It was three days before Christmas Eve, and the weather was both frightful and delightful. Thick snow fell outside of the picturesque home of the Summers family, blanketing the ground with white fluff just asking to be made into snow angels or turned into powdery snow balls ready for battle. Regardless of the current weather,which would normally bring joy to any child whose beliefs were that every Christmas was a white one, Scott closed his eyes, the icy blue orbs brimming with unshed tears. He could hear the muffled yelling from his parents room above him as he dried the dishes in the kitchen.
Alex didn't understand what was happening, he was too young, but Scott did, in all his eight year old wisdom. Three years his brother's senior, he knew that his mommy and daddy were angry with each other, it never seemed to end. And then they took it out on him, well, not intentionally. Daddy yelled at him for the smallest things, and sometimes left the house and stayed at work for days, and Mommy sometimes wouldn't leave her room for days. He could hear her sobbing from outside the door where he often found himself sitting, doing his his third grade homework, stumbling over his spelling and grammar. Daddy used to help him with his homework, but now he was never home, and if he was, he was always angry about something.
He took good care of Alex though. His five year old brother remained oblivious to the problems between their mommy and daddy, instead, finding that his older brother made a great playmate, and was the one to go to whenever he needed anything. Scottie made him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and sometimes cut them into funny shapes, and he helped him get ready for bed at night too. Sometimes, Scottie would even go on rides around the block with him, going slow so Alex could keep up with his two wheeled bike with his tricycle, little legs pumping furiously.
Scott's best friend Andy's parents got a divorce a year ago, and now he spent all of his time either at his Mommy's house the next town over, or at his Daddy's around the block. Scott missed the days that he and his best friend would spend the afternoon swimming in their pool, their families laughing and babbling as his Mommy bounced Alex on her knee, both mothers keeping a trained eye on the boys roughhousing in the pool, yelling when things got out of hand or their screaming got too loud. Andy had told him his Mommy left because his parents yelled at each other all of the time, and Scott was worried that his Mommy and Daddy were going to become just like Andy's.
Holding back his tears, he took a deep breath and reached for the glass sitting on the edge of the sink, clean, waiting for him to dry it and put in on the stack of dishes to be put away. He had made sure Alex was preoccupied in the living room, amused with his Christmas coloring book and crayons, the television turned on to holiday cartoons to try to block out some of the yelling from his parents. The wet glass slipped from his fingers, falling into the sink, making a cracking noise as it hit the side of the sink on the way into the soapy, dirty water. Without thinking, he plunged his hand into the murky water, and, feeling his hand stinging, withdrew it without the glass, or well, without the complete glass. Suddenly the stinging turned into burning agony as Scott stared at the glass sticking out of his palm, and the blood covering his arm, dripping into the sink and staining the water sickly pink.
Face white, he screamed.
His father crashed into the kitchen, closely followed by his mother. His father grabbed him, and his mother took the dish towel he had been using earlier and wrapped it around his wrist as he howled in pain, and then was reduced into sobbing into his daddy's strong shoulder as the man tried to calm his son as he searched for the car keys. They were currently living off base, so the closest hospital was ten miles away. Christopher found the keys on the counter under the newspaper; it was hard to search and hold the child at the same time, but he never even considered putting him down, not that Scott would let go the death-grip he had on his sweater. Katherine grabbed Alex as she made through the living room with an armful of bath towels, explaining to the toddler that: "Scott got hurt."
Alex quickly followed his mother, who was clutching his hand tightly as she bundled him into the front seat of the car with his winter coat. She took the drivers seat after making sure everyone was buckled in and instructed Christopher to make sure to apply pressure to Scott's wound on his wrist. Scott couldn't remember anything hurting as badly as his hand and wrist were right now. Only his father's soothing voice and strong arms kept him from screaming, bu that didn't stop him from sobbing until he had trouble breathing. The fresh snow on the streets glimmered from the streetlamps as Katherine drove as fast as possible, but still remain safe.
Those ten miles seemed endless to the people in the vehicle as they slipped and skidded down the near empty highway to the hospital. Even before the car came to a complete stop, Christopher had bolted out of the car and into the freezing air, the doors to the emergency room opening automatically to let him in. By that point, Scott was feeling a bit woozy, and didn't put up much of a protest as his daddy set him down on a gurney and let the doctors take him away. They hadn't had to wait, as soon as Christopher had entered, clutching a profusely bleeding child to his chest and yelling for help, the nurses had immediately given Scott first priority.
Scott felt sick as he watched the nice doctor who had introduced himself as , stick the needle into his hand near where he had the glass stuck. It hurt for a few moments after the man had pushed the plunger and the medicine had gone into his hand, but after that, both of his cuts had stopped hurting. A friendly nurse in a Santa hat regaled him with a story about when she was a little girl and she and her younger sister had snooped around the house for their Christmas presents, encountering many humorous episodes and events along the way, while the kind doctor gently and carefully cleaned the wounds and removed the large shard of glass from his palm.
Dr. Merton was stitching up Scott's hand and wrist when Christopher poked his head in.
"Hey Navigator," his father smiled slightly. "How're you doing?"
Scott perked up, his father was......happy? "Good."
"I'm glad," Christopher glanced at the doctor. "You're going to have a couple of new war wounds kiddo."
Scott rolled his eyes much to the doctor, and his father's amusement. "Don't think there's a Purple Heart waiting for me." He yawned.
Christopher glanced at his watch, amazed to see that it was around midnight all ready.
"That should do it, son." The Doctor tied off the sutures on his wrist and cut the thread. "You've been very brave."
"And really dumb." He yawned again. "Stuck my hand in the stupid sink." He yawned again. "Dropped the stupid glass. Really stupid."
Christopher didn't have the heart to reprimanded his exhausted son for his blatant use of prohibited language, he'd address that issue when the boy was more coherent. He refrained from chuckling, even though Scott insisted that he was old enough to stay up all night on New Years Eve this year, he couldn't string together a complete sentence even if he tired at the moment. wrapped some gauze around Scott's injuries, taping it securely. Scott tried to make a fist but his entire hand was numb, so the best he could muster was a feeble twitching of his fingers. With another wide yawn, the older doctor finally nodded pleasantly to Scott, eyes twinkling.
"All done, but I want you to stay here for about another hour just in case you feel sick," the doctor smiled at Christopher. "You are welcome to stay with your son if you wish, Mr. Summers. I am going to write down the instructions for you to clean and care for Scott's stitches, as well as give you some gauze and tape, and cream in case the sutures get dry or itchy. Would you like me to give everything to your wife?"
Christopher nodded. "That would be great, Doctor, thank you so much."
"Yep," Scott yawned. "Thanks."
Merton smiled warmly at Scott. "It was my pleasure. Have a happy, and safe holiday." And then the doctor was gone, leaving a very sleepy Scott and a very awkward feeling Christopher together in the small cubicle.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." Scott mumbled as his father made his way over to the bed and sat down next to his son.
"What for?" The older man was perplexed by Scott's apology.
"For breaking the glass, 'n cutting m'self." Scott yawned, snuggling up to his father's side. Christopher smiled as Scott basically crawled into his lap, and adjusted himself so both of them would be more comfortable while Scott slept.
"It's fine, Navigator," Christopher ran is hand through Scott's thick chestnut hair so similar to his own, but the young boy's was long and shaggy, in need of a trip to the barber, while his own was usually crew cut or neatly trimmed. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."
"I jus' want you 'n Mommy to be happy again," Scott snuggled even closer to his father's chest, listening to the beating of his heart.
"But we are happy."
"No," Scott mumbled. "You're gonna get a divorce, jus' like Andy's momma and daddy, and I won't see you no more. I don' want.....S'rry."
With that, the child slipped off into oblivion, leaving a shocked Christopher Summers trying to comprehend exactly why Scott had been led to believe he was going to leave Cathrine. Not happy? The fighting. Cathrine's family was trying to get them to move back closer to her childhood home so the family could be closer to one another, but Christopher didn't want to leave his position as a test pilot, and they had been very verbal about their opinions. But it never crossed his mind that Scott would link the normal fighting between spouses with divorce.
"I promise you, my Navigator," Christopher kissed Scott's temple, whispering into his ear in a rare display of open, raw emotion before shutting his eyes against the tears threatening to well up in his eyes, "We are, and always will be a family."
Scott's eyes flickered slightly open as he took in his father's features. He had, of course, been awake the entire time. He was eight years old after all, he did have a few espionage tricks up his sleeve, not that his father knew that. As his father opened his now dry eyes, Scott quickly shut his, and this time, reassured that he would never be alone, fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, dreaming of Christmas Day, filled with presents, and a phone call from his grandparents, and teaching Alex to make snow men in the front yard. Santa Claus' visit was all but a few days away, and Scott knew for sure that both he and Alex were on the Nice List. But most importantly, now that he knew that his Mommy and Daddy still loved each other, Christmas took on a whole new spirit. He would never be alone ever again, because that was what Christmas time was really all about.
*****************************
Staring at his palm and wrist, Scott could still faintly see the faded scars of his childhood accident. Even though the actual wounds had long ago healed, he knew others still remained, deeply hidden. Those painful hurts would never go away, they were the void that kept him up at night, the hollow ringing inside of his head, and the heavy feeling in his chest, suffocating him as the other students at the Institute spoke happily about their plans for the Christmas Holidays and rushed around to find the perfect presents for their families. Those scars were all he had to remember the last Christmas he spent with his family.
The flickering orange light from the fireplace cast a glow upon the entire room, and Scott closed his eyes as he battled the feeling of acute loneliness. Nine years to the day that he received those scars; three days before Christmas Eve, Scott now sat alone, knowing that no matter how much he wished it, he would never be able to go back to those times in his flickering memories, so vague and indistinct sometimes that he considered believing that nothing was real and his entire past was a figment of an overactive imagination. The memories that still remained that was, of course. Precious few reminders of the days before his lost his family remained, a side effect of his head injury from the crash that took their lives.
"What'cha think'in 'bout?" Rogue sat down on the couch next to him, startling him out of his self-pity.
"Nothing," he muttered quickly.
"Don't look like nothin'," she touched his shaking hand which he still held out in front of himself. Softly, she traced the scars. "I always whondered where'd ya get 'em?"
Cocking his head, he looked at her. "You sure you want to sit here and listen to me tell a boring story?"
We a'hre snowed in, ya know." She paused, looking closer at his expression which was still tinged with sadness."'N only if yer willin' ta share," she murmured softly.
He nodded. "But only if you share one with me," He held up a hand to silence her protests. "This is the season of giving, isn't it?"
Rogue chuckled. "Ya drive a m'hean bargan, Summers." She breathed in deeply. "F'hine. Ah agree ta yer terms."
"Good," he breathed in deeply. He wasn't sure why, but he somehow knew the southern girl would understand why he felt so alone during these days of celebration. And maybe....Sharing some of his pain might make those painful invisible wounds heal, if just a little bit. "You see these scars?" He pointed to the two old injuries, long healed, "well, it was thee days before Christmas Eve, on a night a lot like this........"