With thanks, as always, to Hoodoo for beta-reading; and to whylime, ProfXandPunky, Sheherazade's Fable, and Steve the Icecube for reviewing. It's always great to hear from you.
"I want you to take off your glasses."
He had expected that, but the words still hit Scott very suddenly and very cold, knocking the air from his lungs. He couldn't! It had been ages since he was parted from his glasses. Back in Nebraska, he had taken them off just for a moment, just to get a good look at a crane—and destroyed it. He had nearly killed a group of people. He hadn't meant to, but that's what happened.
And in response, they had nearly killed him.
Since then, Scott was even more careful with his glasses. The whole time he was in the police station, he was dizzy with fear. Without his glasses, he had two options: he could literally destroy everything in his line of sight, or he could keep his eyes shut at all times. He needed his glasses.
He needed them.
So when asked to take them off, Scott responded with dread that made him feel cold all over.
It must have showed, because Mr. Xavier assured him, "You can keep them, just take them off."
Scott glanced around. At least he was unlikely to hurt anyone. Maybe, just maybe the cavernous bomb shelter stretched far enough that he would not be able to harm the opposite side. Scott doubted that, but it was nice to imagine.
Nevertheless, he hesitated to remove his glasses.
"Why?"
"You need to use your mutation."
That prompted the same question, in Scott's opinion. Why did he need to use his mutation? Why did he need to train when he could just keep his glasses on and never use it? What was the point, anyway, in controlling a mutation that would never do anything but destroy?
Scott wanted to ask. He even considered asking. He had learned better than to question, but Mr. Xavier seemed like he might, in fact probably would, allow it.
Ultimately, Scott said nothing. He just closed his eyes and took off his glasses.
"Even now you have some control," Xavier told him.
With his eyes squeezed shut, Scott experienced the words as anchorless. It was how he felt. His feet were on the ground but his body was floating with no point of reference—and that was frightening enough to make his heart race.
"You decide the direction of your ability. You can choose which way to look. You can choose to open your eyes or not."
Not. If it were really a choice, that was Scott's answer: not. He knew it wasn't true. He had control, sure, but he did not make the decisions.
"Open your eyes, Scott."
Scott thought the command to himself, but his body did not respond. His eyes remained shut, safe. He was too strongly focused on doing just the opposite of opening his eyes. An image flashed through his mind of the last time, the horrible sound of a building falling in on itself, the dust coating his throat.
That sort of thing happened when Scott opened his eyes. Buildings collapsed. And that was best case scenario.
He was supposed to be opening his eyes. It wasn't happening and the seconds stretched on, taking him further away from the statement. As the seconds passed, he came be further and further from the time at which he should have obeyed.
He tried to imagine it. He would open his eyes and they would pop the way your shoulder does when you reach too far, like his eyes were trying to yank out of his head. It was difficult to describe the feeling of using his mutation. It wasn't hot or bright or a physical presence, but more like a current running through his eyes. It was physical pain focused on a part of him not meant for physical pain.
"You can do this."
I can't.
He thought of his ability as noisy. It did not actually make a sound, but crashing walls did.
Scott twitched. Do it, he told himself. Just do it. Just open your eyes and—for all of one second, he saw a grey room. Then his vision blurred and went red. The current sparked. It was difficult to say how long this lasted. For Scott, the seconds stretched past hours, into timeless strain and ache. He was always aware of more, when he used his ability.
There was more. That was the weird thing, was that there was more. Scott knew his ability did nothing but destroy, yet when he used it, when he felt that power trying to burst his eyes, he always felt a sense of potentiality, like this was only a shoelace and a whole boot wanted to come through.
After what felt like a more than
adequate demonstration, he closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his face.
In the ensuing silence, the one bright spot in his thoughts—he had not caused a cave-in—was overshadowed by questions. Had he done well enough? What would happen if he hadn't? And why wouldn't Mr. Xavier say something already?
Finally, he did. "I'm sorry. I hadn't realized it would hurt."
Scott shrugged. "S'okay," he mumbled.
"No, it's not. It's not okay for anyone to hurt you, myself included—but thank you for your understanding."
"What happens now?"
Scott hoped this had been enough to dampen the man's interest in his ability. He hated it. The pressure made his eye sockets hurt when he used it, and built up inside his head when he didn't. The thought of controlling it was just foolish. He felt the surge of power; he knew it was beyond control.
Without his ability, though, was he of any interest? He had no place else to go.
"I still think it's important that you learn to control it, even more so now that I understand what it does to you. Your mutation is a part of you. It's who you are, Scott. It can't go away. It won't go away."
Scott could not control his mutation. He had tried. Milbury had tried over and over to find a way to alter his mutation and it simply couldn't be done. Scott knew that, but kept quiet. He did not want to talk back. This did little to assuage his worries: sooner or later, Mr. Xavier would realize that Scott simply could not do what he wanted.
Until then, though, Scott fully intended to try his best. So what if the man had crazy, impossible ideas? He was still probably the most decent person Scott had ever met. "I don't know where to start," he admitted.
"For now, try not to worry about it. We'll take a break for a while and come back to this later. All right?"
Scott nodded. A momentary reprieve was about the best he could hope for.
to be continued!
