Chapter Nine
Scott awoke gasping for the second time that night. Looking at his clock, he decided it would be impossible to get back to sleep, and silly anyhow; his alarm would go off in an hour, and it would take him that long to get back to sleep. He took a moment to damn Jack to a thousand hells, then decided it was a guarantee anyway, with how crooked he was, and stopped, taking a moment to switch his goggles for his sunglasses. While he was momentarily annoyed at the constant redness, he immediately shoved it aside, more grateful that he could see at all. He went to his window; the curtains were already open, and just stared into the sky, almost tempted to open the window and take the glasses off, staring into infinity…
Then, as usual, he quashed the thought. Planes, birds, unsuspecting helicopters, or well-placed levitating mutants. Anything could be up there, and he had no idea how strong his blast was once it went out that far. He wondered briefly why he never got headaches any more. He'd had them constantly, even with the blindfold, and now, for the past month or so, since he got the special sunglasses, nothing. No headache, and he could see to boot. He kept forgetting to ask the professor about it. He suspected it had something to do with the ruby quartz, but he wasn't sure.
Since the sun wouldn't wake up for another hour, Scott pulled on his sweatpants, and a pair of socks, since it was 5:30 in the morning, and the floors would be cold. He decided he was hungry. Or maybe he just wanted to wander about. Either way, he had the freedom to do as he wished in this house, and that was more than he'd ever had. Upon leaving his room, however, he heard sounds coming from Jean's room. Thinking she might be having another nightmare, and pushing back the nightmare he himself had just had, he burst into the room, fingers on his glasses, ready for anything…
Except a curious-looking Jean, trying her damndest to push a stubborn bookshelf back into place. Completely lost, he stood there for a moment, looking at her. Jean, in turn, just looked confusedly back at him. He finally decided the moment needed words. "Um, Jean? What are you doing?"
"Hi, Scott. I'm, um, trying to put the bookshelf back…"
"But…why?"
"Um, could you maybe help me?"
Scott snapped out of his reverie, hurrying forward to help her push on the bookshelf. He was frankly amazed she'd kept it from falling on herself; it was so heavy, and she was so little. Not little, he amended, taking her height into account. Though shorter than him, she was taller than the average girl. But he could call her little if he wanted to.
When the bookshelf finally groaned into place, and Jean had started putting books back in it, he commenced looking at her oddly. "So…why are you doing this?"
"I'm trying to put your plan into action. I can't stand another day at this mansion, trying to build walls around my brain. I've had enough of it, and if we can escape to school, so much the better. But I need to clean up a little more of this mess so that I can try to fool the professor."
Scott blinked. Then he shook his head, and picked up the hint, as well as a randomly placed bookend. "Oh, so…um, where does this go?"
Between them, the two managed to find a place for everything, though Jean insisted a few things were missing, and then she shooed Scott out of the room while she tried to find something decent to wear. As he left, a certain curling iron he had become well-acquainted with decided to attack him, finding his foot from a place where it had been invisible under a dresser. He glared at it, hopping on one foot, and then left the room, dignity shattered. The curling iron, its job done, was then found by Jean, who tucked it away into a drawer.
Scott started getting ready himself, glad that he wouldn't be wearing a repetition of the same outfit he'd had since the start of last year, when he'd been under Jack's care. He remembered little things about the dream he'd had; it had been a horrible vision of Jack, yelling at Scott, telling him all the wrong things he'd done, and whatever Scott used to defend himself was twisted around. Jack had just sneered at him at the end of the dream; he'd taken his arm and forced Scott to look at him. "Lookit my face, kid. Remember it well, 'cause someday it's gonna be yers. Yer just like me, kid, and ya ain't ever gonna change."
Scott banished the nightmare from his mind, and decided not to give it another second's thought. He glanced out the window instead, sensing that sunrise was near. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. He opened the window, sitting in the cold air, and closed his eyes, waiting for the warmth to find him. He found that even when he did have the option of seeing the sunrise; it didn't have the same effect as watching the sunrise in Alaska. Too many buildings here, and too much smoke and who knew what else in the air. So, he just closed his eyes and waited for it the way he'd done for the past two months.
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It was this way that Jean found him, when she came looking a few minutes later. So utterly calm; and his very posture – even his mind – insisted upon this continued peace. She cleared her throat, expecting him to jump at her presence, and he surprised her. "Hi, Jean," he said, as though he'd been completely aware of her the whole time.
"Oh, I didn't know you…you knew I was here," she said. Why am I getting embarrassed? she thought, feeling her face grow somewhat red.
"I guess so long with not being able to see really did improve my other senses. It's not as noticeable with other things, but…I can usually tell when someone is behind me."
"I…I guess that would do it," Jean said lamely, feeling utterly stupid. Scott finally turned around, still emanating peaceful feelings, and Jean collected herself. "Can you see any more bruises? Or scratches?"
Scott came closer, actually touching her cheek. "Where'd this one go?" he said curiously. He seemed to realize what he was doing, and embarrassment permeated his shield of uncaring peace. Jean felt a little better, she realized. As long as he was being as lame as she was, there was hope that they would escape these awkward moments unscathed. As for now, she settled for answering casually.
"Behold the power of cover-up."
"Oh," he said, still recuperating.
Jean grabbed his hand, smiling. "C'mon, let's go to breakfast. I bet between Mr. Logan and Ms. Munroe, there's something fabulous ready."
Scott grinned, following her. (as if he had a choice, the way she had clamped his hand) "You know, he doesn't like being called Mr. Logan. Just Logan works."
"Oh yeah? Well Ms. Munroe told us to call her Ororo, and I don't see you doing that."
"You're not doing it either."
"I will when you will."
"Fine. We'll start calling…Ororo what she wants us to call her, and in return, you have to not call Logan Mr. Logan. Deal?"
"Deal," Jean said, stopping as they shook hands. They continued, not linked with their hands anymore, but still close. "Why doesn't Logan go by a last name? Does he have one?"
"He does, but he doesn't know it. He told me he couldn't remember a lot of his past."
"The only thing I picked up from him when we first met was that there was more to him than met the eye," Jean said thoughtfully, and Scott looked interested.
"Oh? And what was the first thing you picked up from me?"
Jean faintly recalled thinking he looked in good need of a shower, but she brought a magnificent lie to her lips. "I just thought you were quiet, and I wondered what you'd have to say."
Scott looked smug, and Jean decided to fix that. "What was the fist thing you thought when you saw me?" she challenged, already knowing the answer.
He stalled. "Um, when you showed me yourself with the mind-thing, or after I got my glasses?"
"After. When you really saw me, not just the mental image I had of myself."
"Um, I was wondering why you were wet."
"Uh-huh. I don't believe that for a second, Scott Summers."
Jean flounced off, leaving Scott gaping like a goldfish, and she started loading a plate of sausage. She grinned, and then looked around inquisitively, wondering where everyone else was. She looked at her watch, wondering if they were early…but no, it was almost time to leave for school. Someone should be here to give them a ride…
"Hey, Jean, check this out," Scott said, indicating a note on the refrigerator.
"Scott and Jean," Jean read aloud, "Gone to the city for the day for a new recruit and a reunion with some old friends. Red convertible in the garage, and a set of keys on the hook by the door, Scott will find some personal effects in the glove box, have a good day at school, signed Logan."
Jean looked up at him, and he looked worried. "We're driving?"
Jean didn't know why he wasn't more excited. "Um, Scott, we just got off free, without having to hide anything from the Professor, and Logan left you a car. What's not good about this?"
"I've never driven before," he muttered, looking at the note intently.
"You…haven't?" Jean asked incredulously. She'd even driven. Granted, she'd done so illegally, with her sister, but she had driven. She was supposed to get her permit in a few months.
"No one ever wanted me at the wheel," he muttered again, carefully not looking at her. "I had headaches, and I had to go a few days sometimes with a blindfold on. I convinced everyone it was a thing of light…that my eyes were sensitive to it, but I never got to drive…"
"Um… do you want to try?" Jean asked, unsure of how to proceed.
"I…I dunno," he admitted. He looked at her, and Jean's eyes widened. "You've driven, right?"
"Um, yeah," she said, not sure what he was getting at.
"But you're not sixteen yet?"
"Um, technically, I'm not fifteen yet," she said sheepishly.
"So the solution is either you drive and don't get caught, or I drive and get us killed," he groaned.
"I think there's another option," Jean said, smiling a little. "We can employ a skill I've been working on, that will transfer my knowledge into your brain. It's not ethical, technically speaking, it would keep you from learning the thing yourself, but we're already keeping this much from the Professor, right? What's a little more? I have this technique down. If you don't think it's enough knowledge, we'll walk or something."
Scott hesitated. "You sure you won't blow up my brain?"
"I've already learned from…from Ororo how to plant certain kind of trees native to China, and I've taught Logan how to play Für Elise. I promise you, I have this down."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He paused, and Jean was sure he'd say no, but then he answered. "Okay. Do it."
Jean smiled, and put her hands on his temples. "It works better if I'm touching you," she murmured, trying valiantly not to notice the flush that swept his skin. She closed her eyes, concentrating, forgetting how stubborn his brain was. He seemed to remember too, and she sensed it was a little easier for her, as he tried to let his shields down slightly – he claimed he didn't build them consciously? She'd kill for subconscious shields that strong – she was finally able to transfer the information to him, limited as it was. Not only was this not ethical, she decided, upon finishing the task, but it was hard. It hurt like hell to be in his stubborn head, and she didn't care to do it again any time soon.
Scott must've been somewhat surprised when she fainted dead away after she broke the link. Whatever, Jean thought incoherently before collapsing. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
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I hate being on special assignment, Logan thought, sifting through the smells in the park. Why do I always get the stinky ones, anyway? He asked himself then, pausing and grimacing as he came across something unpleasant to his sharp nose. Does he ever ask 'Ro to find the slimy mutants? No, somehow she gets the nice pampered ones who identify with her. He finally caught a scent vaguely familiar to him. He grinned. Now he just had to follow the scent to find the location. And if he knew Mystique, he wouldn't be surprised if she just led him straight back to Bayville. She liked to copy Charles, it seemed, because really, their goals were similar to a point. Protect known mutants from general humanity; get them in a house of safety, because if people knew mutants existed, all hell would break loose, to put it lightly. It was here that their goals for mutants differed, but to the point, protecting mutants required the same sorts of things.
She needed a location for said safe house, and she needed location and means to train said mutants. And if he knew Mystique, and he was pretty sure he did, she'd pick a place right near where Charles had picked his place, in spite of him, just because she wanted opportunity to show off to Xavier that her students were better than his. He snorted. Pathetic.
Logan had actually come across the dame a few times. She was sneaky. She had a right hook and an intellect as sharp as a tack. She was a shapeshifter, but she had honed her power to be able to use it for almost everything. She could turn into a cheetah, catch up to her prey, she could turn into imaginary demons and dinosaurs, though it was purely cosmetic, since she didn't know their DNA structure, and she could even impersonate your best friend, and you'd never be the wiser. Logan smirked, following the trail around a big tree for the third time around this stupid park. I'd be the wiser, he thought, recalling some distinctive flaws in her shifts. She could imitate anyone, but not their powers, and not their scent. That was her giveaway.
Charles had told him that he couldn't rely on her distinctive scent for long, simply because as she got stronger and evolved, she could very well learn how to mask the scent, or even match it to the person she was imitating. He'd have to rely on his knowledge of the person she'd imitated, and create passwords or something. Sighing, he wrinkled his nose. That unpleasant smell he'd found before was lined right up with hers. He groaned. He again cursed Charles in his mind, going on that 'Ro never had to follow the stink-trail. He was going to need a nice beer after this.
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Todd was very bored. He'd been waiting all day for Mystique to do errands or something, and he was hungry. He'd had his fill of the flies buzzing around the place, and he really just wanted to scarf some food down and find a nice jungle-gym or something. It was getting too cold for swimming, and he'd never been one for TV. Not active enough. He was just about to start trying to count the bumps on the ceiling again, and she came out.
"'Bout time, yo! I been growin' a beard here!" he exclaimed, hopping out of the chair with a little too much enthusiasm. It broke under the pressure, and Mystique ended up staying another 20 minutes to offer paying for it. Upon actually leaving the building, clutching some official-looking papers, Mystique actually asked him what he wanted to eat.
"Man, I'd kill for some pizza or somethin.' I ain't had pizza that came in a box, or wasn't cold, for 2 years. It would hit the spot, ya know?"
Mystique smiled thinly at him, and Todd could have sworn he heard her muttering under her breath something that sounded like "He's only 14." She seemed to compose herself nicely, and proceeded to lead the way to the nearest pizza place.
"If ya don't mind me sayin,' whatcha been doin' all day? Jus' gettin' a bunch of papers?"
"These are more than 'a bunch of papers,' young man," she chided, bopping him on the head with the lot of them, "This is a deed to the house, this is a copy of my college diploma, which I never actually got, but must have to be the principal of the school, these are your transference records, which I had to fudge over to even get you into freshman level, and these are the papers that make me your legal guardian, thus able to stay at my boarding house." Mystique panted a bit, and had opened her mouth to rant some more, but the words seemed to die on her lips when she saw the interesting way Todd was looking at her.
"Ya mean…you're my guardian now?" he asked, looking disbelieving.
"Yes, by technicality," Mystique said, sounding bored with the whole thing.
"No more child whatever screwups on my back?"
"No, unless they think they can mess with me," Mystique said, smiling wickedly.
"I'm free, yo! This calls for pizza!"
Luckily, they had arrived at their destination, and Mystique handed the money to Todd, who took it eagerly and went to order his pizza.
Upon getting back to the table she'd selected, listening to her rant about how dirty the place was, and after she'd wrestled the change from his very pockets, the pizza had come, and so they sat to a lovely hot meal…at least, Todd assumed they did. It seemed that not everyone was a fan of the supreme pizza with extra anchovies and spinach.
She instead, pushed her slice away, saying she wasn't hungry, and Todd shrugged. "Wha'evah, yo. Moe foe mee," he said in between chews. She started asking him again how old he was (Foakeen, yo, chew, swallow), and what grade he'd just been in at his old school (I gunno. swallow I think they called me a fresh-man, whatever that is), and how he'd done at the end-of-year exams (It ain't the end of year yet, Mystique! Even I know that!).
She was clenching her fist rather hard by now, and Todd just shrugged it off, grabbing another slice of pizza. "Damn, Mystique, this stuff's good when it ain't cold, yo!"
"Toad, do you know what I've had to do?"
"All I know is you'll hafta buy yerself another pizza, 'cause this one's gone," he said, swallowing the last slice.
"Toad, you're officially enrolled in Bayville High as a freshman! If you've already taken the freshman course, why wouldn't they let me move your records?"
"Oh that? I guess they thought since I didn't go to school I didn't know nothin.' I remember once they threatened to hold me back if I didn't hand some stuff in, ya know? But I knew they didn't want me in that place any longer'n I'd have to be."
"Toad, they did hold you back! You didn't take the placement tests, and you didn't do anything resembling effort in your last school! I had to tweak your records until it looked like you had gotten a scholarship here!"
"Oh," Todd said, comprehension still not dawning on him, "Good work, yo!"
"Toad, just…" Mystique seemed to finally sense that he wouldn't understand. "…just go buy yourself another pizza," she said, giving up, and handing him a twenty.
"Cool, yo! I'll get extra garlic powder an' no anchovies this time. I think you'll like it, Mystique," he said, smiling and snatching up the twenty, remembering just in time that it wouldn't be wise to hop the distance to the register.
Had he turned around, he would have seen Mystique banging her head on the table.
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To say Scott was freaked out would be an understatement. He shook his head, and went to the task of waking Jean up. She seemed pretty well zonked, and he just hoped she wasn't comatose or something. Where's the professor when you need him? Scott thought furiously, all but picking the girl up in his efforts to wake her. As if sensing his worry, he felt a ghost of a psychic whisper in his head, like Jean was telling him she was all right. He calmed down a little, and decided if she was unconscious, she might as well be comfortable.
Since it was the only rational thought he'd had yet, he listened to it, pulling her into a sitting position and trying to lift her up. He was surprised at how easily he managed it, first at how light she actually was, considering her height, and second, at how strong his arms were. Had they always been that strong? Had he had it in him all along to fight back? Pushing the thoughts aside, he got to his feet, teetering slightly with the added weight, and walking into the professor's study, which was the nearest place he could think of that had a couch.
Almost as soon as he laid her on it, she stirred, and he almost felt too foolish to bear it. All that effort and she's gonna wake up now!? He thought irrationally, but she didn't wake up just yet. He sat beside the couch, determined to stay with her until she did wake up. It was his fault for making her like this, anyway. He felt the whisper in his head again. Jean? Denying that it was his fault?
"Jean," he said aloud, though she didn't stir, "It was my fault, and I'm sorry."
The whisper again. She was arguing with him.
"Look Jean, it's nice of you and all, but you said yourself I have really strong mental shields…if I had lowered them more, you'd probably be fine."
The whisper was a little more like a buzz.
Scott brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Jean if that's you, that noise is really getting annoying."
He heard a groan, and saw Jean stir. "If you'd stop trying to blame yourself for everything, I wouldn't argue with you," she growled softly, opening her eyes and clutching her head. "God, my head hurts."
"Jean?"
"Listen, you stubborn jackass, if I say it's not your fault, then it's not!"
"But it was! And you never said it wasn't my –"
"I'm the one who suggested the whole thing in the first place, and we could have just walked if we'd ignored my suggestion."
"But –"
Jean interrupted him, sitting up. "And, I really don't want to argue with you about it, because I thought I broke the connection before I passed out, but I didn't and spending ten minutes in your head really hurts."
"I'm…sorry?"
"Stop apologizing! And who's Jack?"
Scott paled. "Wh…what?"
"Big ugly guy? Prominent in your mind for some reason? He was shouting at me the whole time, too. I think he's the reason it's so hard for me to stay in your head," she went on, not seeing Scott's reaction.
"And if he was shouting at me the whole time, I can only imagine how much he shouts at you, and I don't blame you if you say you had headaches as a kid."
Jean finally took a deep breath, and looked over at Scott, who was looking determinedly at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. "Scott?"
He didn't hear her; he was staring so hard at his hands. She knew about Jack. Granted, she'd told him about her friend Annie, and it had been a big deal for her, he knew, but…it was Jack. No one should know about Jack. He didn't even want to know about Jack.
"Scott, I'm…I'm sorry if I intruded where you didn't want me," Jean said, and she sounded so mortified at the thought of invading his privacy, that he snapped out of it.
"Jean?"
She looked at him, looking for the world like she didn't want to.
Scott took a breath. "Jack…was my foster-father. He found me on the streets…I ran away from the orphanage, and he said he wouldn't turn me in. He even knew about my powers, and he didn't turn me out." Scott was speaking almost monotonously, concentrating on his hands, knowing that Jean was listening to every word.
"He…he used my p-powers for himself…he…he m-made me destroy things…and he'd…he'd hit me when I didn't." Scott was almost drawing blood; he was clenching his fists so tight. He laughed hollowly. "He'd hit me when I did too."
Jean opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Scott finally looked at her, though it took a lot of strength.
"I thought it was only fair you knew…" he said, looking away again after a moment. "Since you told me about your friend…Annie."
"Scott, I'm really sorry," Jean said finally, getting down from the couch to sit on the floor with him. "I know we're friends, but everyone's entitled to privacy, and I know that it's really important for you to keep stuff private. I'm just sorry I keep butting into your brain."
"It's not your fault," Scott said listlessly. He felt her hands on his cheeks, and she turned him to look at her. Her face was bright red, but she had tears in her eyes.
"I should try harder to control my telepathy. I know you don't trust people easily. I could work harder on my mental exercises, but I just write it off, saying that your mind is strong enough to block me out. But if I'm sharing nightmares with you then I'm not working hard enough on my blocks. And it is my fault. Do not try to blame yourself for this. You blame yourself enough."
Scott couldn't help it; he smiled. "Thanks, Jean," he said softly, letting her just hug him. They both needed the contact.
When the professor and Ororo finally got back, from the wild goose chase Cerebro had sent them on, they were wrapped up in discussion, not noticing the conspicuously open study door; and when Logan found the pair sleeping in the professor's study, he just cocked an eyebrow at it, and then dismissed it. He'd let them get their sleep, and keep their little secrets. Tomorrow he'd just send them into Danger Room simulation 4; Not too hard, and one of his personal favorites, besides.
Unseen, Logan grinned and chuckled, closing the door and letting the mentally and physically exhausted youths sleep on. They'd be mortified enough when they woke up anyway.
End of Part 3
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A U T H O R S N O T E
Whew! I never did get permission from L. Burke to borrow Scott's Nightmare, so I had to change it. Remember Scott's nightmare? Way up there at the beginning? I was actually inspired to add it when I read a story entitled 'Neither Slave Nor Master.'
It's really good. It is totally the coolest ComicScott I've read, and a lot of my ideas for this story actually came from this author. If you want the link, ask me in an email or in your review, and I'll give you the link, because won't let me post it here.
In a future chapter of this story; either chap. 10 or 11, there's a definite reference to one of L. Burke's stories, of why Scott chooses Cyclops as his codename.
Sorry for the fanworship, I just am in loooove with this author. It would be sad for me if L. Burke was a girl…It very well may be true….
Anyway, review, faithful readers, and give me feedback! I love feedback! And I do try to fix stuff when I'm constructively criticized. (I don't believe in calling it a flame, no matter how rude it may come off. It's just someone who wants my writing to be better!)
Next Chappie is coming soon! Sorry it took so long to update!
Ayaia of the Moon
