Author's Note: I changed the story rating to T. After all, there is only ONE event in the next chapter that's worse than anything in a PG13 movie. But if you think it warrants a change back to M, please leave me a review. I would be glad to change it.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.

After a few nifty tricks on the wheelchair, not that he tried to see how fast the wheelchair could go and if it could skid to a stop or anything similar, Scott's stomach demanded that he stop fooling around and get to breakfast. The aromas of a holiday meal were floating through the air, pulling groggy and half-asleep students from their beds, and drawing them to the dining room. It was as though an invisible rope had lassoed everyone and was dragging them, whether they liked it or not, to the delicious food that awaited them.

Scott found sitting in a wheelchair, no matter how inventive and technologically advanced it was for a wheelchair, quite boring. It moved slowly, compared to his normally brisk and strident pace. He sighed, urging it slightly faster before turning down the hallway that led to the dining room. He inhaled the wonderful scents once more, before he felt a familiar burning in the back of his throat.

The next few seconds were a blur. There came a point where he abandoned the wheelchair and forced himself to run to the nearest bathroom, which, thankfully, was a private one in a guest room, which was currently uninhabited. He collapsed in front of the toilet, and vomited forcefully. Everything that he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours came up, and it didn't taste so wonderful coming back out. The vomiting didn't stop with the food he had just eaten. His stomach seemed to take on a life of its own and everything was forced out of his stomach, including his own stomach acid.

Another minute passed, and with his strength fading away with his ability to create and process a coherent thought, he toppled over, smacking his head against the tile floor. He groaned, but continued to lay where he was. It was too much of an effort to even get up and flush the toilet, let alone living without drugs. There was no reason at all. He felt absolutely wretched. The last day or so had been a slight reprieve in his intense withdrawal symptoms, but now they seemed to be returning full-force and mercilessly. He found it hard to even move. He felt like screaming at the ceiling, cursing it for what had happened to him. He needed to rip something apart for how much he needed drugs.

Oh, drugs… he nearly drooled at the thought of putting something into his body… something… heroin, cocaine, anything… it didn't matter to him anymore. Whatever anyone was willing to offer him, he would take it, for any price. All of this suffering would be worth it if he could just find some drugs. He ached to have a needle in his hand. He simply ached because he was needlessly empty.

Scott pushed himself up, raking the fingers of his left hand through his hair, his right hand going to touch his stomach. He reached over to the toilet and flushed it. He leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes. He sighed. He started when a firm knock came on the door. He looked up at the door with wide, frightened eyes. He couldn't face anyone right now, and he was sure no one was staying in this room.

"Scott." It was Charles, his voice so soft and gentle that it was impossible to ignore.

"Yeah?" Scott answered weakly, in a voice that was no more than a broken moan.

The door opened to reveal Professor Xavier, a concerned look on his sophisticated face. Scott whimpered pitifully as he titled his chin upwards to look at the older mutant. Words seemed to fail him as he succumbed for a moment to his complete and utter despair. He closed his eyes, his heart nearly stopping as he felt the familiar burning behind his eyelids. He sighed, pulling the pair of glasses he kept with him at all times on the collar of his shirt, and placed them on. He opened his eyes.

"Oh, Scott." Charles murmured, wheeling himself closer and placing a gentle hand on Cyclops' head, paternally and gently running his fingers through the hair of the man he considered a son. "This must be terrible for you."

Scott, over the past years, had become almost indifferent to friendly human touch. He hadn't hugged anyone or warmly clasped another's hand, let alone had a lingering hand on his shoulder or anything similar. The warm hand on the top of his head and the presence of love in the room was oddly soothing. His eyes fell closed again and his body seemed to relax slightly.

"You're going to be okay, Scott." The Professor smiled in spite of himself. He knew his words were true. Scott Summers had always been so strong, no matter what trial was forced his way. Living on the streets and being alone had hardened him, to the point he was closed off. Over time, he had become quite the young man, charming and gentlemanly. He had fallen in love, and that was what had transformed him. Now, as Charles Xavier looked down at the broken version of the man he had taken in, he couldn't help but be optimistic. Scott Summers would be healed and well again. It would take time, but it would happen.

"You really think so?" Scott's voice was childlike and trusting.

Charles smiled once more. "Of course I do." He offered Scott a hand. "Come on, let's get you a cup of tea."

Scott couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled from his heart. "How definitively British, Charles." He accepted the hand and slowly, carefully got up. He stood, swaying lightly. He turned to the mirror and grimaced. "Actually, a cup of tea sounds very nice. I think it might help." He smiled at the man who had become a father to him, filled with hope.

Faith… hope… and love, and the greatest of these is love.

Lucky for Scott, he had all three constantly surrounding him. He'd definitely be okay.

XXX

Two months had passed, and Scott was in the kitchen, sitting across from two teenage boys. The one on the left was called Ricky. The one on the right was Taylor. They had equally disbelieving looks on their face, and Ricky looked tempted to start laughing. Taylor was slightly more sensitive than his best friend, and looked a bit green, if Scott was honest with himself and them.

"You're kidding me, right?" Taylor asked, straightening up a bit and taking a sip from his root beer. "I mean, there's no way…"

Ricky smirked, rolling his eyes. "No offense, dude, but you're what, forty?"

"Thirty-three!" Scott interjected indignantly.

"Whatever." Ricky rolled his eyes once more. "Taylor, if you will?"

Taylor picked up the binder he'd placed on the stool next to him. He slammed it onto the kitchen island in front of him and opened it. He turned it so it would face Scott and turned a page. "There is no possible way you could hit an inch-wide button to stop the total destruction of a medical facility from twenty-five feet away, and in the next room, no less! It's just not possible!" The pages of the binder showed several different diagrams, since the boys had both tried to reason out how Scott could have managed such a feat.

Scott adjusted his sunglasses haughtily and closed the binder. He had been entertaining the two boys by regaling a few of his more brilliant stories from the time he'd been an X-Man. He pushed the binder towards Ricky and let out a sigh.

"Richard, I understand that, because of your inexperience in the mathematical field, it may be hard to imagine me using the angles of the walls and ceiling to flawlessly hit a small target. But I promise you, it can be done." He smirked at the boys with such a note of play-arrogance that it was nearly dripping from his tone.

Scott, I understand you're quite busy, Scott could hear the sarcasm dripping from Charles' mental voice as well, but I was wondering if you wanted to head into town to buy yourself new wardrobe. Ororo has been complaining about you wearing the same t-shirt for the last week.

Scott sighed. "I'll see you boys later." He slapped both of them high-fives and headed up to Professor Xavier's office.

He opened the door, and stepped in. "Hello, Professor."

Charles looked up from his coffee and smiled in greeting. "Hello Scott. How are you? Please, take a seat." He gestured to the two comfortable seats across his desk.

Scott found the Professor's smile infectious and returned it. He sat down, leaning back, obviously relaxed in this private, loving atmosphere. Charles paused for a moment and merely looked over the young man. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he had gained several pounds. He was slowly returning to his former physical state. Hank had reported positive changes neurologically, and was soon starting Scott through easy weight training and Danger Room sessions to help him regain his muscles and general health. He was proud of Scott for doing so well, and for working so hard to repair the damage he'd done. However, there was still one thing that seriously worried Charles. Not as a kind benefactor, but as a father figure. Scott was working out, eating healthy and definitely looking better. He smiled more often at more people. He was teaching Ricky and Taylor how to change the oil in a car, though he would never let two young rapscallions touch his precious Corvette that was in broken form after years of not being touched. He was making progress, but he had not talked to anyone, ANYONE, about Jean's death, or about Jean. He had allowed Ororo to help him with Jean's things, and he was letting Hank watch over and mother him. He was allowing everyone to do what they needed to do to find some sort of peace.

Scott was still suffering. It was understandable that he would be tortured over Jean's death for a long, long time. She was the love of his life, after all, but Scott wasn't doing anything about his suffering. Charles was worried.

"I'm doing okay, Professor." He answered.

Charles' smile faltered for a mere flash of a moment, and Scott wondered if it was just his eyes that were playing with him, and perhaps needed a check-up. "Very good." He took another sip of his coffee. "Anyway, Ororo and I have noticed that you don't have a large selection of clothing, and as a change of scenery, I thought it might be pleasant if you and Logan went to a nearby shopping center and found you a new wardrobe." He pulled open a desk drawer, easily finding what he was looking for, due to the habitual neatness of the desk.

Scott's eye was drawn to the shiny plastic credit card that Xavier was offering him. It was true; he did need a new wardrobe. He didn't plan on wearing his worn-down old sneakers for the rest of his life, and he would like to work out in different clothes than he slept in. It was getting difficult just having two pairs of socks. So, on a whim, he took the credit card and pocketed it.

"Thanks, Professor. Means a lot." Scott was already out the door.

Charles chucked quietly, returning to his coffee and his latest novel.

XXX

"Come on, Logan, we're going." Scott announced casually as he walked through the kitchen, taking a bottle of root beer from the refrigerator and heading to the garage, his favorite place in the entirety of the mansion.

Logan growled, glancing at Marie. Though the years had passed and she was married, he would always be her protector. They had been having a wonderful conversation about everyday things, the things that comforted them both most in the midst of their personal problems, and Scooter just had to come in and ruin it. Especially to tell him he, Logan, the Wolverine, would have to go somewhere with him, Scott Summers, One-Eyed Cyke, when he could be spending his time with Marie.

Marie laughed. "Go on, sugar." She gave him a light push. "It's not like you're avoiding me to go kiss Ororo or something."

Logan paused. It wasn't a freeze or anything obvious, but it was enough for Marie's experienced eye.

"I was just joking…" She laughed, on the verge of amused hysterics. "Are you and Ororo really dating?"

"No." Logan answered gruffly. "Haven't even asked her."

"So, you've kissed her, and you haven't even asked her to dinner? Logan, Logan, Logan…" She shook her head, getting up from the stool she had been sitting on to bustle about the kitchen, looking for the ingredients to her favorite snack: peanut butter and celery.

"I'll talk to you later, kid. Then you can give me love advice. But I've got a date with Cyke." He didn't bother correcting himself (Cyke would be lucky if that was true); he had enough to worry about, since he'd just given her permission to give him love advice. Hell, he hadn't been the one to take almost two weeks to accept Bobby's proposal.

Logan entered the garage to find the door open, and the sleek, black Mazda idling on the drive. He rolled his eyes as Scott's obviously bored expression. He opened the passenger door and got in. He slammed it, making the avid car freak wince.

Scott reached for the radio, but Logan's claws shot out. "No NSYNC." He warned in a dangerously low voice.

"For the last time, that CD was Jean's!" Scott hit the palms of his hands against the steering wheel, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Logan didn't miss what just had happened. Scott had said Jean's name without any tears or pain in his voice.

Scott didn't miss it either. His heart shattered in his chest, but he held it in. He was supposed to be dealing with his life now. He couldn't be constantly crying over every mention of his dead fiancée's name. He clenched his teeth and drove on.

The silence in the car was tense for the entire twenty minutes it took to reach the nearest mall. Since it was just after noon on a school day, the teenage crowd was all but nonexistent. Both men left the car and started walking towards the front. Again, it was completely silent. There were no words to exchange, so there was no reason to attempt making awkward small talk. They were closer than they let on, but it didn't mean they would go out to dinner or make sure the other looked cute in the matching pink numbers they bought together.

Scott's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced around the urban area. The mall they were at was on the outskirts of Westchester, but there were some larger buildings in the close vicinity. His sharp eyes could make out figures in the dark alleyways between the mall building and the offices. He casually glanced Logan's way. The Wolverine wasn't paying full attention to him, but if he ran off… he still wasn't fit enough to outrun Logan. Damn.

Scott resigned himself to shopping as they opened the glass doors and stepped into the warmed mall.

Twenty minutes passed by, and both Scott and Logan were weighed down by bags filled with every piece of clothing imaginable. Scott wasn't some meterosexual that needed every color of each style of shirt, but he did need a couple sweatshirts, jeans that fit and didn't hang off of his body, and new shoes. He even bought two pairs of khaki pants and several polo shirts and button downs (as he purchased them, he promised himself that he would teach again; he missed it).

Scott and Logan took a break in the food court as Scott slipped Xavier's credit card into his wallet. They were silent for a moment, but Scott just had to ruin the semi-peaceful silence.

"So, what's going on between you and Ororo?" Scott wasn't stupid. He wasn't blind, either. Sure, no one had pointed it out to him, but he had seen two very distinct signs that there was something between the two. Whenever Ororo was around, Logan seemed to do small things to make her more comfortable; offer her his coat gruffly, ask her if she wanted a drink, and that sort of thing. The second sign was that Ororo often accepted his efforts to help her. Ororo wasn't the kind of woman to allow a man to do everything for her, especially like getting a coat if it was cold.

"Nothing." Logan answered sharply.

"Yeah, right." Scott rolled his eyes.

"Listen here, Cyke, it's none of your damn business."

"Fine, fine." Scott backed off, but made a mental note to ask Ororo. She was often more willing to answer such questions, and she wasn't as hostile. It took all of the self-restraint he had not to mutter something rude underneath his breath, and it was so tempting, too. The gruff, attempting-to-be-nonchalant look on Logan's face was priceless.

"Are we done?" Logan asked, obviously bored of following Cyclops around.

"Yeah, we can go." If Logan noticed Scott's voice was slightly higher and more panicked than usual, he didn't comment. "Just let me go use the restroom."

"Fine." Logan decided not to make a big deal of it, and waited with the bags.

Scott ignored the fact that the nearest restroom was merely twenty yards away, and headed towards the front entrance. He forced himself to remain calm and keep a steady pace, especially since he could feel Logan staring at his back. He was sure Logan had no idea what he really intended to do, since the Wolverine hadn't appeared behind him and wasn't currently threatening him with his claws. Good. He didn't want to have to fight off Logan at the moment. He had more important things to do.

He realized he didn't have any cash on him, or not enough to get what he needed. He took a sharp turn into a nearby J. Crew store. Pulling a random shirt from the rack on his left, he made it look like he was checking for his size before heading to the counter to pay for it.

"Did you find everything all right?" Asked the peppy blonde girl behind the counter. "Wow, nice shirt." She commented, popping her gum idly. She scanned the bar code and pressed several buttons.

"Yeah, I did." Scott answered shortly, annoyed with how long the process was taking. He couldn't waste his time making small talk with a blonde bimbo!

"Okay… seventeen-fifty, please." She smiled at him.

Scott whipped out his personal debit card and swiped it through the card reader attached to the counter. As if in preparation, he had, earlier in the week, moved several hundred dollars from his savings' account into his checking, not wanting to rely on Xavier for everything. He put in his pin number, and pressed 'Yes' when the question, "Do you want cash back?" came up. He chose one hundred dollars.

He could feel sweat dribbling down the back of his neck as he waited in agony for the girl to pull out five twenty dollar bills and hand them to him, along with the bag that held his shirt. He left without a goodbye, stashing the bag and shirt into a nearby garbage bin. He pushed the glass door open, the cold winter air biting his face.

His legs seemed unsure and wobbly as he turned left from the mall, keeping on the sidewalk. He glanced casually into the alleyways as he passed by each one. His heart nearly burst with joy when he saw a transaction between two figures in front of his eyes. From his point of view, the pure red he could see, no matter how small or fleeting the view was, made him wish to melt onto the ground in relief.

If someone could have seen his eyes, hidden behind the aviator sunglasses as they were, one would have noticed they were unnaturally bright and eager as he approached the dark figure. Scott's sweaty palms clasped the twenty-dollar bills, his breathing uneven and erratic.

"How much for a couple of grams?"