***

AN2: Yes, I changed the dynamics of Scott & 'Ro's relationship, in order to fit the story. I'm not sure how well I succeeded, but I think it fits for Movieverse. Ahhh, heck. You'll let me know if it flops or floats.

***

Part Two: One Eye Blind

Knock. Knock.

"C'mon, Summers. Rise an' shine."

Remy yawned and rested his head against the doorframe. It'd been a long time since he'd had a hangover this bad, and Stormy yelling at him at nine thirty this morning didn't help it any. She'd been madder than a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest. It wasn't his fault they came home plastered. If she really wanted to get mad at someone, she should've yelled at ol' One-Eye. He dragged them off to that greasy dive, and the damn show off had to try drinkin' him under the table. Almost did it, too.

"Forget it." The voice sounded muffled, as the words were being shouted from a pillow. "It's Saturday, dammit."

Remy chuckled and plucked a small lock pick from his left shoe. "Dere's only one way out of this one, Cyko—apologizin' to Stormy. She ain't too pleased with either one of us at the moment."

He easily opened the boathouse door and glanced around with his thieves' trained eye. There wasn't anything of real value in the place, a few trinkets, maybe. But if he considered blackmail, the half-hidden bottles were a real find.

"Remy, I'm not in the mood." Again, from the pillow.

"Just seein' if you're still alive, homme. Nearly gave dis Cajun boy a run for his money last night."

Scott shuffled from his bedroom and headed for the refrigerator disheveled, unshaven, and still in his clothes from last night. Remy's eyebrow rose. The grunge look didn't suit Summers.

"Thanks for the night," Summers said, sneering. "Thanks a helluva lot." He threw back the refrigerator door and grabbed a decanter of orange juice. He offered it to Remy, who shrugged and lit a cigarette.

"This is my breakfast," he said, smiling. Scott waved an arm, choking on the smoke. "If it's any consolation to you, Summers, I ain't feelin' dat much better myself. Had you pegged all wrong. You can pack it away almost as good as the Wolfman."

Scott coughed while pouring the juice. "Never again. You've should've dragged me home before that stupid round of Jell-O shots. What the hell were we thinking? We aren't damn kids. And put that damn cigarette out, would ya? It's turning my stomach. Smells like Bobby's socks."

"Touchy, touchy," Remy muttered. He ground the cigarette beneath his boot. "Didn't see you puttin' your glass down any faster."

"And who gave you permission to come in here anyway?"

"It was either me, or Stormy. Who would've you preferred?"

"Ah. Good point."

"Thought so."

Remy sighed and collapsed on the couch. Quaint, that was the word for the Summers' place. But too lonely. He saw discolored rectangles where pictures used to hang and dust covering boxes in a corner, and the place had a musty odor, as if it hadn't been cleaned in a while. It felt like a mausoleum.

"Why's 'Ro so mad, anyway? It's not like it's Wednesday afternoon, or anything."

"Seems like you forgot some kind of parent/teacher mixer thing on the front lawn. You were supposed to make some speech, or somethin.'"

"Shit," Scott muttered. "I forgot. But that's at ten o'cl—"

Remy chuckled and held up his wrist. "It's a quarter past two. You done slept through it. When I tried explainin' to Stormy that there was no way in hell you'd be sober enough to speak, she had a fit. They almost called it off when they saw those clouds comin' in."

"She should've woke me," Scott muttered. "I could've done it."

Remy laughed. "Homme, we dragged our sorry butts to bed at seven this mornin', and we were still tanked then. How the hell you supposed be sober after three hours? Maybe your right pinkie was sober, but you were out cold. You're prob'ly still drunk."

Scott frowned at the thought and sighed. "I could have…I might have been able to do it. She didn't have to cover for me like that. I still have obligations. She's not my damn mother."

Remy glanced at his fingernails. "You actin' like she is."

"You're one to talk."

Remy smirked, and a small look of triumph shadowed his features. "I still make my obligations."

"Screw you. I didn't ask for your opinion."

"True." Remy took another cigarette from his shirt pocket, ignoring Scott's grimace. "But I got my head on straight. I ain't so willin' to cross the line."

"There isn't any line, you bonehead."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really." Scott rifled his fingers through his hair and dumped a jigger of orange juice in a glass. "LeBeau, your concern's misplaced. I'll be honest with you, though. Maybe I'm drinking a little more than normal."

Remy raised his eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, maybe a lot more. But…c'mon, everyone's been saying I'm stiff as a board. Think I don't know about the 'stick up his ass' wisecracks?"

"We didn't t'ink you noticed."

"Yeah, well…I do." Scott smirked and tossed a small shot of vodka into his orange juice, missing the subtle frown on Remy's face. "I'm a normal guy. Sometimes people forget. Even I forget. So I'm trying to show my 'normal' side more often, which scares people. It'll take them a while to get used to it. No big deal."

"Scott--" Remy began. If Stormy saw this one, she'd hit the stratosphere. Her favorite little leader wasn't a quiet nerd anymore, and it looked like he was headed into dangerous waters. 'Course maybe it was stress like they all were sayin', but apart from Wolverine—who could get sober in ten seconds flat—he didn't people drank in the morning unless they already had some kind of problem.

The uneasiness must have shown on his face, because Scott slammed down his glass and grit his teeth. "Don't hand me any bullshit. Kurt's on my case enough." He added more alcohol to the juice. "I don't need to 'grieve more' or whatever."

"Didn't say you needed to. I'm jus' sayin'…well, be careful, dat's all." He smirked. "It ain't natural for a man to drink me under the table without havin' somethin' wrong with 'im."

Scott laughed. "No sweat, man. I've got it covered. It's all under control."

"If you say so, Summers."

"Trust me. I know my limits. I see the line, and it's way off in the distance." He sauntered over to Remy and clasped an arm around his shoulder. "Nice that you care, but sorry, I'm a complete hetero."

Remy smirked and shook his head. "Yep. Dat stick's definitely comin' out."

Scott grinned. "Best compliment I've had in a while. Thanks."

"No probs." Remy checked his watch again. "Incidentally, Her Royal Highness requests your presence in about five minutes. I already had my ass-chewin'. Time for yours, pretty boy."

"Great," Scott sighed. "As if a hangover isn't bad enough."

"Jus' turn on the charm," Remy beamed. "Worked for me."

"Wouldn't have anything to do with your mutation, would it? No, of course not."

Remy slapped Scott's back and headed for the door. "Just tell 'er it was a mistake, and it won't happen again. Play up her maternal side. Works like a charm."

* * *

Ororo couldn't help the dark claps of thunder when the last parents left. This was inconceivable of Scott. Inconceivable and absolutely irresponsible. So unlike him.

"Would you like some tea?"

Ororo turned from the window, smiling at the British voice. Betsy had done so much during the day, including calming her down when Remy revealed his news. The woman even had Scott's speech typed and prepared so everything went off without a hitch. The parents had no idea. In fact, they assumed that Ororo had become the new Headmistress—a fallacy that seemed more and more true as of late.

"Thank you, Betsy. Yes, I would."

Betsy touched her shoulder. "I wouldn't get too upset with his antics, Ororo. I think it was Jean's birthday the other day. Cut him some slack."

"I understand, Betsy. But still…" She sighed, and her demeanor quieted at the look of utter peace in Betsy's eyes. The peace you should have, she chided herself. "No. You are right. But I must say something. Surely we cannot allow this to continue."

"You'll find the right words. You always do."

"Only sometimes," she sighed.

After Betsy exited, she returned to the front window and peeked through the huge dark curtain. She had to be honest--her feelings didn't completely hinge on Scott's actions. He was part of her disquiet, of course, but she hadn't appreciated Logan's unexpected flight a few days ago, either. They had had a fight the other day, about his "duties" to the school, and he left a note on the kitchen counter a few days later—addressed to Everyone. Logan cited another lead of some sort, but he left without saying goodbye. Was she simply an "Everyone" to him? She had thought herself much more. Perhaps it was only she who wanted more.

"Ororo."

She gripped the curtain, and couldn't resist one final thunderclap. "Scott. Did you sleep well?"

He winced a little from her barb. "I don't know if I did or not. Doesn't feel like I did."

"I see." Betsy entered with a pot and two mugs on a tea tray, and placed it on the edge of Ororo's desk. She gave one steaming mug to Scott and winked at him, and he smiled gratefully in return. It made Ororo wonder if Betsy's feelings for Scott didn't run deeper than the surface level.

She waited for Betsy to leave before facing Scott. "I did not like covering for you today."

His jaw muscles tightened as he sipped his tea. "You shouldn't have to. The event was my responsibility, and I should have been there. I apologize—it slipped my mind."

"Yes. Drinking has a tendency to make people forget."

Scott made an ugly noise. "'Ro…honest. It was a one-time thing. I went overboard, and I had no right to. I kept thinking about what I would've got Jean for her birthday, then Remy invited me out for a few drinks—"

"Remy did? He said you invited him."

Scott chuckled. "Do you really think I'd ask him?"

Her face softened. "No, I don't suppose you would."

He relaxed and came over to her, and hugged her carefully—more carefully than he'd ever done in the years she'd known him. "I'm sorry, 'Ro," he said softly, and she relaxed in his arms. "I'm getting over it, but it's taking me longer than I thought, and I need some more time. Maybe…maybe you can take over some more duties of the school. I'll still teach," he amended when she balked, "but I still need some time to go over some things. Can you be a little patient with me a little longer? I promise…I'll get over all this. You'll just have to trust me on that one."

"Scott…I don't know. There is so much that seems unlike you lately. I feel—"

"I know, I know. But I'll change. Trust me." He looked at her abruptly. "How are you and Logan doing?"

"All right," she whispered, but he knew she was lying. She pulled apart from his gentle hug and placed her fingers on the windowpane. "We had some…words, but nothing that cannot be repaired."

"Is he coming back?"

"I am uncertain. I hope so. If not, I will chalk it up to experience."

He came behind her and rested his chin on top of her head. "He's stupid if he doesn't come back. If he doesn't, I'll personally track him down and kick his ass for you."

Ororo giggled, releasing the tension in her stomach. "Very well. I will let you, if he doesn't return. But Scott…"

He held up his hand. "I know, I know. Be careful. I promise, Ororo. Stop worrying about me, okay? Just give me time."

She scanned him earnestly, but couldn't detect any malicious intent. "All right," she nodded. "Time. I at least owe you that. And thank you, Scott."

"You're welcome," he said, and left her office. She wondered why she was even upset about such a little thing as missing an event. They had too much pressure on him—why hadn't she thought of reducing his duties in the first place? Sighing, she sipped her tea, and embraced the peace she had recently denied herself.

_______________

Oh, yeah, the X-Boys know how to drink, all right. We can drink the bars dry—except for Logan, of course. That guy could drain the Jack Daniels distillery and still walk a chalk line for the cops. But I thought I could handle it. I told myself that I wouldn't go too far. I couldn't allow it. I wouldn't look foolish. Yes, I was tired of being in control, but people counted on my control—does that make sense? I wanted to test how out of control I could get without really losing control.

....I guess the talks with Remy and Ororo were turning points in the wrong direction. If I could fool them, I could fool anybody….

I have the power to kill people with my eyes, and with that kind of power you can't go around out of control. So I began learning my tolerance levels. I learned how to fake happiness. I learned how to look, smell, and sound sober. Learned to lie about how I felt without feeling guilty. And I learned how to hide my secret weakness—even from Logan. I learned how to separate myself into Scott Summers the leader, and Scott Summers the man. I learned how to get bombed without blowing it. I wasn't killing anyone and no one knew my secret. I felt free to be myself. And it felt great.

So, like I said, it worked—almost.

If I have to pin down a day where it all started going downhill, it was probably after my talk with 'Ro. I didn't know that the walls were crumbling around me.

________________

Logan had forgotten what it meant to have a place to rest. He felt a little uncomfortable calling the institute "home" since he still expected to wake up in some Canadian lab, but so far he'd been lucky. No one was coming after his sorry hide. No one followed him with knives or automatic rifles or whatever the hell governments used to bring down "dangerous" mutants. During the past few months he'd awakened safe and sound in either a motel near the Canadian wilderness, or in the forest where he last pitched his tent. But he'd still been running. Truth was, he hadn't left two months ago to dig up old ghosts. He knew the real reason. Knew the reason why he'd probably stay in New York, too.

A sharp breeze kissed his face and he smiled at its gentle reminder. He'd spent two hours walking Xavier's grounds, thinking about what he was about to say, and he didn't need to delay it anymore. Maybe this time he could make it stick.

He turned from the clearing just as another set of boots clumped noisily on the opposite side of the lake. His eyes narrowed, watching the solitary figure sneak into the clearing, and he instantly pegged the scent as it rode the winter winds. He doubled back into the woods, backtracking to the opposite side, and let the snow muffle his slow, careful pace. As he hovered in the thin covering of trees, he carefully took in the man's new, sour scent while a bitter snarl touched his lips.

"Afternoon, Summers."

Scott whipped around with his fingers to his visor, nearly slipping on the lake beneath his feet. His fingers shook when he realized who it was. "Dammit, Wolverine. You looking to get incinerated? What the hell were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?"

Logan chuckled and emerged from the trees, kicking at some snow-encrusted dirt with his boot. "Just walking around. The woods out here ain't half bad. It's no wilderness, but it'll work." He sniffed, glancing around the frozen lake. "A little jumpy, ain'tcha, Cyke? 'Ro switch yer decaf to Columbian, or somethin'?"

Scott's jaw hardened, but he walked to the dock and slowly paced across it. The wood beneath his feet popped and creaked, as if ready to collapse. "No. I came up here to think."

"You mean drink, don't'cha? You tryin' to hide from 'Ro an' the others?"

"No," he said sharply; decisively. "I came to think."

Logan stopped short of laughing out loud. "You must've got me confused with another lame-ass mutant. Yer lyin' to a man who can smell a frog's fart from twenty miles away." He sniffed lightly. "Johnny Walker, if I ain't mistaken. You've downed four or five shots—and that's so far, if the flask in your coat's any indication of drinks to come."

"Fuck you," Scott spat.

He simply smiled, and smelled the sharp tang of fear wafting from the former X-man. "Don't try to bullshit me again, Summers. I hate liars almost as much as I hate people who sneak around."

"What the hell're you doing back, Wolverine? I thought you'd still be on one of your three-month visits to Canada. You planning on breaking Ororo's heart again?"

He shoved down a growl. "Do you want the truth, or d'you just feel like tastin' adamantium?"

Scott shrugged a little, and backed down from his defensive posture. Wolverine relaxed then and gestured to Scott's coat; Cyclops reluctantly extracted the silver flask from an inner pocket and threw it at him.

"Thanks," Logan said, catching it deftly. He took a small swig and threw it back. "Never figured you for the liquor carryin' type, Cyke."

"Things change," Scott said, taking another sip. "And for your information, I'm not trying to hide, it's quieter out here, that's all. Now. You were telling me about you and Ororo."

"No, I don't feel like breakin' her heart again. I'm stayin' for a while."

Scott nodded sagely. "You tell her that, yet?"

Wolverine sighed, unsure of his words. He'd been thinking along those lines, and figured he just had to bite the bullet and say it. "I haven't made it to the house yet. Been out here a couple hours. Saw you come up, thought I'd join ya."

"She's been worried about you."

"Funny. That's the same shit she told me about you right before I left."

"Just don't break her heart again," Scott muttered. He put the flask to his lips and drank deeply. "Then I'd have to kick your butt."

Wolverine nodded, agreeing. But Summers was beginning to bug him. "She still leadin'?"

Scott cracked a smile. "Why? Does the idea of her being in charge intimidate you?"

"Heh. Nope. Not in the least." He tugged his earlobe. "Just explains why no one's had the balls to stand up to you yet."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"She looks up to you like an older brother, and she's protectin' ya too damn much. She probably thinks that if she swept yer little problem under the rug, eventually you'd wake up on yer own."

Scott's fist tightened around the silver flask. "She's doing a damn good job, Wolverine. And she knows well enough to leave me alone. Unlike you."

"Whatever. I call 'em as I see 'em. But this is 'Ro's show. If she don't want to make a move, I ain't gettin' involved. You can swim up the New York sewer system for all I care. But get this, Summers," he said. He purposely made his voice low and predatory. "When she's ready to kick yer sorry butt to the curb, I'm behind her 100%. When she's ready to call you a drunk to yer face, I'm there. And if you hurt her in any way—" he emphasized his point with one adamantium claw—"You'll hurt, too."

Scott just sneered. "Me, hurt her? You'd better look in the mirror. You haven't been around. You don't know what the hell's going on." Another thought seemed to hit him as his features hardened. "I bet you already went to the house, maybe talked to Remy, or Kurt. They can't come up to me personally, can they? They have to send you to 'scare' me into talking to them. Figures."

Summers took another long drink and Wolverine shook his head while trudging back up the dock and following the footpath to the mansion. "You're a drunk, Summers. The quicker you get that through your fat head the quicker things get back to normal around here. I'm goin' up to see 'Ro, to do what I should've done two months ago, but I won't tell her about our little 'talk,' or about you comin' down here to hide yer drinkin' from everyone. In my opinion, it'd be good for ya t'own up to yer addiction. But I ain't all that good at givin' advice."

"Asshole," Scott muttered, and Wolverine thrust his middle digit over his shoulder. Cyke was headed downhill fast, and trying to talk to him now was just stupid. He needs to fall, and fall hard, Logan thought. But he'd better do it soon before he accidentally kills one of us.

________________

"I just don't get it, Mr. Summers. It's hard."

Scott worked his jaw and checked the clock on the wall—4:15. Dammit, he could've been home nursing his second drink by now. His leg jiggled, and he looked at the girls with as much patience as he could muster.

"It's not supposed to make sense, Marie. It's theory. You have to work out the logical sequences to—"

"Huh?"

He grit his teeth and glared at Jubilee. "Jubilee, we've been over this and over this. If you don't get it, you should ask Kitty. I've got—"

"Kitty's busy with that new Russian kid," Jubilee whined. "Why'd you give us this stuff to memorize anyway? It's not like we're going to use it in the real world."

He slammed the textbook on the table, making the girls jump. "Between you two, you've got two brains. Use them, dammit."

"Sorry, Mr. Summers, I'm just dumb, is all," Marie whispered. "I just can't get this. I'm stupid." She tugged plaintively at her gloves and Scott immediately felt guilty. It had taken Charles a few good months to coax her out of her shell, and here he was shoving her back in. He was about as great of a teacher as he was at saving his wife's life.

"Girls, I apologize. I've…I've just been under a bit of pressure lately." They nodded, understanding completely… Innocently. Scott sighed and opened the book to a different page. "You're both capable of this stuff. And," he said, staring at Jubilee, "you need the basics of mathematics to help control your mutations. It'll help you pass physics and chemistry, and it'll make sense when you apply it later on. Honest."

He felt his throat go dry. He wanted…No, he needed a drink. Right now. "Look…why don't you study this chapter together for a while, and come up with a few ideas of your own. I need to get some things done, but I'll be back in, say, thirty minutes? See what you can come up with. We'll check your work together."

Jubilee and Marie grinned.

"Thanks, Mr. Summers."

"You're welcome."

They struggled and scribbled across the page and fretted and cursed the book for what seemed like forever, and Marie finally slammed down her pencil when the clock hit 5:30. "He ditched us."

"Mr. Summers wouldn't do that," Jubilee muttered. "He's Mr. Anal Retentive, remember?" She traced a pattern in her math book and popped her gum. "Hey, what'cha get for question 34? I keep getting six, but that can't be right. It's supposed to be an irrational number."

"Get real, he ain't comin' back." Frustration made her southern accent stronger than usual. "He's gone. Prob'ly on some mission. Dang, I wish they'd ask me to come along some time."

"In your dreams, Roguie. Now c'mon and help me do this before he thinks we didn't do anything."

Rogue frowned and poked her paper with her pencil. "He seem different to you lately?"

"Who, Summers? Well, duh, he only lost his wife, like, seven months ago."

"Naw, that's not what I meant. He's…I dunno, short-tempered one minute, peaches 'n' cream the next. A regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

Jubilee looked up with a confused look on her face. "Who?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Dear heart, you've got to pay more attention in literature class. No wonder you're gettin' D's."

"He's just going through the grieving process, like Mr. Wagner said." Jubilee glanced down and started to smile. "Hey, I think I found the answer! Check this out."

"Hmm," Marie sighed. She wasn't really listening. "An' he's always chewin' on some kinda weird flavored gum or breath mints."

"So? He's got halitosis. Big deal. So does Bobby."

Rogue made a face. "Bobby does not!"

"The kid's got dragon breath. If you weren't so into him you'd notice."

"Yeah, well, he's cute. He's gotta have some flaw. It's the law of nature, Jubes."

"And it's the law of nature for us to flunk this math test if we don't get it." She did a double take when she saw the clock. "Where the hell is he, anyway?"

Rogue grit her teeth. "That's what I've been tryin' to tell you! He di…"

She trailed off at the sound of whistling in the empty halls. It couldn't be Mr. Summers—he never whistled. The girls exchanged glances and crept to the door, wondering who'd be dumb enough to stick around the classrooms after 5pm on a Friday, besides them. But when it was in fact Mr. Summers rounding the corner with a crazy grin on his face, Marie sighed.

"You seem happy, Mr. Summers," she said. He swayed slightly, but leaned up against the doorframe to steady himself. Not quite comfortable with his closeness, she took one pace back from the door. He still wore that manic, unsettling grin, and his cheeks were as red as his glasses. "Um, we were worried that you'd…you'd left…"

She made a face at a suddenly strange, acrid scent. He smelled like…like—

Jubilee started laughing.

"And what's so funny, young lady?" Scott folded his arms, trying to be as intimidating as possible, but it wasn't working very well. He kept swaying, which made Jubilee giggle harder.

"Jubes—!" Rogue hissed between her teeth. She poked her friend with her elbow. "Cut it out. It ain't funny!"

"He's totally wasted!" She rasped back. "Man, is the world about to end, or what?"

Scott almost fell from the doorframe. "You had an assignment. Did you finish it?"

"A-almost," Jubilee said. She choked down another laugh. "Sure you're feeling okay, teach? You look a little…parched."

Marie shot her a deadly look. "Jubilee just meant that…well, maybe you should lie down for a spell. You don't seem like yourself."

"I'm perfectly happy, girls. Perfectly." He stumbled into the room and snatched the textbook from his desk. "Now, lessee if we can square this ol' hypotenuse, shall we?"

"Uhhh…that's okay, Mr. Summers. Jubilee an' I were just leavin'."

"We were?" Marie pinched her. "Ow! Okay, geez! Yeah, we've got…dates."

"Gotcha. Don't let me stop you in the least. Trust me. That test'll be a breeze. I'm making it up tonight."

"Oh, I can't wait to read it," Jubilee giggled. "You don't know how much I—Ow! Marie, quit pinching!"

"We're leavin', Mr. Summers. Uh…" Marie bit her lip, unsure of what else to say. Watching Mr. Summers was like watching a bad car wreck happen. It made her sick, but she couldn't stop staring at it. Everyone was wrong. He wasn't getting any better at all. And it explained the gum, the times he came into class late, and the mood swings. Sweet Jesus, how often had he taught their class drunk?

"C'mon, Jubilee," she whispered, dragging her friend into the hallway. When they were safely out of earshot, she gripped Jubilee's elbow hard enough to cause a bruise. "We tell no one, got it?"

"Rogue, you're so lame! We could get A's in math for life."

"Jubilation Lee--!"

"I'm kidding, kidding." A mask of worry mingled with disappointment hung on her face. The same look, Rogue thought, that matched her own. "This…this doesn't look good for him, does it?"

"I dunno," Rogue sighed. "It's probably just a one-time thing, maybe…"

Rogue swallowed her words. She couldn't justify it. In her heart, she knew the truth.

________________

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she went downstairs for chamomile tea. Although she preferred the sharp taste of green tea with a touch of lemongrass, green tea had a touch too much caffeine. At two a.m. on school nights she needed her rest. She smiled a little. Logan had offered to join her downstairs, but she needed some time to herself. To think.

Crash.

Ororo Munroe froze halfway between the kitchen and the sitting room. Her eyes glazed over slightly, and the air around her quietly crackled and hissed.

"Is someone there?"

Her soft, alto voice was calmly controlled, but if the wrong person came around the corner she wouldn't hesitate to strike them with lightning. The school had had far too many scares of late. Once news of the Professor's death reached the ears of their enemies, it seemed everyone wanted to challenge the school and its pupils. Scott, at least, seemed to be coming along, and would hopefully take back the lead so they wouldn't be spread quite so thin. He wasn't quite as depressed. Perhaps he was even more willing to converse and be seen, and willing to be more involved with others' lives. Yes, Scott was still rather secretive, but she expected that. Scott had always been a very private man. Although Kurt, Remy, and Logan didn't trust his change, they did not know him as well as she did. He was getting over the losses, but in his own way and his own timing.

"I will not warn you again."

Koff, koff. "Don't have to. 'S'okay, 'Ro. Tripped on a chair."

She narrowed her eyes and crept closer to the dark kitchen. It sounded like Scott, but why would he be sitting alone, in the dark? He usually slept in the boathouse.

"Scott?"

She heard a snort, and stuck her head around the kitchen door.

"Dear goddess..."

"C'mon, sit. Drink?" Scott's hair hung limp over his glasses and his movements matched his slurred voice. He held some noxious bottle over a glass and slopped a good portion of it on the table and his glass.

"No, thank you," she said, regaining her composure. "You should sleep. You have classes tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot." He almost giggled. "I'm a goddamn teacher. How 'bout that."

"Scott…you—you'll be sick tomorrow. I'll tell the students—"

"I'll be fine," he snapped. He drank from his glass and Ororo went calmly to his side and took the bottle, pouring the remaining contents into the sink. "What the hell--? That wasn't yours! I wasn't done."

"This is unacceptable behavior."

"Oooh, yeah, big bad Summers has a few drinks an' everyone's scared."

"And if one of the children came downstairs? What example would that set?"

"They'd get a good look at their teacher. The 'real' Scott Summers. The one who couldn't save their beloved doctor and their mentor. The failure."

"Let me help you to bed."

He slapped her hand away. "I don't need anyone's fuckin' help. I'm goddamn peachy. I'm feelin' fuckin' hilarious. Jean's dead, did you know that?"

"Yes, Scott. I know. I'm sorry. But this...this is not the way to handle her death. "

"I miss her, 'Ro. Can't stand it any longer. I need her. I miss her. My wife…dammit, why?" He rested his head on his hands as his body shook with sobs. "Need her, 'Roro. Can't live without her. Need it. Make the pain go away."

Her heart broke and she hugged his shoulder. "I cannot, Scott. You will have to want to change your circumstances. If you still want my help, tomorrow—"

His sobs abruptly stopped. "Don't need help! Told you that. I'm fine. I need a drink."

"You've had enough for tonight."

He shook her loose, floundered to his feet, and stumbled back until he hit a wall. "Fuck you. Fuck your goddamn happy life and fuck your boyfriend. Fuck it, goddamn fuck fucking life. I need a drink, goddamn it!"

The guttural words sent shivers down Ororo's back. Overnight, someone had come and replaced her good friend with an angry, bitter, hateful man, and she did not like him. "If you raise your voice to me one more time, I shall knock you unconscious. Is that understood?"

"Sorry," he slurred. He began crying again and slid down the wall. "Damn, 'Ro. I'm sorry. Jean…I'm sorry, Jean. Didn't mean to kill you. I love you, Jean. Miss you. Need to feel warm again…"

Ororo used her power to help carry him back to the boathouse. Scott had been under a tremendous amount of pressure, but she had never, ever seen him in such a state. His anniversary had been last week, which could account for this slide, but if she had known he had hurt this bad, she would have spoken with Kurt long ago. As she helped him to his bed, she realized that the painfully thin person before her was a broken man. A hurting man. And he was a proud man—one who would never forgive himself if the truth of this night were told to others.

"Scott?"

"Yeah, 'Ro." He was barely conscious. She hoped he could understand her.

"Promise me you will speak with Kurt. And that you will never drink like this again."

"Never again, 'Ro. Promise."

"I will hold you to that, Scott."

"I know."

As his breathing slowed and turned into snores, she frowned and brushed the hair from his eyes. He had allowed his hair to grow somewhat long, and sported a shadowy beard. Her old Scott Summers, her dear friend, would never have allowed himself to denigrate to such a state.

I promise to keep silent about this, Scott, she thought to herself. Her fingers caressed his cheek, and his lips formed Jean's name. Just promise me this is the last time. For Jean and Charles' sake, promise me that you will get better from now on.

* * *

She paced the hallway the following morning, unable to face Scott's class. She had to lie to the children, and she did not appreciate being put in such a position. And worry for Scott's welfare had kept her up until the early hours of the morning. Poor Logan. He respected her too much to push the issue, but he didn't like it when his 'Weather Goddess' was upset. He would probably take it out on the gym class—more's the pity.

"Hey, 'Ro."

She looked up, startled to see Scott clean-shaven and sober, but the only hint of her surprise was a single raised cloud-white brow. "Scott. I was going to mark you absent for the day."

"No need," he sighed. He tightened his grip on his briefcase and jostled it against his knee, staring at his classroom door. "I'm here. A little late, but I'm here. Ah, 'Ro…" his glance traveled the floor tiles. "I remember everything about last night. Um…Thank you."

She lightly touched his chin. "You are scaring me. What I saw—"

"I was an idiot, 'Roro," he said softly. He shook his head and couldn't look at her. He reminded her of a repentant little boy caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "I can't believe I acted like such an asshole. I…I kept thinking about my anniversary and I'd had a few drinks, and I guess wandered into the mansion, remembering her. Remembering her lab." His jaw clenched. "God, 'Ro. I'm sorry you saw that. I'm sorry I let you see that."

A small, sad smile touched her lips. "Will you let us help you now, Scott?"

His throat twitched. "Absolutely. I promised you last night, 'Ro, and I mean to keep it. You won't see me like that ever again."

"And you will speak with Kurt?"

He held up three fingers. "Scout's Honor."

"Since when were you a Boy Scout?"

A real smile split the sadness on his face. "Blame Logan. He calls me one all the time."

"You're no more Boy Scout than I."

"Thanks 'Ro. I owe you one. And you don't have to worry, I'll be as sober as a church deacon from here on out." He laughed and squeezed her shoulder. "But…would you mind if we kept this between us? I'd hate for the others to think something else that's not there. You know me," he pressed, as if sensing her hesitation. "The others haven't known me half as long. You know you can trust my word."

"All right, Scott," she whispered. "You do not need to convince me. Now go, teach."

He nodded and ducked into his classroom. She watched him with a small frown, wondering if what she had seen was simply pure chance, or the tip of something much worse. But she trusted him. She trusted him when he led her into battle and trusted him when he gave his word. As far as she was concerned, the matter was both closed and settled.

_______________

"That's just it, Kurt. I don't have a problem. Everyone else has the problem. You especially."

Kurt Wagner watched Scott tip a small snow globe in his hands; the one purchased from a small antique store in New York as a reminder of gentle Bavarian winters. Miniscule skiers rotated back and forth in the flakes in time with Scott's patient hands.

"I will not judge your actions here, Scott. Only you can determine if a problem exists, or not. But Ororo was concerned. Perhaps you should consider her feelings as well."

Scott chuckled and tapped his forehead with the paperweight. "Don't play shrink with me, Kurt. I've had enough psychics running around my head to know when I'm being played." He sighed and put the bauble back on the edge of Kurt's desk. "I just wish she'd stop worrying about it. All of you are making a huge issue out of nothing."

"How so?"

Scott frowned at him and sat on the edge of his desk, and went back to fondling the globe. Kurt would have believed him, had he not also counseled others who played cat-and-mouse with the truth.

"Okay, okay. I admit it, you're right, Kurt. I'm not done grieving. I guess I'm still working through it. But does that mean I'm a lush?" He slowly shook his head. "I have a few drinks, then I get on with my life. They think I've got some big problem just because I grieve differently from them. Hell, 'Ro jumped into Logan's bed, didn't she? I don't see anyone complaining about that."

A small smile touched Kurt's fuzzy face. "Perhaps they were meant to be, Scott."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. She gets her comfort her way, I get it mine."

Kurt tilted his head, trying a new approach. "Do you think Ororo's desire to grieve, as you say, hurts or helps the institute?"

"Personally, I think they're headed for trouble. If those two got into a fight, no one'd be safe." He shrugged. "But if she's happy, I won't hold her taste in men against her."

They both chuckled. "I suppose, Scott, that I'm wondering what you would do to help her, if Logan began retreating into his feral nature. If he hurt her, would you reach out to her?"

"Of course. So?"

"Perhaps that's the way she's feeling about you."

"Yeah, I guess. But she's not seeing the whole picture. She doesn't understand. None of you do."

"If you explain it to us, Scott, we'll try to understand."

Scott placed the paperweight carefully on the edge and stood. His jaw was as tense and stiff as concrete. "Nice try. But Ororo's out of line, and this little 'session' is really pointless." He put his hand on the doorknob. "See you around, Kurt."

When Scott left, Kurt felt a deep sadness in his heart. Scott was far too stubborn, far too proud, and far too bitter to listen to reason. He wrapped three thick fingers around the snow globe, watching the artificial snow scatter across the tin ground in thin streams, like floating spider's webs. Perhaps, he thought sadly, our former X-leader will come to his senses before it is too late. But I fear his time is running out.

________________

She chewed the tip of her pen while staring at a stack of student's papers. "Anna," she muttered, circling an answer. She clucked her tongue. "You know better than that."

"They say talkin' to yerself's a bad sign, 'Ro."

She smiled faintly and glanced up at Wolverine. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the doorframe of her classroom. "It helps me think. I thought you had something to do this afternoon."

He shrugged. "Just lunch. How 'bout it?"

"How about what?"

He ducked behind the door for a second and held up a basket. "Lunch, 'Ro. You know—knives. Forks. Food. Somewhere between noon and two o'clock."

"Logan! A picnic? What would that do to your rugged, manly image? What would Sabretooth say?"

He scratched his chin, smirking. "Probably something I wouldn't wanna repeat in mixed company. So, you want lunch or not? 'Cause I can take this puppy back if you ain't hungry."

"I have a lot of work to do, but I think I can make an exception. Especially since Wolverine picnics are so rare."

* * *

She loved the hot sunshine on her face and the feel of Logan's rough fingers through her long hair. It had been eight months since the deaths, and she had bonded unexpectedly with him. He had chosen the mansion as a second home, after the call of the wild road, and his urge to stay became more and more frequent—especially, she thought with a small smile, since he had found his reason to return. He even taught a weekly martial arts class so she was sure to see him at least weekly, if not more often. In the beginning they came together for mutual comfort, but a deeper attraction had in fact developed. Sometimes, she thought sadly, good things come from tragedies.

Ororo sighed softly and Logan responded by kissing the nape of her neck. Her sigh became a gentle moan, but he held back and tickled her neck with his beard instead. Her strong mood told him not to go beyond the point...yet. Tonight, her body promised. Tonight. She had too much to do right now and too little time to complete all of it. Betsy was a godsend. At least she knew where Scott kept the most pressing issues, papers, and documents.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

She glanced at him as he sat back. The lazy way he propped himself up on his elbows reminded her of a sated male lion after a kill. "We should act."

He shrugged. "Like I said before, I trust yer judgment, and you've known him longest. I told you what I thought a few months back."

Ororo weaved her fingers, and Wolverine cupped his rough hands around them.

"Do you still feel the same way, Logan?"

"Yep. And he's gotten worse, darlin'."

"I wish it were not so. He promised me. Perhaps…"

Logan kissed her cheek, but his voice was harsh. "You know the truth. You've known it for a while now. Hell, even Betsy's been pickin' up the slack in his classroom, and he can't teach more'n three days without pullin' a disappearin' trick." His voice softened at Ororo's gentle frown. "I know you love 'im but you ain't any more blind than I am—you just wanna play optimist. But the kids in there ain't blind, either."

"Some are too young to understand."

"Most of 'em ain't that young. They've already started makin' jokes."

"That is...most unfortunate."

"No shit."

"Logan, please." She sighed absently. "Each one of us spoke with him as individuals, warned him. Each one of us offered suggestions. Each of us pleaded, yelled, fought with him...I gave him ample warning, did I not?"

"More than ample. You're nicer than any crew boss would've been. They would've hauled his ass out to dry ages ago."

"I know. I would rather do anything but this...but he left me no choice."

"It ain't gonna get any better. Trust me. Do it now, before you lose yer nerve."

"I would never lose my nerve, Logan, but it helps to get additional opinions before acting." Ororo nodded grimly. "I'll tell the others to meet us in Scott's classroom after last period."

* * *

"Hello? Scott? May we come in?"

She put her head close to his door, unsure if he'd heard her gentle knock. A tiny, tinkling "clink" preceded Scott's voice.

"Door's open."

She had steeled herself for an uncomfortable scene as each one of them filled the office, but was surprised by the neatness of Scott's tie and the firmness of his jaw. Was she making a mistake? Surely there wasn't anything wrong. But no....she couldn't shake the doppelganger from her memory, the depressed, semi-comatose man in the kitchen, babbling about his lost love. Even now Scott's overly measured and controlled steps betrayed the truth: His mask was slipping.

He had a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, and scanned the group suspiciously. "What? Something wrong with one of the kids, Hank?"

The scientist shook his head. "No, not the children. However, we have...a problem with one of the instructors."

"Really." Scott filled his glass with a small half-smile and placed the bottle carefully onto the desk. "Seeing how it's all of you coming to see me, I can only guess who it might be. So? What is it this time? You think I should see a shrink again, Kurt? Turn my frown upside-down, or something?"

Kurt pursed his lips. "I wish you and I could have spoken more."

Scott snorted. He drained his glass and angrily refilled it, sloshing a good portion of bourbon onto a student's math test. "You told me to mourn. I'm mourning."

"No, you're actin' like an asshole," Logan growled. "You've always been a prick, but at least you weren't stupid. Yer binges put everybody here at risk."

"Rich, coming from you, Logan." He picked up the glass and gulped from it. "I'm by the book, remember? You're the risk, not me."

"Not from where I'm standin'."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. I'm the psycho amnesiac."

Logan growled darkly, and Ororo put a gentle hand on his shoulder, restraining his anger. "Scott. Every one of us has mentioned something about this to you in past months. You decided to ignore us. We can ignore you no longer."

He ran his thumb against his glass. "Yeah, I'll bet. You always wanted to lead, and I gave it to you on a silver platter. Just waiting for your chance, huh, Ororo? Biding you time? Waiting for one of us to fall so you could grab the glory?"

"Scott, you are not being fair—"

"C'mon, cut the little 'tough girl' act. You can't hack it."

He was about to take another drink when Wolverine swiped the glass out of his hand. "Lissen, ya damn drunk. You wanna drown in piss because Jeannie's dead? Fine. Go for it. But you insult 'Ro one more time, an' I'll spill yer guts all over this floor."

Scott put his hand to his glasses. "Go ahead and try it, big man."

"Enough." Ororo's flat voice echoed the explosion of thunder against the windows. The men slowly backed apart, but they still had clenched fists. Wolverine's claws had not yet sheathed. "Scott, your actions have proven to be both dangerous and erratic. For the sake of the students and the instructors, I am putting you on administrative leave."

Some of the faces in the room looked down, ashamed. Others challenged Scott to start something. He stared hard at every one of them. "Are you all that jealous of my authority that you're gonna kick me out? God dammit, I've saved every one of your asses at one time or another. And you're kicking me out?"

"Scott, it isn't like that." Betsy came over to him and laid a soft hand on his shoulder. He seemed to crumple at her touch, and his anger dissolved into depression. The room knew she had a crush on him, despite his downward spiral over the past few months. "We just want you to rest a while. You need help. Won't you let us help you?"

"Et tu, Bets?" He shoved her hand off his shoulder and headed for the door. "Don't bother. I'm not the one with the problem. I wouldn't need to drink at all, if all of you didn't bring Jean up every fucking second. You all want this school so bad? You want to deal with the headache? Fuck you. You can have it. I'm out of here."

______________

I jumped on my bike and lit out of there like a bat out of hell. I'm surprised I could see the road, drunk as I was. Pride? Yeah, maybe that was part of it. I really believed that I was fine, that my public image and my private image were two separate things. That the face I showed my colleagues...my friends...wasn't the same one that drowned in a fifth of bourbon after the last class. I told myself I was still in control because I only got drunk every once in a while off-hours, and only on the weekends. And only when the boathouse felt lonely and desolate...I didn't notice that my drinking had crept into weekdays, or that sometimes I took one or two "quick shots" in the morning to get rid of hangover jitters. I really thought I was still in control. They had the problem. I was fine. I was in control. Real funny how you can lie to yourself like that...

I'll wrestle any of the Brotherhood to the ground. I'll chase after any physical enemy you throw at me. But when it comes to the emotional side, I'd rather not deal with it. Give me something to hit outside of my body. I don't deal well.

Hey, I bet Logan would fit this new crowd. He seems more like their type. Compared to them, I'm too normal. They know I'm not like them.