Title: Just Thinking.
Summary: (post X2 movie, Cyclops' pov) Scott tries to deal with Jean's death – and his loss - and wonders if he should take the plunge… a/n: pretty dark :) oh yeah.
Author: wild horse ( wild_horse1987@yahoo.com.sg )
Disclaimer: I don't own x-men or anything related, and I don't make any money out of this.
A/N: my first x-men fic, possibly my last. Read and review, please? :) PG for language.
He closed his eyes, pulled off the black visor, hurled it to the ground. It was shock-proof – it could take the abuse. Then, he picked up the other visor, the one he usually wore when he wasn't on a mission, and put it on. Now he could open his eyes, and he did, although he really didn't see the point.
Damn it, Cyclops, you let her die.
Sure as anything he had.
Logan was probably feeling just as bad. No, actually, he couldn't be. Scott sat down slowly on the bed, staring straight ahead.
He'd done it. He'd done it all. Screwed things up real badly and blasted through the dam, weakening the structure and eventually causing it to give way and flood the valley. And then, Jean died saving them all.
Bloody genius.
Not the first time he'd done something like this. The train station incident was still fresh at the back of his mind, even as his grief was sharper. The other X-men didn't know the full story, but Scott had felt compelled to tell Logan, at least. True, he didn't get along particularly well with Wolverine, but at least, Wolverine had been kind enough to tell him.
"She made a choice…it was you."
Eyes closed, holding back the power within. He struggled to breathe normally, keeping each breath in longer than usual, letting it out slowly. All in control. That was the only way he knew he could keep everything together.
The other students at the School were sympathetic, of course. Mostly, they avoided him, or exchanged glances of pity when they thought he wasn't looking. He had learnt to ignore them, and try to live his life as normally as possible.
Which was more difficult than he dared to admit.
Suicide.
He'd thought about that. And then, tried not to think about it. Normal people – or mutants, for that matter - didn't think about suicide. Scott pulled the knife out of its sheath, watching the blade as it glinted, reflecting the light into his eyes. He knew it was sharp – he had sharpened it himself – but he tested it anyway, running his fingers lightly against the edge.
Plunge it in.
He winced.
Get out of my head.
There was a lot of work to do. Magneto was gathering forces, and the Professor would need every one he could get. In a certain way, that was good. It drowned out all time for thought. Well, evidently not all, since he was entertaining dangerous ones right now.
Damn it, Jean, how can I live without you?
It was threatening to spin out of control again. His life. Sometimes, he could just believe everything would be okay, and he could actually live properly for a few hours. Then the awful reality would come back and crash into him, bringing him to his knees again. And again, and again. Each time, he would have to climb back up, shaking, wondering if he could ever stand again.
If the knife-blade could end all this, it would be great.
There must have been something he could have done. Or not done.
You screwed up, Summers. You really did.
The knife seemed to call to him, persuading him to drive it through his body, and end it. End it all, so he wouldn't have to know anymore. He watched it, mesmerised.
The footsteps along the corridor jolted him back to his senses, and he shoved the knife back into its sheath. Someone knocked on the door, and then it opened. The familiar rugged face and broad shoulders. Scott rolled his eyes.
"Hi Cyclops. Still in the uniform?"
"Hi Wolverine. Mind waiting, before you barge in?" his voice was clipped, precise.
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I mind," he gave a devil-may-care grin, "Just checking in on you, seeing if you're still alive."
"Well, I'm fine, unless I die of shock after seeing your face."
The other man snorted with laughter and left, closing the door behind him.
Wolverine had reminded him, and Scott quickly pulled off the X-men uniform and put on something else.
The knife had lost its hold on him, and he was, in part, glad of that.
Scott knew he couldn't go on like this, torn up inside. He had to either rip himself to pieces, or somehow keep things together and go on. The Professor and the others, even Logan, would definitely prefer the latter. There was no doubt about that.
And Jean.
Jean, I miss you so much.
He'd promised to not let anything harm her. Because he knew he loved her too much. But it had always been in the back of his mind. What if. What would he do if she was…well, gone. He'd forced himself to never think about it. So that now, when it had really happened, he didn't know what to do.
"…She chose you."
And I let her down. Dammit, I let her down.
No. He closed his eyes now.
She's alive. She'll be okay.
That was what he'd told himself, over and over again this last week. And he knew what he had to answer.
She's alive.
Scott gritted his teeth, stood up, and leaned against the wall.
She's alive.
Her smile, the sparkle in her eyes.
She's alive.
Her voice. Familiar. He could see her in his mind, teasing him playfully. It made him want to reach out, touch her. She was real, she was the only person he'd really cared about.
Stop it. Damn you, stop it! Stop playing with my mind.
She was gone.
Scott smashed a fist into the wall, but it did not yield. The truth hit harder than the pain spreading through his knuckles.
She's dead.
He collapsed on the ground, curled up in a ball, trying to hold back the tears.
She's dead. You're alive.
Shaking, trembling.
You've got to live, fight for the cause she fought for.
He couldn't stop it. He was crying, the pain as fresh as when he'd been leaning against Wolverine, unable to believe what had happened, screaming that it couldn't have.
Scott dragged himself to his feet, suddenly feeling an aching tiredness that spread all throughout his body. He staggered a little, then collapsed on his bed, fists still clenched and shaking with the effort. His breathing was ragged now, harsh.
I don't want to live.
There was no light in the darkness, nothing for him to hold on to. He sat up and reached out for the knife again, drawing it swiftly. Watching. Thinking. Knowing.
The door was shoved open. "Scott, don't! Logan!" It was Storm.
He turned to face her, then he dropped the knife.
You've got to live.
Wolverine came running, and he lunged for the weapon. Scott didn't bother to try and stop him. Even before Storm had come in, he had known what he would do.
Okay, Jean, I will.
"I'm okay," He put up his hands in an innocent gesture. Logan looked sceptical, Storm relieved.
Scott brushed past them and stepped out into the brightly-lit corridor, then turned to face Logan. "Keep that for me, will ya?" he pointed at the weapon in the other man's right hand.
Logan looked puzzled but glad. "Sure thing. Where you going?"
Cyclops smiled grimly, "Jean died for us. I'll make sure we're worth dying for."
a/n: so how? Review! Please… :)