What I Want, Chapter Twelve.
He figured that he should have known, that nothing would work out, and that he would end up breaking down like that.
But he hadn't.
And he had been out of it for days.
It was the remembering that set him off. The scent of laundry, the sight of blood, almost anything.
He was restless. Stupid. He went on a mission.
And now he wasn't staying in Kitty's room anymore, but in the med-lab, because he hadn't even tried to defend himself when Sabertooth came at him, claws bared.
The worst part of it all was that he wasn't even unconscious. He couldn't move at all, but his mind was working, crying out for her, yelling at himself.
It took three months before he got better, and even then he felt brittle, his nerves were on edge, and he couldn't last a minute without thinking about her.
And he moved back into Kitty's room. He didn't keep it the way it had been as most probably thought he would, but moved things around, added his own stuff on the desk, his CD's to her collection. So that, sometimes, in the morning, he could wake up and think, for just a moment, that she hadn't left, and that they were together. Really together.
But that happiness wouldn't last for long. It would fall apart in minutes, and he would be left crying, again.
"Scott, I'm worried about you." Said the professor one day after summoning Scott for a talk.
"I know." Scott said. "I understand why."
"You need to move on." The professor said, hoping, just for a moment, that Scott understood that.
"I need her." He said. His voice was defiant, but under that there was a longing, a need.
"I know." The professor said. "But you can't stay like this. You need to move on, or try and find her.
So that's what he did.
He figured that he should have known, that nothing would work out, and that he would end up breaking down like that.
But he hadn't.
And he had been out of it for days.
It was the remembering that set him off. The scent of laundry, the sight of blood, almost anything.
He was restless. Stupid. He went on a mission.
And now he wasn't staying in Kitty's room anymore, but in the med-lab, because he hadn't even tried to defend himself when Sabertooth came at him, claws bared.
The worst part of it all was that he wasn't even unconscious. He couldn't move at all, but his mind was working, crying out for her, yelling at himself.
It took three months before he got better, and even then he felt brittle, his nerves were on edge, and he couldn't last a minute without thinking about her.
And he moved back into Kitty's room. He didn't keep it the way it had been as most probably thought he would, but moved things around, added his own stuff on the desk, his CD's to her collection. So that, sometimes, in the morning, he could wake up and think, for just a moment, that she hadn't left, and that they were together. Really together.
But that happiness wouldn't last for long. It would fall apart in minutes, and he would be left crying, again.
"Scott, I'm worried about you." Said the professor one day after summoning Scott for a talk.
"I know." Scott said. "I understand why."
"You need to move on." The professor said, hoping, just for a moment, that Scott understood that.
"I need her." He said. His voice was defiant, but under that there was a longing, a need.
"I know." The professor said. "But you can't stay like this. You need to move on, or try and find her.
So that's what he did.
