There's a gentle sound when the fridge turns on
Towards the back of the dark garage
By the time I get used to it
It just seems to fade

On nights like these, Scott goes down to the garage.

He leaves Emma's warm body. Tries to take off his pajama pants. His fingers fumble with the drawstring. It's tied it too tightly. Double knotted and pulled taut. It takes a long time to undo. When he gets them off, he leaves them at the foot of the bed. He'll put them back on later. Looser this time.

Scott puts on jeans. A tee. A sweater. Slides loafers on. They're new. Still shiny. He leaves the room he shares with Emma. The door squeaks. Scott shuts it without pausing. He doesn't want to know if he's woken her. He walks away quickly and takes the long way down. Passes through the dormitories. Everything thing is quiet.

Scott goes down to the garage. He makes sure the door doesn't make any noise when he shuts it. The garage is dark. He turns on the light over his workbench. The garage is still dark. Scott likes it that way. He fusses with his tools. Arranges wrenches that are already in perfect order. Wipes down the already spotless workbench. Does things that do not need doing. Makes motions that do not need making. It's the ritual. It's his ritual. It gives him a reason to go down to the garage when everything is dark and silent. He has a reason to be there. Should anyone notice, though no one ever has. Should Emma ask, though she never would.

There's a refrigerator in the garage. There is soda in it. Cases of Hank's root beer and Emma's Diet Coke. Rogue's RC Cola. There's beer in it, too. Logan's border-run Canadian brew. Bobby's Corona. At the bottom, there is drawer of loose flotsam. Scott opens the drawer and reaches in. He pulls out a bottle of Gambit's foul, spiced Hibidaux. Scott doesn't want that. Gambit won't be back for it. Scott doesn't have the heart to throw it away. He puts it back. Scott reaches again and finds a bottle of Summer Ale. It's old. Scott doesn't care. That's the one he wants.

Scott shuts the refrigerator door. It turns on, adjusting for the warm air he let in when he opened it. The gentle noise is jarring in the silence of the garage.

There is a pack of Camels hidden in a coffee can, buried in loose screws. He digs the pack out. Taps one out of the box. Puts it in his mouth. Lights it. Uses the big, butane torch. It's not meant to light cigarettes. It's supposed to light the outdoor grill. Not anymore. It's been a long time. Too long a time. Scott remembers the last time.

Gambit makes Cajun-style ribs. Rogue floats around him. She laughs. Makes suggestions. Gambit pretends to use them. Logan throws Jubilee into the pool. She shrieks. Grabs his ankle and yanks. Logan pretends to fall in. Scott sits with the Professor. They talk about that clank that the Blackbird is making. Jean catches his eye. Smiles. The warm breeze blows her hair across her cheek. Scott pretends he's paying attention to the Professor.

Later on, when the sun is starting to set, they walk down to the lake. Jean's hand is warm and dry in his. Insects buzz around them. Scott doesn't talk. Neither does Jean. They walk down to the dock. Jean smiles at him. Smiles in that way she does when she's going to do something he might not approve of. She pulls her tee off. It's blue. He knows that. Jean always tells him what colors she wears. Buttons up a blouse, saying, "It's green, Scott. It matches my eyes."

Jean pulls her blue shirt off. She's wearing a white bra. He didn't have to ask. She knew to tell him.

Jean kicks of her sandals. They're old. The soles are falling apart. Scott always tells her that she should get new ones. She always says that she likes the way the old ones fit.

Jean unbuttons her shorts. Her cotton panties don't match her brassiere. They have tiny buds on them. Pink, she told him.

Jean walks away. She turns and walks backwards. She grins. The breeze blows her hair across her cheek. She turns again. She runs down the dock. She leaps off of the end. She tucks her knees up. Cannonballs into the lake. Water sprays the dock.

Scott follows. He has to be more careful. He has to sit on the edge of the dock. Lower himself in. Hold his glasses in place. Take care not to put his head under. It's too dangerous.

Jean is underwater. Scott holds his breath with her. He treads water. Jean rises to the surface and he can breathe again. She swims to him. Puts her arms around his neck. She holds herself against him. Her nipples are hard from the cold water. She kisses him. Her mouth tastes like lake water. Her hair smells like sunshine. The water is black and soft around them. The air is warm. Jean kisses Scott. She kisses him until he loses his breath. Until he forgets to kick his legs and begins to sink.

Scott sits in the dark garage. There's hardly any beer left in the bottle. He finishes it. The last few gulps taste sour. Scott stubs out his cigarette. Makes sure it's dead before he buries it in the trashcan. He turns the light off. He goes to the door. Stops with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn't look back. He doesn't want to look back. The refrigerator turns off. Scott had become used to the sound. The garage is dark and quiet. He misses the sound.

In a moment, Scott will open the door. He'll go inside. He won't think of that day. He'll save it. Tuck it away where he hopes Emma won't find it. Where she won't see that it's his favorite memory. The prize of the collection.

He'll go upstairs. He'll brush his teeth. He'll wash his hands. He'll splash water on his face. He'll change his clothes. He'll get into bed with Emma.

He won't think of it again.

Not until next time.

Not 'til he's in the dark garage again.