Author's Note: I was inspired to write this chapter 2 by my chapter 1. I thoroughly enjoyed my #1, don't get me wrong, but if you want to keep the Scott bashing views and light-hearted tone it holds, for the Gods' sake don't read this chapter. It tries to humanize Scott and explain why he was behaving like an arrogant fathead. Also, it contains much slashiness and angst, so if you dislike them, don't read it either.

Now, for both of you readers who are left, please enjoy!

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Before the last number in the talent show started, Scott Summers got up and left the room, face red as his visor. Bobby happened to be off-stage and decided to follow him.

Scott rounded on him as soon as he noticed that Bobby was pursuing him. "What? Didn't you get in enough insults earlier?"

"Whoa, whoa there. You know you kinda deserve it, after the way you've been treating Jean-Paul. That's why Kitty rode you so hard in the play." Bobby was puzzled. Scott seemed to be on the verge of punching him. He backed up a couple steps.

"Yeah. Good old Jean-Paul, the most arrogant asshole to ever come out of Canada. And that's saying something, given that Logan also comes from there." Scott slammed his fist into his left hand in rage. "Figures you'd prefer him to me. We only joined the team together, had some tough times we supported each other through, all that. He even …" Scott bit his lip and scowled at the floor. "Never mind. I'm leaving."

"Scott?" Bobby pulled at the man's shoulder. "What is it? Come on, talk to me. Did J-P do something to you?"

"No." He jerked out of Bobby's grip and turned on him. "It's what he wants to do to you."

Bobby laughed. "Scott, everybody knows J-P would slap us all silly and make us little French speaking clones of him if he could."

"Oh. Really. And does everybody know that he's having sick sexual fantasies about you?" Bobby's eyes widened and Scott took a step back, then stopped, chin raised boldly. "That's right. Our famous Canadian mutant wants to screw your ass, Bobby. What do you have to say to that?"

Bobby gave his usual joking reply, "Um, he has good taste in men?"

Scott was silent. Bobby didn't know what to say. Scott had sounded angry, sure, but he also sounded hurt. He stammered, "God, Scott … are you saying you're jealous?"

The doors opened behind them and the audience started pouring out into the reception room beyond, but a few people were making their way over to the two men staring at each other in the passageway.

"What?" Scott's mouth dropped open a little. Bobby thought it over and nodded. The constant nagging, the way he sought out the man for more and harder practices than anyone else, it all made sense.

"You're jealous. God, Scott. I didn't know you had a crush on the guy. I just thought you hated him."

Scott snarled at him, face even more red. "Great. I just told the fucking Bobby Drake Gossip Network one more thing they can hate about Scott Summers. 'He's a fucking fairy, you know, the one all the gay jokes are about.' Why don't you just tie a huge fucking sign to Warren's ass and have him fly over the whole town so everybody can come over and KILL ME tomorrow?"

Scott turned and ran halfway down the hall, then looked back, hand on his visor. Bobby backed up, as did Kitty, Rogue, and Dazzler. He aimed at the ceiling and brought it down between them, raising a cloud of dust and smoke. Kitty phased after him, but Bobby stood there shaking his head. What the man must have been going through all this time … didn't Xavier know? Should he try to help or just leave him alone?

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Scott slammed the door to his room and sank back against it, relieved to at least be in a familiar place. His tears dripped down onto his sweater as he sat down on the floor and let his grief out. He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them for comfort.

Scott knew some people at the mansion didn't much like him, but he didn't think anyone hated him so much as to humiliate him like this in public. The Avengers had been here, as had most of the other major superheroes in this galaxy. Thankfully, his father and the Starjammers had been too busy with a mission to come, and Alex and Lorna were off digging up rocks in South America, but everyone else was there.

The professor didn't try to stop them. He shed bitter, angry tears over that. He thought Professor Xavier cared about him, at least.

A warm presence entered his room. "Go away, Kitty, you … go away."

"But, Scott, I …"

"I said go!" He sprang to his feet and pointed toward the main wing of the mansion. "You've done enough damage for one night, haven't you?" A tear tickled down his nose and splatted on the carpet.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Scott. I really am." She left and he sat down again to indulge his grievances again.

So the professor didn't really care about him. Fine. He could deal with that.

Jean did, though. In no way could he twist anything she had done or said tonight into anything less than concern and support. Of course, now that she knew he was more into men than women, she'd probably reject him too.

Oh, God. Now everyone was going to come down on him hard. He inhaled a deep breath that hurt. What about Northstar? Of anyone, he had the most right to be angry at Scott.

He had been quite a prick to the man, he had to admit, far beyond anything the arrogant bastard deserved, for the crime of stirring passions in Scott that he found it difficult to control. He had ruthlessly crushed out most other attractions he'd felt over time, to his teammates Kurt and Remy during his time with the X-men, and to other nameless men from his youth. Somehow Northstar got under his skin worse than the others ever had.

**Scott?**

He sniffled. **Go away, Professor.**

He felt the gentle mental touch giving him a little comfort, as if it were a pat on the shoulder, and then withdrawing.

What was he thinking about before he was interrupted? Oh. Yes. Northstar. Why he couldn't simply forget the man, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he knew that he was gay and thus available. Maybe it was a facet of his personality, some spark of difference that made him stand out. Maybe it was finding that damned fantasy two months ago and wishing with all his heart that it had been about him, that he could have inspired such golden words about his touch, his caress. Maybe it was the shattering of the small hope he'd let grow inside that somehow the beautiful, annoying, irritating man would turn to him some day and say …

Bamf.

Great. Wagner was here and he didn't have the energy to tell him to back off. Bastard.

He closed his eyes and took off his visor, wiping the tears from his face onto his sleeve. "What do you want, Kurt?" he asked, tired of fighting his damned teammates for his privacy. He replaced his visor and looked at the purple mutant through the vanishing red brimstone.

Kurt perched next to him, long legs curled up comfortably. "To make you feel better." He rested his head on his arms. "How can I help?"

"You can't. Get out." He shook his head. "There's nothing anyone can do."

Kurt sighed. "I won't leave. You know that." He took Scott's hand in his, purple fur brushing against his palm.

"Why? Doesn't your religion demand that you tell me I'm going to burn in hell, then leave, before I contaminate you?" He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the empathetic eyes that bored into his mind.

"No. My religion demands that I tell you that He accepts everyone, even people like you who would shut Him out if you could, despite what some say who misuse the faith."

"Whatever." He remained as he was, sunk down against the door, one arm embracing his knees, the other stretched over to Kurt.

"Please, mein freund. Let me help you."

He laughed. "Sure." He bounded up and paced ferociously, Kurt's orange eyes watching him with worry. Kurt couldn't help him, make him normal, make him want to follow Jean in the hallway so he could watch her rear sway instead of Remy's. He laughed again, a cold, frightening sound that he choked off halfway through because it terrified him.

Kurt jumped onto his bed and crouched there, tail lashing in distress. "You know," he said as he watched Scott wearing a trail into his carpet, "I have never been able to hide what I am … well, until the image inducer. From a baby, I was blue and furry."

Scott felt a little shame but kept walking, head down. Kurt continued talking. "I guess that was a blessing. I can now hide what I am, but I choose not to because I like what I am. I like being me."

"Well, good for you." The cruelty came unbidden, and this time Scott did not crush out the shame he felt. "Sorry," he said ungraciously.

Kurt nodded. Scott returned to pacing. "Still," Kurt added, "I know what it is like to be murdered for what I look like … nearly. Without the professor, I would be dead today." He slid down to the floor and pulled Scott close, hugging him. Scott permitted it, but remained stiff in Kurt's arms, refusing to let his control slip again. "I offer you my ears any time you wish to complain." His eyes sparkled and Scott felt his muscles relax a little. He gave Kurt a halfhearted pat on the back and then pulled away.

Kurt winked and left with another soft bamf. Scott threw himself down on his bed. He didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes for a minute and was soon deep in dark, strange dreams.