Chapter Two
"SUMMERS!"
Scott sat up abruptly, pulling a shirt on and leaving the room before he'd even opened his eyes. Then he woke up. He stumbled into the area of the house that served as a kitchen, rubbing his eyes and attempting to put his shoe in his mouth. He realized his problem and pulled it onto his foot instead, looking around for Jack, who he assumed had bellowed his name from this location.
Realizing he wasn't in the kitchen, Scott hurriedly grabbed his jacket and backpack, hopping back to the hallway while he put on his other shoe. He was seized by the arm and dragged into Jack's "office." He didn't call it his bedroom for reasons unknown, and it didn't look very roomy, so it was his office.
"Scotty, I jus' wanted t' make sure ya knew what was goin' down t'day. Firs' of all though, I gotta get on ya fer bein' so clumsy. Got up inna middle of the night, and I bumped the door righ' inna ya. We'll go t' th' doctor t' get ya fixed up, right kid?"
Scott just nodded, pulling his jacket on and commiting the lie to memory. Because he would be asked, and lately he'd been having trouble with sleepwalking, so far as his friends and teachers were concerned.
"Secon', I wanted t' warn ya. I've been chartin' yer "headaches," Jack paused here and smiled wryly, "an' yer due t' have another one sometime t'day."
Scott was actually grateful for this information. He knew he'd have to pack his blindfold now, which was better than he usually did. At the same time, having Jack know when his eye-blasts were going to occur was not a comforting thought.
"Las'ly, I wan' ya home by 3:35. On the dot, un'nerstand, else I'll be upset."
Scott's face almost fell. He knew he'd never get home that fast.
"Go on, then, go t' school."
Scott got his backpack, doubled back for his blindfold, got smacked upside the head when he bumped into Jack on his way back out the door, and then he was free. He felt himself almost immediately relax once he was out of Jack's presence. He broke into a jog as he rounded the corner of the street, hoping to stop by the convenience store for some food before hopping the bus to his school.
On the way, Scott saw a good sized stick, and picked it up, hoping to use it to "see" when his headache started later today. He looked at his watch and stopped. He was an hour early. His alarm clock hadn't gone off yet. He grinned and took off like a shot toward the store. Today, he would get a decent meal if he had anything to say about it.
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Charles Xavier made his way slowly to the dining room of the massive house he shared with Ororo Munroe. Granted, the house was in his name, and his money paid for its up-keeping, but he had always tried to be generous with his money, since he seemed to have so much of it. He allowed the woman to stay in the mansion, never having to pay him, and she got a massive bedroom all to herself, as well as the area she seemed to have adopted for her vast garden.
His mental abilities alerted him that Ororo, also called 'Storm' was unaware of the approaching lunch hour, and was tenderly nursing the little plants in her special place. She had always liked the outdoors and any kind of open space, which made sense, considering her mutant ability was control over the very weather. Also, though, because she suffered from extreme claustrophobia.
Storm, he called gently to her, though his lips didn't move.
Yes, Charles? She replied, sounding serene, even in her mind.
I detected that same signature again, but as usual, it was abruptly cut off. Charles managed to sound somewhat worried through his telepathy. Either the person in question has a highly dangerous power, or they are being forced to cut the signal short.
"Perhaps it is a little of both, Charles," Ororo said calmly, entering the room.
"If they would just let the power engage for a slightly longer period, I wouldn't have such trouble pinpointing their location."
"I thought even a brief signal would pinpoint their location," Ororo pointed out, carrying a bowl of salad to the table and sitting down.
"Usually that's the case, but this particular signal seems to be too far away," Charles said, helping himself to a plateful.
"Too far away for Cerebro to detect?"
"Heavens, no. For what I paid for that computer, it will find a mutant signature on the moon, should there be one there. No, it's just far enough away to require a solid 5 seconds of usage."
"I hope you find out, Charles. This big house seems so empty with Logan gone."
"Yes. But he's always been more his own man anyway. No walls could keep him in one place. Restless, you know."
"I know, Charles."
"Ororo, this salad tastes wonderful."
"Thank you, Professor."
Charles just smiled. It had been a long time since he considered Ororo his pupil. He remembered her as a college student, and as he had been a Professor at her college, she still, on occasion, forgot that he'd repeatedly asked that she call him by his first name, as a colleague should.
"And for the main course?"
"I took the liberty of buying sandwhich supplies, since there are only two of us."
"Of course. Hopefully, that will soon change."
"I hope so. It gets lonely here so quickly."
"I agree. But we agreed to start this sanctuary, and it may take longer than we initially thought to get students in here."
"Cerebro won't fail you, Charles."
"No, I don't think it will. It's that erratic signature that worries me."
Ororo said nothing, just nodded in agreement and continued eating in silence.
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Scott breathlessly arrived at his school, pausing to catch his breath. Today he would do everything he could to not be late to any classes, thus avoid detention, thus avoid missing the bus home, thus avoid having the daylight beat out of him when he reached said home. It helped that he seemed to be running early. He sat down in front of the entrance of the school and began doing the homework assigned yesterday.
He obviously had other things going on at home, and rarely got a chance to do schoolwork, and this resulted in poor grades, more detention, and all of his teachers thinking he was a bad seed. Never mind that he was well-mannered and tested well on the material.
"Hey, Summers! Is this a sign of the Apocalypse? You are actually on time today!"
"Funny, guys," Scott said good-naturedly, looking up at the familiar face and smirking.
"Dude! What happened to you?"
Scott quickly searched his mind for the lie he'd been instructed to tell today. "Sleepwalking troubles again," he said, after barely a second's pause. "Door opened right on my unsuspecting face."
Grins broke out and laughter ensued, along with the playful punches to the shoulder as he was teased for being a klutz. Inwardly, Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He hated the excellent liar he'd become. But fear is a good motivation for excelling in things you don't like to do. Fear of life on the street, no matter how good it seemed sometimes when compared to life with Jack. Fear of the horrible beatings, and fear of going back to another orphanage. He hated all of them. He'd been in more than most people, in more places than he cared to remember, each as bad as the one previous.
At least Jack doesn't care about my powers, just cares I don't use them against him, and that he knows when they're gonna be there, he thought savagely, hating himself for thinking of Jack's one redeeming quality. That one quality made Jack a better choice than the streets, the numerous foster homes, and even the other orphanages. Jack may be scum, and abusive and conniving, but he took Scott in of his own free will, and no one else had done that.
"Oy, Scotty, are you alive in there? Sleepwalking injuries affect your brain? We got Chemistry in, like, 3 minutes! Wanna copy my work?"
Scott shook himself out of his reverie, and thankfully accepted the papers that were being offered him, diligently filling answers in his own work. Either he'd cheat now, or he'd get a detention for not handing the homework in at all, and today he didn't want to risk it. He sped with the crowd into the school, not even bothering to drop his stuff off in his locker, fearing he'd be late for class. He arrived and sat in his seat as the tardy bell rung. First time he hadn't been late this week!
Maybe I'll get lucky today, he dared hope. Maybe I'll actually make the deadline.
He felt a familiar ache dully entering the space right between his eyes. He snapped them shut.
Maybe not.
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Charles Xavier felt a mental nudge as Cerebro detected the emergence of a new mutant signature. He rushed to it, and was slightly surprised that it wasn't the same signature it had been trying to pick up on recently. This one came up much quicker, complete with an impressive rotating full body photograph and profile. Identity confirmed. Jean Grey, age 15. Location: Hartford, Connecticut, United States. The voice said calmly.
Jean? He thought in surprise. Dr. Grey's daughter carries the X-gene? Charles knew the Greys. They lived not far from the college he once worked in. He had taught university classes with Dr. Grey, and had grown rather fond of his family. He decided that rather than go in person, he would wait it out until they decided to come to him. He respected the man very much and didn't want to risk compromising his friendship.
Hopeful that his great empty house would soon have more tenets, he set Cerebro's helmet aside and went to find Ororo.
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It was the last class of the day, and Scott couldn't be more glad for it. He could tell his teacher was getting increasingly annoyed with him each time he asked what time it was. He didn't mean to be rude, he just wanted to make sure he got home on time. His headache had lasted all day, even growing worse steadily, and he hadn't had the best time making his way blindly through the halls.
He'd nearly walked into the Girl's room by mistake, and each time he entered a class, he had to explain his predicament to the teacher. The story he'd made up this time was a good one. He'd been saying he had a severe eye condition, and that his optometrist appointment was after school, thus avoiding detention as well as questions. He decided that saying 'eye condition' instead of 'irritated eyes' made it sound official, thus the lack of nosy questions, which he held no fictional answers to.
"What time is it?" Scott asked again, hearing a groan from the teacher.
"If you're so worried about making your appointment on time, Mr. Summers, just leave. Read chapter 9 in the book and answer the questions afterward. Due on my desk tomorrow."
Scott thanked the woman and left hurriedly, not believing his luck. He held his hand out in front of him and cautiously meandered through the hallways until hitting a door, and after determining which exit he'd just gone out of, broke into a sprint to catch the city bus, which would take him to Jack's house faster. When he tripped in a hole in the grass, he remembered the stick he'd swiped that morning, and brought it out, helping his progress out fantastically.
Sensing someone following him, he spun around and loudly demanded to know the time.
"3:25," came the muttered reply.
Cursing loudly, Scott increased his pace, soon feeling familiar territory beneath his shoes. He began counting the curbs he stepped off of, and abruptly turned left down an alleyway, hoping to make it on time. He clumsily opened the door to the little apartment, marching quietly to his room.
"Scott?"
Scott just winced under the blindfold, unsure whether he wanted to answer or not. Was he late? Was he early? Was he going to die? Deciding to take a risk he answered firmly. "Yes?"
"Scotty! Jus' the kid I wanted t' see! Come in 'ere, Scotty, you're right on time!"
Scott, hardly daring to believe his luck, slowly steered toward the too-sweet voice of his guardian.
"Come on, come on! We 'ave stuff t' plan, don' we boys?"
Scott heard five or six grunts of assent as he entered the room at last and the door was quickly shut behind him.
"Siddown, string bean!"
Scott was pushed roughly into a chair, and he clutched at his backpack and walking stick. The latter was pulled from his hands abruptly and he didn't say a word.
"Now Frankie is our driver. He'll geddus anywhere we need t' go, and he'll be snappy abouddit, wontcha Frank?"
"Yeah."
"Right. And Tommy-boy is our electrician. He'll take care of the security that Scotty can't, right Tom?"
Scott heard a grunt and assumed the man had nodded. What did Jack mean by 'what Scotty can't'?
"Vince is our muscle. He'll be carryin' a gun an' watchin' t' make sure we ain't seen if we don't need to be."
"That's right, Jack."
"An' that leaves me, Scotty an' John. I, of course, am the brains of the operation, an' Scotty is our backup muscle. Since Scotty can't see very well, I'll carry his gun."
Scott heard the general assent and started to panic. What were they talking about? Why would they have guns?
"John is our speed, an' he'll be gettin' us our goods. Right John?"
"Hai, Jakku-san."
"Yeah, whatever. Do we all know the plan?"
Scott again heard the general assent and did something he immediately regretted. He questioned Jack.
"J-Jack, uh, sir, what are we g-gonna do?"
There was a deafening silence. Scott started to retract his statement. "N-n-never mind. It d-doesn't matter."
"Scotty, are you tellin' me you don' wanna part of the plan?"
"I d-didn't say that, I j-just wondered what w-we were d-d-doing, but it d-doesn't m-matter," Scott said hurriedly, already knowing he'd screwed up.
"Scott, it sounds t' me like you're goin' soft on me."
"N-n-no sir, I'm r-ready t-to d-d-do what-whatever you n-need me to do," Scott said, his fear growing as his stutter became pronounced. He was fine most of the time. It had developed when he first moved in with Jack -- more specifically right after his first trip to the hospital -- and he'd fought it hard; now it only re-surfaced when he was under intense stress. Like now. Or every day of his current life in Jack's presence.
"Boy, if you cain' even defend yerself, don' bother!" Jack said angrily, and Scott felt the blow to his face, hard and fast. He thanked his lucky stars that his blindfold was still on.
"I-I-I d-d-didn't m-mean any d-d-disrespect --"
"Git outta my sight, Summers," Jack growled, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and bodily throwing him from the room, his backpack flying out after him.
Scott heard the door slam and he slowly got to his feet, wiping blood off his chin. He gathered up his backpack and its' spilled contents quietly as he could, making his way to his little room. He felt the headache growing steadily worse, without any sign of reprieve. Maybe he never would be able to open his eyes again without destroying something.
Why is this happening to me?
Haven't I suffered enough?
What am I?
Scott realized then, much to his despair, that he was incapable of crying.
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