cynical, more derisive than never.
She smiled back. "You dragged me out of the bed. Therefore the guilt is yours, Slim."
Then she stopped talking. Her eyes contemplated him with a watchful expression of deep and painful concern, intense enough to bore holes in his head.
He loathed it. Everybody looked at him with worry and acted so cautious and wary... He was sick of seeing those faces of sorrow and fear aimed at him.
Just like she was sick of he staring at her with fear every time her powers increased drastically? A tiny voice in his head nagged him. His shoulders slumped with the weigh of the chagrin.
Yes, it bothers you a lot. But you can't help it more than I do it, right? He sent his thoughts in her head. She nodded. Slowly she brought her cup to the lips and sipped quietly.
"Do... you want any drink?"
He shook his head in denial. Although he needed getting drunk a lot lately he didn't intended setting a dangerous trend. Several times he had drove down to Harry's with Logan so he dragged him back when he passed out. Why did he need do that? He didn't know the precise answer. Maybe to throw away his control, numb the pain, or forget he was the leader all laughed about but needed desperately. Meanwhile he trusted in her to watch over him and avoid that he did any stupidity.
Minutes passed where the only sounds were the tick of the clock and she gulping the lukewarm infusion. He gazed at her silently, hesitating. Then he walked behind her, and placed her hands on her shoulders. She nearly spat the tea of the surprise.
"Your muscles are stiff" He uttered simply. He focused, and suddenly his hands pulsated with a soft glow of heat. He kneaded the shoulders on circles, massaging and dissolving each sore knot. She purred.
He finished his massage, grinning weakly, and fetched one chair beside her. He plopped down and relaxed on the cushion, letting the tiredness leaving him.
Now was her turn to stare. Studying carefully each curve on his face, her eyes searched his own, and he fidgeted nervously. She could feel his doubts and insecurities waging an inner war. Finally he linked hands with her, slightly reluctant of the touch, but allowing her transmit him warmth.
Gradually, to no shy him away, she stretched out one hand and traced the line of his jowl before cupping his chin.
"This morning" she chose carefully her words "called Charles."
"Oh, yes?" He uttered. Neutrally.
"Yes. He mentioned some little troubles, but he stated very clearly that he'd ship us back if we just THINK in interrupting our retirement before you're feeling better. He must blame to himself for..."
Her voice trailed off, and he nodded. She felt his grief, misery and black depression, and soothed him with tranquility, hope, and light. She knew Charles blamed to himself, indeed. And that was the reason what she didn't blame him. He had always encouraged him to fight for his beliefs, but he didn't think what it might cost to the man he considered his son. He had all but lost his life, and his soul was shattered.
And she was impeding the seams widened. "Besides he told me Warren has finally proposed to Betsy."
"Yes?"
"Yes. And Psylocke threatened us with grievous bodily harm if we don't attend to the wedding."
"I wouldn't miss that for anything on the world." He smiled thinly. Inwardly she smirked with satisfaction. These days was tough pry him off his murky mood and make him smile. And his smile was beautiful.
Silence. They remained quiet during minutes, gratified with the slight physical contact, without breaking the stillness enveloping them as a protective cloak. In the last months they had got used to long moments of awkward silence, when neither of them was certain of the right words to tell.
He kept gazing at the opposite wall, although nobody might tell what his eyes were seeing on the shades of the plaster. She said nothing, got used to his eerie silences, his awkward pauses and his swift mood changes. Abruptly a noise of air sizzling and crisping hissed, and the teapot hovered slowly onto the counter.
The faint blue glow surrounding it wasn't missed by her. Blowing several red strands out of her mouth, she stared at him smugly. "I see you're familiarizing quickly with your new powers, Slim."
He lowered his head, gazing thoughtfully one of his eyes clenching and unclenching. "Yes. The bastard would likely tell I must be thankful by this gift. Which I never requested him." His hand closed tightly in a fist. He glared at it with loath.
"Your power plus one shard of every one of us." She mused hesitantly. "Each piece tiny, but formidable on its own. All together..."
"Yes" He uttered darkly, and raised his hands, putting them together with the open palms upwards. Amber sparks crackled on it as in a furnace, before changing into an electrical blue glow. Glacier vapor floated from them, and after sizzling steam. The heat evolved in hot-melting, red flames, and he put them off with a flicker of his wrists. Then he reabsorbed the lost energy.
"Look at me" His lips snarled. "You know better than anybody the troubles I had to live with my own power. I clawed my way to learn to control it, trained to hone my optic beams until my head hurt so much I wanted vomiting, and now... Now I'm more powerful than I'd dreamt ever, more powerful than almost any mutant. And I didn't need it! To steal my body and sully my head wasn't enougn. Thanks to him I'm more scared than never from myself!"
She listened quietly to his growling rant. "The power corrupts. The absolute power corrupts absolutely." She muttered softly. Those words were carved with fire and hurt and loss in her heart.
"Exactly. Who can beat me now? Thor. Silver Surfer. Perhaps Hulk or Doc Strange. But among the mutants? Other than you, and maybe our children and Franklin Richards, nobody can stand up to me if I go nuts. Everybody knows that in the mansion. Everyone peeked me warily, wondering when the deranged man would snap. They forgot I now read minds." He spat contemptuously.
"True" She mouthed, and brushed softly his brown hair. It was another reason because the Professor had suggested those vacations. He had many issues to cope with -like get over that monster dwelling in his head and carving his brain-, and besides his newly developed telepathy tortured him in ways very familiar to her. He sensed the nervousness, the worry and the grief of the people in the mansion, and that pain was driving him mad. The huge and empty Alaska's wilderness were more soothing to a novice telepath.
His baleful glare melt in a tender and regretful glance towards her. "You felt like this, didn't you? Each time you showed off and someone got worried. Each time your power augmented and someone frightened. Each time you got angry and someone got frantic. You felt frustrated and furious. And you wished all -including your anal-retentive husband-shut up their mouths and trusted in you."
She looked away and nodded weakly. "What couple we are, aren't we? A cyclops with his eyes blinded and a phoenix with her wings clipped."
Her forefinger tangled in one of his long strands and she played with it.
"Scott" She talked after a pregnant pause. The subject ate her alive with deep concern "Maybe you can use that power to do something good just for a change. Perhaps the reality-shifter shard will allow repair your brain damage..."
He sighed sadly. "I don't dare. Warp the reality is very hard and tricky. It requires many power and focusing. And my brain is enough messed already to rummage in it."
Sorrow and compassion washed over her face. "Then can't you get anything positive out of this shit?"
Scott stood still. Then sighed and his right hand clasped her left hand. She entwined their fingers. "At least Nate gets his life back and is free to enjoy it. That drive, that anxiety for slaying to Nur at any price has faded."
"The last thing I heard, Nathan, Domino and the kids were wrecking havoc and mayhem everywhere."
"It sounds like them" He sniggered, cheerful for a moment. "At least my son is happy. I... I'm feeling like if a twister has turned me inside out and upside-down. However that's the description of my whole life so I shouldn't feel so shocked- Jean?"
"Talk me" She pleaded. Her arm squeezed tightly his shoulder. Her eyes were sparkling with a bright sheen. "Just... tell me what you need."
Her voice sounded cracked and plaintive. She was really pained. That ache mortified him in turn. But he wasn't certain of what words or acts would reassure her. So he acted instinctively, circling her waist with an arm and sitting her in his lap. His face buried in her hair.
Stay with me, Jean. It's all I need He whispered mentally, sending his raw need.
Always, Scott. Always She whispered back, sending her gratitude and her love.
His hand sneaked upwards, sliding between her breasts, and resting tenderly on her breastbone. He did that to sense the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeats. To feel her heart. Her fingers caressed tenderly his hand, feeling it trembling with the touch.
Keeping a cold distance a minute, clinging to you as a castaway to a piece of driftwood the next. He was in an emotional turmoil since the Merge, going from aloof to tender to choleric to mellow to sad to joyful with incredible easiness. The mood changes were disconcerting, unpredictable, but she ate anything he dished out, absorbing it as a sponge to scan his feelings. And now she sensed a desperate need for closeness, for warmth. As a fretful child. However it was shifting in other wanting. A primal craving.
His damp mouth nuzzled his neck and she knew what he needed. He wanted her and wanted her now.
God, Red. If only I was able of telling you how much I love you He breathed.
We don't need words, Slim. We never did She assured him.
And he knew how having her. His body suddenly burst in golden blazes of atomic fire, the same kind generated Sunfire, blazes enveloped her, licking her body. She arched back her head and screamed in pleasure. Like her namesake, she burnt, and those flames fueled her inner fire. And drowned in flares she felt joyously, explosively alive. He knew it and used it to arouse her.
She ensconced on his lap, and tilted fractionally her head, offering her lips. He took them.
No one positive thing to yourself, uh, Slim? She relished on the kiss' flavor, returning his lust. Are you sure of you can't find any good use to your powers?
Mental silence. Then, a hearty chuckle. I suppose that crap about clouds with silver lining is true after all. This is one of the fringe benefits
Fringe? When I'm through with you...
But he didn't heard anymore. As his hands performed several tasks, his mind wandered back to the day when ended the world how they knew it. The Gathering of the Twelve and the Battle of Akkaba.
To be continued...
