This story is in my Anna-Verse stories. It's the third a series that will be about a little girl who grows up wanting to be a hero with the X-Men, Scott Summers in particular, as her heroes. The two stories before it are Through Younger Eyes, and Hero. Both can be found at Heart of A Hero: http://theheartofahero.homestead.com/TheHeartOfAHero~ns4.html
Or you can e-mail me for me them. I suggest reading both stories first, though you might be able to understand it with doing so.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men and so money is being made off this story. Anna and her mother are mine however.
Archive: If you would like to I would be honored. Just ask first.
Feedback: is well loved and cherished and can be sent to Faile02@netzero.net or Faile02@yahoo.com
This story is rated PG.
Very special thanks to my Beta Reader Galaxia Alpha and Skyflare
And now, On to the story:
Contemplation
By Faile
"And on tonight's addition of CNN, the outlawed mutant band known only as the 'X-Men', allegedly stopped a fire in Salem Center."
"Now Laura, you know the X-Men as well as I do, I'll bet they started that fire just to look good."
"I don't know, Mike. I think—"
KZAKT! The television died quickly as the screen imploded with a crash. Great, just what I need now. Jean is going to be so pissed. Scott sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He really should go up to bed. Jean was waiting. He could feel her thoughts, muted with sleep. And he was tired, too. Like when you're so tired things stop making sense. Or maybe you just start to understand things you shouldn't.
There was a reason why Scott couldn't sleep. There were so many different thoughts running through his head, so many questions. His brain decided to think about them all now, forcing him to wade through mess inside his head. Maybe he would figure out what he did to make a little girl so awed with him. Maybe he would understand why she thought of him as a hero.
He looked over to the table. There, resting like it belonged was the cloth. It was a purple color, the thread an orange. The kind of picture a child makes and thinks is beautiful. Scott smiled, A child did make this. And it is beautiful. His fingers traced over the thread, reading the words one more time. Stitched in a messy hand, stood the words "#1 Hero, Cyclops of the X-Men".
Hero, huh. Is that what I am? Aren't heroes noble people? Don't they rush head first into something, and then perform some daring feat. Daring? I know I don't do daring. Just ask Logan or Gambit. If anything, they would be a better candidate for heroism then me. Or Storm, even! She was the one that saved everybody. It was her fire, her flying, her powers that allowed us to save those people. If I had been an onlooker I would have called Storm the real hero. I didn't even do anything! I directed my troops to do something they already knew how to do. I just stood there and looked pretty. So what did I do that was so special that I could make a child think that I was great? What gives me the power to be a hero? I just don't understand.
Is it the costume? The blue and yellow? It's not much. In fact, I always thought it was kinda dumb. I mean, what idiot walks around in yellow spandex? Maybe I should change them? Yeah, I could have Jean make a new one, like she did last time.
Scott Summers let out a noise suspiciously like a giggle. He was really tired.
Maybe it's the X. It is kind of official looking. I can see how one would think it's hero-like.
He walked to the window, staring at the stars, the North Star, bright in the sky. It seem to call him, and for a moment he watch it twinkle, letting his mind try to organize his thoughts.
Who am I kidding, he thought, a sigh escaping from his lips. I don't know what makes me special! I just don't understand! I'm not any different from the average Joe. I'm made of the same flesh and blood. I cry and bleed, I get sick, and old, and die just like every other man on this earth! I have doubts and fears and I live like everybody else. There is nothing about me that would make me a hero.
He shook his head, then moved over to the couch. He sat in a slump; chin drooped down to his chest, eyelids half closed. His hand reached out grabbing the cloth and held it before his tired eyes. He blinked, looking at it in confusion. There must be something, he thought, digging deep into his memory, trying to place the little girl that thought so much of him.
He had never seen her before. Not in Harry's, though that wasn't a particularly family oriented place. Not in the pool hall, which also doubled as an arcade. But then, she was young, younger then most of the kids that Jubilee had hung out with, and Scott didn't tend to notice the younger children. Wow, I don't think that the X-Men ever 'hang out' in places where children might be. She couldn't have been any older than 10 or 11. Cute though, with those brown curls and bright blue eyes…
And then he had it. He had seen those eyes before. He remembered them, beautiful, shinning, and filled with a kind of hope that Scott had rarely seen. Scott knew then who the child was. His mind found the memory and dragged it up, reviewing it on the wide screen theater inside his brain. He remembered the young child whose mother was in a car accident. He also remembered that if Jean hadn't sense it an instant before it happened, both mother and child would have been dead.
Beside him, Scott felt Jean draw to a halt. "Scott!" she gasped, "Look!" He looked to where she had pointed, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. A car, going much faster then it should, speeding in the shopping district of Salem Center, came barreling towards a young girl, and her mother. They appeared unaware, until the car made a loud screeching noise, causing the two to spin around in fear.
They stood, paralyzed for a long moment, allowing the car to come closer, when suddenly, the mother grabbed her daughter, and flung her to one side. Jean had closed her eyes, and Scott could see the slight glow of aura around the girl as Jean eased her throw, same as she did for the mother, absorbing telekinetically most of the impact.
In an instant, both were out of their street clothes, and into their uniforms, thanks to Shi'ar technology. Scott rushed to the woman's side, letting Jean go to the girl.
Cyclops knelt down, next to the woman. He checked her pulse; glad to find it still strong. The woman looked up, her eyelids fluttering open, revealing a pair of beautiful bright blue eyes, clouded over with pain. "Who…who are you?" she asked, her voice weak and scratchy.
"My name is Cyclops, ma'am. I'm going to get you help."
"My daughter? Is she…where is my daughter?" Panic started to creep into her voice and Scott did his best to sooth her.
"She's right over there ma'am, over your shoulder. No, don't turn to look, she's fine. She's getting help right now." The woman sighed, a sound full of relief. Scott looked at her for a moment, "That was a brave thing you did just now."
"Do you have a child Cyclops?" At his nod, she continued, "Then you must understand, nothing matters but her. Not even me."
Scott looked at her, silently taking in everything she had said. He thought of his own son, and what he had done to keep Nathan safe, of what he would have done, of what he would still do, if only Cable would let him. "Ma'am, may I ask your name?"
She smiled, "Rachael. Rachael Larken."
"Well Miss Larken, your help seems to have arrived."
"Cyclops, you were my help…"
He remembered it all now. The awe that Jean had showed him, hidden inside this child of ten years old. He remembered the look in her mother's eyes, as Scott helped her to the ambulance. And he remembered the feeling of hope. The feeling that maybe he could make a difference. One person at a time. He remembered looking down at the woman, hearing her words, hearing her call him her help. That made all the difference to him. She was someone who knew what he was, and yet, she didn't care that he was a mutant, or an X-man. All he was to her, was somebody trying to help.
He yawned, feeling the onset of exhaustion seep in. He turned to the stairs, pausing to look once more at the cloth, seeing it for the symbol that it was. That cloth represented everything the X-Men fought for, everything they sought to protect. For the first time in a long time, Scott Summers felt hope. Real hope that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to fight his whole life, just to live in peace.
It occurred to him, as he fell into bed, that tomorrow he should buy a frame.