Thanks to Foreststar of Wind Clan and hippiechick2112 for reviewing! And yes, Scott had a reason.


When he left his room, it was all Scott could do to keep his head up. He felt like a kid. He had gone to his room because he was told to, because he obeyed, but he realized he had belonged there. Professor Xavier wasn't playing for time; Scott had been out of line. He had been hysterical, not himself.

So when he once more stepped from his room, he was ashamed of himself.

The Xavier he knew a year ago would have forgiven him and helped him make up for what he had done. Grow from it. Mostly, Scott liked the Xavier he saw now. He trusted the man as far as he had needed to, and perhaps more—but Scott had not lost control before. It left him feeling vulnerable.

"Professor?"

Scott found him in his study, as he had expected.

"Come in."

"I apologize for what I said earlier. It was inappropriate and rude and—and I apologize."

"Please sit down."

He did.

"Do you want to tell me what was really going on?"

Scott hesitated. He would have told the Professor Xavier he knew a year ago. Several years ago. That man, he would have told the truth… but Scott did not really know the person in front of him.

"Ah. You don't trust me," Professor Xavier said.

No, he didn't. How could he, a stranger?

"It's not that—"

"No, Scott, it's all right," he said. "It's fine. We knew one another a long time ago."

"She saw me," he half-whispered. "She… saw. And Jean's smart, she'll figure out what happened soon enough, and she—she knows. I don't know how to talk to someone who knows what he did."

"It wasn't your fault."

Scott shrugged. He knew that. What Mr. Milbury did wasn't his fault. It was something Milbury did, because he was sick, because he… because. Scott couldn't have stopped it and normal people didn't beat children or experiment on them.

But…

"It still happened."

Jean was still going realize, and soon, that the dream hadn't been random. That helpless child being sliced open wasn't made up—and when he was a desperate, scared, stupid child, he had prayed. Scott no longer blamed himself, but something could be humiliating without being your fault. That was not the person he wanted Jean to see.

Wind slammed against the windows, impossibly strong for a calm July afternoon.

Scott leapt up.

"Don't," Professor Xavier told him. He paused for a moment, his eyes going distant the way they did when he used his telepathy. "She's not here."

"What do you mean?"

"Ororo—I can feel her mind. She's fine, Scott. Angry, but—give her space."

Scott was torn between obedience to a man he was genuinely trying to respect and going to his sister.

"She wants time to herself, and she deserves that."

Well… that was true.

"Scott, I want you to remember that Jean is a mutant, also. Her experience has been very different from yours, but she's no less a mutant than you are. She struggles, too."

He nodded. Something had happened to bring Jean here, Scott knew that. He hadn't asked what because it wasn't his business, but just because she was normal and pretty and knew about music didn't mean she had an easy path.

"She may realize that what she saw in one of her dreams was one of your memories, but it doesn't need to define you."

"Yeah. Of course."

Yet he knew it wasn't true.

Most mutants he knew looked weird in some way or another—Scott and his glasses, Ororo with her white hair, and although he knew Professor Xavier's paraplegia was unrelated he couldn't help but count it. But not Alex, he reminded himself. Alex had looked normal.

Just like Jean.

Scott knew better than to apologize. Doing that meant telling her that he had said she wasn't really a mutant and said she should leave. That would only hurt her more.

Instead, he brought his math book into the kitchen and settled at the table. It was the social hub of the house; she would come through eventually.

When she did, he asked, "Jean, are you busy?"

"Not that busy, why?"

"I'm having a hard time with this problem. I know you're good at math, do you think you could help me?"

Jean paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"Oh, sure. Here."

She leaned closer and took the pencil out of his hand. She tucked her hair behind her ear, but a lock fell loose and brushed across his cheek as she explained… something math-y that he barely heard. Her breath smelled like gum.

"…got it?"

"Uh…" Scott glanced down at the page. Jean had written out more math that made very little sense to him. "Yeah. Definitely!"

She laughed. "That's okay, it's complicated." She pulled a chair close to his and sat down, once more taking the pencil and explaining. Her knee brushed his—math. Math was just a blur of numbers and lines and the way Jean's hand moved.

But he tried.

"Could you help me with something?" Jean asked after a while.

"Sure."

"Am I doing something wrong? Sometimes I think you like me and other times I really can't tell. I'm a nice person, I promise, and I want us to get along."

"We get along."

"Scott, you were comforting me and suddenly you were trying to get away."

Well, there had been a reason for that. It was the same reason he both wanted her to move and wanted her to stay put right now, but at least this time he had the table for modesty. And it wasn't like he could say that!

"You're not doing anything wrong. I'm sorry I made you feel that way. It's not you. I'm just, it takes me a while to trust people."

He couldn't have been more relieved when they heard the front door open. It was Friday night and, as usual, Hank was there.

Jean went to say hi.

"I'll just stay here and, um, finish up with this last problem."

"You've got this," she assured him, patting his shoulder.

As soon as Jean left the room, Scott sighed and dropped his head in his hands.