Learning that Scott signed only strengthened Charles's resolve to give him back his sight. He was determined to teach Scott to control his power, whatever it took. Admittedly, his motives were somewhat selfish; he wanted to get to know the small, uncertain boy with whom he shared his home. First, he needed to be able to communicate with him. Sure, he could speak to Scott telepathically, but each time he entered Scott's mind he sensed the boy's discomfort. Scott tolerated the intrusion, but only because he had no choice. Charles wanted to give him that choice.
The shattered vase had left Scott so shaken that Charles and Hank agreed to wait another day before asking him to show off his power – something they were sure would terrify him. The next morning, however, Charles wasted no time in escorting Scott below ground to an old bomb shelter built by his stepfather decades before. They found Hank fussing over an assortment of elaborate equipment already set up in the long, tunnel-like room. When Hank saw them enter, he made one final adjustment then hurried over to them; he could barely hide the excitement on his face.
Once Hank had joined them, Charles turned to Scott.
"Scott, I'm sure you've been wondering why exactly we brought you to New York," he sent. He paused, and then continued, "The blasts emitted from your eyes are the result of a genetic mutation. A similar mutation allows me to communicate with you telepathically." He paused again, gauging Scott's reaction.
Finding Scott's expression unchanged, he added, "I know that your mutation may seem frightening, but Hank and I believe that with a little practice, you can learn to control it. We will do whatever we can to help you, but in order to do that, we need to learn a little bit more about the blasts."
Charles could sense Scott's hesitancy as he began to realize what the two men wanted. But Charles had anticipated Scott's apprehension.
"We are in a safe place, Scott. There is nothing to destroy and no one to hurt here," he sent. Unconvinced, Scott took a step back, hanging his head and wrapping his arms tightly across his chest.
"Don't let your mutation control you," Charles continued. "Trust us. Unless you take this leap of faith, you will spend the rest of your life hiding behind that bandage, missing out on your life. I know you don't want that."
When Scott didn't respond, Charles delved ever so slightly into Scott's mind: No, Scott didn't want to spend his life hiding, but he was too afraid to hope for anything more.
"Scott, let us help you," he tried one more time. He watched Scott closely. Finally, after several moments, Scott lifted his head ever so slightly, slowly unfolded his arms, and let out the tiniest of sighs.
Smiling, Charles nodded to Hank who, until then, had watched the silent exchange with curiosity. Hank took a step towards Scott. He gently touched Scott's shoulders, turning him to face the multitude of meters and machines lined up against the far wall of the room. Slowly, he reached up to remove Scott's bandage. He was surprised when Scott did not resist. Underneath the bandage, Scott's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Hank stepped to the side.
"Trust us," Charles sent again.
Scott gritted his teeth and opened his eyes to a blaze of red.
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Having seen Scott's power firsthand, Hank became obsessed with analyzing the optic blasts. Other projects were forgotten and, aside from meals, he was rarely seen outside the lab. Initially, Charles had hoped that Scott could learn to control his gift naturally, but after several sessions with Charles acting as coach and cheerleader, and Scott becoming increasingly frustrated, Charles was forced to concede that what he was hoping for might, in fact, be impossible. He instructed Hank to spare no effort or expense in finding an alternative means that would allow Scott to control his power.
The months slowly passed; summer turned to fall. As the leaves on the trees changed, Scott grew more and more comfortable in his new home – and with his new "family". He navigated the hallways with little trouble, and soon began exploring the grounds. The first couple times he did this, Charles watched from the window like a nervous, first-time father. His worry grew each time Scott returned home with a new bruise on his leg or a scrape on his knee. Scott hated when Charles fussed over him, and Hank had to remind Charles on several occasions that Scott was a teenager, not a toddler, and that the boy had experienced far worse than a few bruises and a scraped knee.
Because Charles tended to sleep late, Scott spent his mornings with Hank. They ate breakfast in companionable silence; they shared a fondness for sugary cereals and pop tarts that Charles simply could not understand. As time went on, Scott took more of an interest in Hank and his work. One morning, Hank decided to bring Scott down to the labs with him. Hank worked quietly while Scott explored, gently touching each machine and vial. Finally, he grew bored and sat on the stool beside Hank. Hank enjoyed Scott's quiet company while he worked, and from that day on Scott often followed Hank to the lab.
A few days before Halloween, Hank smiled with excitement as he lifted a smooth slab of reddish rock from the newly arrived box in front of him: ruby quartz. This stone was the key to controlling Scott's mutation, he was sure of it. And he was determined to test his theory. Scott was sitting on the stool beside him, absentmindedly tapping a pencil against the counter.
"Scott," he said, excitedly grabbing the boy's shoulder and shaking it, "this could be it!" Sensing Hank's excitement, Scott turned in Hank's direction with an inquisitive glance. Hank took Scott's hands in his, gently placing the heavy rock inside them. Scott took it, and flipped it over in his hands before turning back to Hank with the same curious expression. Hank sighed. Sometimes he wished he were a telepath like Charles. That would make this so much easier.
Instead, Hank removed the rock from Scott's hands and took his arm, pulling him up off of the stool, and leading him down the hallway, towards the bomb shelter. Scott immediately recognized the cool, moist air of the shelter and he pulled back slightly from Hank's gentle grip. Undeterred, Hank took his shoulders instead, leading him to the center of the room. He returned the stone to Scott, and then guided Scott's hand up until Scott held the stone in front of his right eye, a few inches from his face. Finally, Hank brought his hand to the bandage and paused, giving Scott the chance to object if he wanted to. But morning meals and days spent in the lab were apparently enough to earn Scott's trust. He nodded slightly, giving Hank the okay to remove the bandage.
Once the bandage was off and Hank had stepped aside, Scott raised the stone to his right eye as Hank had instructed. Using his free hand to cover his left eye, Scott opened his right. Just as before, he was greeted with a brilliant burst of red, but this time it lasted only a few seconds before vanishing into the dark rock in front of him. Scott was awestruck, watching the small stone in front of him absorb the incredible power of the blasts as if they were nothing more than smoke. He felt Hank's hand on his shoulder, and though he couldn't see it, he was sure Hank was smiling. Finally, he closed his eyes. Hank helped him to re-secure the bandage, and then led him upstairs, excited to tell Charles what they had discovered.
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Dinner that night was an upbeat affair. Pleased and unusually animated, Hank rambled on and on about his latest discovery. Charles smiled at the news that Scott was close to seeing again. While Hank and Charles chatted amiably, Scott was struck by a strange realization: Hank had spent day after day, hour after hour working in the lab for him. So that he could control his power. So that he could see again. The thought boggled his mind and overwhelmed him so much so that he stood from the table and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Charles and Hank confused and concerned.
Later that night, before he went to bed, Charles rolled down the hallway to check on Scott. He peered inside the bedroom expecting to see Scott on the bed, but instead finding him sitting cross-legged on the floor across from him, back straight against the wall. Scott looked up as Charles entered the room, feeling the wheels move on the wooden floor.
"Everything alright, Scott?" Charles sent.
Scott nodded slightly. Charles watched him for a few seconds. Scott held his old dirty bear in his hands and was picking at a loose thread on the bear's arm. Scott's time at the mansion had been good for him; he looked healthier than when he had arrived at the end of the summer. He had put on some weight and seemed to grow an inch a day.
"Come here," Charles sent.
Slowly Scott stood from the floor and sulked over to Charles until he stood directly in front of him. Charles put a hand on Scott's arm, then took the bear gently from his hands.
"Does he have a name?" he asked. Scott shook his head.
"Well, he really needs a bath," he sent with a smile. Scott's expression didn't change. Charles sighed. He would give anything to see the boy smile, he thought.
Handing the bear back, he sent, "I know these last few months have been hard. These last few years have been hard," he corrected himself. "But things are going to get better very soon. And we're very glad to have you here, Scott."
With a brief pat on Scott's shoulder he rolled to the door, whispering "goodnight, Scott" as he left.
