Rebirth and Awakenings
Chapter 7
The winter sun peeked through the blinds as Scott was woken by Ororo insistently knocking on his door.
"Come on, Scott, get up. It's Christmas! You have to open your presents."
Presents? Scott's sleepy brain struggled to process Ororo's words. That's right -- he had presents! Well, one present anyway. That was worth getting up for. He dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt before going downstairs.
The sight that greeted him made Scott stop dead on the staircase. The tree was stunning in the morning light and gayly wrapped packages abounded underneath it. It was almost unreal, it was like walking on to a stage setting.
The Professor saw him on the staircase and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Scott," he called.
"Merry Christmas," Scott returned. He finished walking down the staircase and stood in the hall just looking at the tree until Ororo reached out and pulled him to the floor beside her.
"It's about time," she said. "We've been waiting for you."
"Stormy-girl plays gift fairy," Warren observed from beside the Professor's wheelchair. "She gets to crawl under the tree and pull out gifts for everyone. So, what are you waiting for, Ororo, get started!"
With much laughter, they began to open their presents. Scott was stunned to discover he had more than one present under the tree. He watched Ororo as she opened her gift from him. He hoped she liked it.
Ororo pulled the object free of the tissues with a squeal of delight. It was a Zulu basket, beautifully woven and hand made in South Africa. Scott had found a shop that specialized in African wares from their shopping trip in New York City. He knew how much she loved anything from the continent where she had spent most of her life.
Scott was just as pleased with his presents. He got a 2000 piece puzzle (his gift from Hank), a thick biography of Alexander the Great, a soft sweater in a dark teal (according to Ororo anyway, it was a kind of purple to Scott), a tin of fudge from Mrs. Hanscomb (everyone got their favorite candies), and a bag of Christmas cookies from Mrs. McCoy. He hadn't received this many gifts since he had been orphaned.
Christmas breakfast was laid back and served in the hall, not the dining room. Mrs. McCoy brought out a cart loaded with tea, coffee, juices, fruit, warm sausage rolls, croissants, bagels with cream cheese, danishes, and other goodies.
"Make sure you get plenty to eat. Dinner won't be until 2:00," she reminded everyone.
The rest of the day was slow and lazy. They all returned to their rooms to wash up and dress before donning aprons to help with the Christmas dinner. Which was a riot, in Scott's opinion. He discovered another Institute tradition at the dining table. Beside each plate was something called a "Christmas cracker." The "cracker" turned out to be a decorated cardboard tube stuffed with a paper hat, little toy, and a funny saying, like in fortune cookies. When the ends were ripped off, the tubes made a loud snap, like a cap-gun. Scott had never heard of them before; Ororo explained they were an English tradition.
And the food! The table practically groaned with everything on it. Scott had a healthy appetite but even he had to call it quits at some point. After the leftover food was put away and the table cleared, they went back to the Drawing Room to play games and have fun. Scott had never had a Christmas Day like it before and the day was over much too early, as far as he was concerned.
As evening fell, Scott played chess with Hank. Hank had taught him the game as soon as he could see again. Scott had learned quickly and was a formidable player -- even if he did call the rooks 'castles' and the knights 'horses'.
"Ororo said Jean might come by tonight," Scott observed.
"It depends how unpleasant a time she's having at home," Hank responded with unusual bluntness.
"Henry," Edna McCoy reproved her son.
"Please, Mother, Scott's not a fool. Jean has loving parents, it goes without saying. But, her mother has not adjusted to her daughter's mutation as well as one could have hoped. In many ways, she's never really accepted it. Jean can't help but feel the, well, *rejection*. Christmas is always a tense time in the Grey household. In recent years, Jean has taken refuge here, as needed. Some holidays have gone extremely well and we don't see her until New Year's. Others -- she's gotten here by four o'clock. Since it's now eight, I'm hopeful she's having an enjoyable time."
Actually, Jean didn't arrive until the next day. Scott was happy for her, in spite of having missed her the day before. Her Christmas couldn't have been too bad.
Her smile was bright as she entered the hall with a suitcase and two shopping bags. "I'm finally here," she called as she hugged everyone. "Merry Christmas. Did you all have a good time."
"Great," Scott answered. "How about you?"
Her smile slipped slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Very good," she said. "We didn't kill each other, and I stayed until this morning. Which is pretty good for us, so I'm thankful. Who's up for a snowball fight?"
Scott realized then what the rest of the mansion had learned long ago -- in spite of her having a family, Jean was as alone as the rest of them. The Institute *was* her family in a way her real family could never be.
* * *
They spent most of the day outdoors, playing in the snow. Lunch was cold ham or turkey sandwiches and dinner was reheated leftovers from Christmas dinner. There was very little kitchen preparation and Mrs. McCoy only allowed the students to clean up. The evening was spent as the previous, with games and chitchat.
The late night quiet was shattered at one a.m. by Jean's screams. Scott woke up, put on his robe and walked down the hall to Jean's room. He nodded to Ororo, who had poked her head out the door of her room and seemed grateful not to have to go check on Jean. He saw Mrs. McCoy coming out of her room.
"I've got it, Mrs. McCoy," he called out. She nodded and went back into her room. Scott knocked on Jean's door then opened it. As before, Jean was sitting up with the light on, grasping her knees. Tonight, she was rocking back and forth as well.
Scott sat down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. Without being asked, he began to stroke her back. He knew she liked that.
Jean sighed contentedly and rested her head on his shoulder in gratitude. She had gotten used to the feeling of Scott's strong hands and how much better she always felt after a shoulder rub. Jean noticed he wasn't as slight as he had been when he first arrived. The karate lessons were helping to build some muscle mass. He was a little taller, too. Good nutrition and regular meals had apparently helped kick off a final growth spurt. Scott was probably going to be as tall as she was and she was almost six feet tall.
"Wanna talk?" Scott asked.
"No," she said in a small voice. Jean hesitated for a moment. "Would you rub my shoulders?" she asked. "That always feels so good and makes me relax."
"Sure," he said as he moved behind her. As Jean said, Scott soon felt her relaxing beneath his hands.
"Where did you learn to give such great massages?" she asked.
"One of the people I stayed with, she was a masseuse for a living," Scott replied as he worked on a knot near her shoulder blade. "Sometimes she'd show me things and I'd help her set up after school and stuff."
Jean turned to look at him. "Do you know how to do a full back massage?"
Scott shrugged. "Yeah."
"With, like, rubbing alcohol?"
He nodded.
"I've got rubbing alcohol in my medicine chest," Jean told him as she got up and started walking towards the bathroom.
"Wait," Scott called after her. "I don't think we should."
"Why not?"
Oh, great, he was now stuck having to explain. "You're going to have to take your nightgown off," he told her. "Your back has to be ... bare."
"I could put a towel around me."
"We're .. we're in your bedroom and it's late," Scott insisted. "I don't think ... people might say things if they knew."
Jean now realized the problem. He was concerned for her reputation, of all things. And maybe he didn't trust himself. Jean, however, was quite sure she was good enough with her TK to handle a horny teenager, if it came to it.
She was too shaken by her nightmare and needed that back massage too badly. "Are you going to take advantage of me?" she teased.
"No," Scott replied tartly.
"Well, then," Jean said. "I'm not going to take advantage of you, either." Her voice softened. "It's perfectly innocent, Scott."
He saw the need in her face and capitulated. "Okay," he said, but he still didn't sound convinced.
* * *
"Oh .... that's wonderful. You've got great hands. You've got hands a surgeon would envy."
"Thanks," Scott said drily. He couldn't imagine what he would say if someone happened to open the door to Jean's bedroom. She was lying face down on her bed, with the sheet drawn up to her lower back and a towel beneath her, to catch the alcohol and to cover herself, if need be. So far, Scott was behaving himself. He concentrated only on her back and his hands didn't wander even a millimeter. Even though he was sorely tempted.
But Jean trusted him. And there was no way Scott would ever betray that trust.
"And you learned this with one of your foster families?" Jean was asking.
"Yeah; Charlotte and Bill were pretty cool. They were a couple of space cadets, but they were nice."
"Why didn't you stay with them?" Jean wasn't sure she should ask, but she wanted to know.
For a moment, Scott's hands stilled, but then he resumed rubbing her back. "I got sick again; I had to go back to the hospital," he said lightly. "While I was there, Bill got a job offer in California. He's a college music teacher and this was a full time faculty job. But it was a last minute appointment; he had to leave quickly. There wasn't any time. They looked into taking me with them, but I was a ward of the state. It would have taken a lawyer, time, and money -- they didn't have any of those things. So they had to leave."
Scott was silent for a moment. He didn't want to talk about the aftermath. He didn't want to talk about how the pains in his head had become unbearable; he didn't want to talk about the psychiatric hospital he had been sent to. So he talked about better things, things that couldn't hurt.
Much.
"They were nice people," he continued. "They taught me a lot of things. Bill even taught me how to play the guitar."
"I didn't know you could play the guitar."
Scott nodded. "I don't have one here, of course."
"Would you like one?"
"Guitars cost money, Jean. I don't have any."
"I don't know," she muttered dreamily under his ministrations. "We might be able to find one. You'd be surprised what's tucked away in this house."
* * *
Jean had to return to school after New Years and Scott didn't see her again for two weeks. But she wasn't idle. She had been touched and saddened by the story of his separation from the one foster family that wanted to keep Scott. Jean wanted to do something for him, give him something he would really enjoy. So, on her next day off, she commandeered Hank and they went trawling through New York's second hand music shops.
"Why can't we just buy one from a store?" Hank complained as they walked into their fourth music shop.
"No, Hank," Jean said firmly. "We have to get a used guitar, so we can tell him we found it in the house. Otherwise, he won't take it."
Finally, after the umpteenth attempt, they found a suitable instrument. The man in the shop seemed to know what he was talking about and helped them pick a guitar that would be good for both a beginner and a more experienced player. Jean had no idea what Scott's level was, but had a feeling he was probably pretty good.
Sneaking the guitar back into the house and hiding it was Hank's job. He felt he had been a successful conspirator and waited for Jean to come back and make her "find".
* * *
"Scott! You'll never believe what I found," Jean's exuberance was contagious as she held out the guitar.
"Where did this come from?" Scott asked as he gingerly took the instrument.
"I remembered I thought I had seen one up in the attics. I think the Professor had a cousin or something that played. There's so much stuff up there, I thought it was worth a second look.
Scott looked over the guitar with interest. If it had been in the attic, it had to have been protected by something. There was no dust to speak of and it was in great shape.
"Do you think the Professor would let me use it?" he asked.
"I think the Professor would let you *have* it," Jean assured him.
Scott's smile made the hours of searching for the right instrument worth it in Jean's mind.
* * *
Professor Xavier, fortunately, was quick on the uptake and knew exactly where the guitar had really come from, without having to read anyone's mind. But he didn't give the game away and cheerfully gave permission to keep the gift.
Scott happily took his "find" back to his room and began to tune it. The strings were in really good shape for something that had been hidden away for years, he noted. He smiled and began strumming the guitar. The sound was good, but it also sounded like there was something loose inside the body. He held the guitar upside down and shook it. A small piece of paper fell out and he picked it up.
The piece of paper was part of a pawn ticket. The guitar had been pawned two years ago. Jean hadn't found the guitar. She had bought it -- for him.
Scott smiled broadly as he began to play.
* * *