Cygnus
Author: Minarya
Disclaimer: Marvel owns everything. I'm just playing.
Summary: When there's nothing ahead, maybe you left something behind. Post X2.
Rating: PG? Some cursing
It was getting ridiculous, when the only way he could tell one day from the next was by the sounds coming from the television in the next room. Tonight, for example, was Thursday. He could tell by the jarring cadence introducing that hospital show ... damn thing had been on the air longer than he'd been alive, it seemed. Every season. Dependable. Expected. Like clockwork. Faces changed sometimes, but it was always there, churning out story after story in neat little hour-long packages.
It was also getting ridiculous, he knew, when he let a goddamn TV show get under his skin this much.
With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his forehead in frustration and bounced the pencil off the table, breaking the tip in the process. Fantastic. The kids knew by now not to intrude, when he sat here night after night in the darkness, working on whatever he could get his hands on to distract him from actually having to think about anything. He had snapped, when he was asked for about the 50th time why he didn't use his own office, or even the library, and no one had asked again. Wasn't it clear as fucking day? Everything in this place reminded him of her, and this room reminded him less than most others. Simple as that. Instead of being happy he hadn't locked himself up somewhere they wanted to give him a hard time about his new routine. Never satisfied.
It was no use - he was too distracted now to focus on grading these papers. It would have to wait until morning. He rarely slept more than a few hours now anyway, so it would still get done in plenty of time. He pushed away from the makeshift desk, leaving the comforting circle of warm light for the deeper darkness of the conservatory. He'd never been into all this ... plants and nature and moonlight and growing things. That was all Ororo and Logan's deal, and he'd never had much use for it. But that was before. Now? Well, now he didn't know what he thought. It didn't feel quite as ... empty in here as it did everywhere else, and Ororo didn't seem to care that he was trampling all over her adopted room. And right now, he'd take what he could get.
The television faded to background noise to nothing at all as he moved past the towering ferns to one of the loveseats scattered around here like an obstacle course. His head was starting to throb again, but he didn't feel like crawling through the house for aspirin. He'd run into people, and they'd want to talk, and he'd get those looks. Sympathy, or concern, or even anger. That one was new. It seemed some people were starting to get fed up with him - he'd even managed to get into a fight with Hank, possibly the most patient person he'd ever known. Next to Charles, of course. And Ororo. All right, now that he thought about it, the mansion was full of people who fucking understood. Everyone understood. Except for him, of course. He didn't understand, and so far no one had been able to come up with a reason why he should.
It was unfair, really. Arms spread out, he rested his head against the wicker back of the chair and blew out his breath in irritation. Logan had gone on a rampage, spewing vile things to anyone within earshot, then left for a while without a word to anyone. That, apparently, was acceptable behavior. It was Logan, after all, and Logan was held to a different standard than everyone else. Charles talked to everyone in that even, measured way he had, speaking of destiny and fate and sacrifice and nobility and all kinds of meaningless bullshit, and everyone marveled at his strength and wisdom. And privately they wondered why Scott couldn't do the same thing. Oh, no one had said as much, but he knew that was what they thought. People thought he couldn't truly see who they were, what went on in their heads, as if somehow his glasses hid the world from him as much as they hid him. But he could. Probably better than most, because of it.
Well, he hadn't run. He hadn't tried to falsely counsel the kids, as Charles and that new guy, Kurt, had done. He didn't hide and pretend everything was perfectly fine, as Ororo had done. He didn't make jokes like Hank. No, he was coping. The best he knew how. And everyone could just fuck off if they didn't like it. Frankly he didn't see much reason to go on at all. The fact that he was should be proof enough of his devotion to the school and to Charles and this fucking, pointless dream. What more did they want from him?
"Scott?"
Behind his visor he shut his eyes, silently willing that she just move on, pretend she hadn't noticed him. Or maybe if he sat very still, she wouldn't see him at all and continue on her way ... but it was useless, of course. For a non-telepath, the woman had an uncanny knack for finding people when they didn't want to be found. He might as well acknowledge her, find out what crisis needed handling and get it over with.
"Over here, 'Ro." His voice sounded cold, flat, even to his own ears, but there was no helping it. He didn't turn around, but he could see the faint outline of her movements shimmering against the lead glass, backlit by the rec room. Despite his mood he couldn't help the twitch of his lips, the shadow of a smile. Even in something as simple as entering a room, she somehow managed to seem ethereal, silent and insubstantial as a ghost. Logan called her a witch sometimes - a term of endearment, judging by her reaction - and Scott could see why.
"It is a beautiful night, is it not?"
Scott rolled his head to the side once she reached the chair, brow furrowing as he took in her appearance. She had curled her hair for some reason, and she was wearing a dress. What color it was he had no idea, but something between white and shadow, he could make out that much. He caught the glint of moonlight in some jewelry around her neck, her wrist.
"What's the occasion?" he asked, dismissing her earlier question. Tonight was the same as any other night, far as Scott could tell. It wasn't raining, if that was enough to qualify it as a beautiful night.
Ororo merely smiled softly in return, nudging his arm out of the way so she could settle beside him. Uninvited. Scott frowned slightly at the presumption, but didn't stop her. Of all of them, she was the least likely to intrude and most likely to know when she'd pushed him too far. So he made room, noticing the spicy, woodsy scent of a perfume he didn't recognize. He frowned even more deeply at that - why the hell was she wearing perfume? A date? Who? Logan, or Kurt? Hank? Surely it wasn't anyone outside the mansion, or he would have heard about it. Wouldn't he?
"I brought you a gift." Her voice was soft, as if wary of speaking too loudly and shattering the quiet. Glancing toward his eyes she smiled again, holding up something shiny and ... swan-shaped? before transferring it to his lap. "It is food. I know you are not overly fond of the concept lately, but I thought perhaps for steak you might make an exception."
Dressed for a date, and making jokes? Scott said nothing at first, lifting the slightly battered object and sniffing it experimentally. Definitely steak ... and his stomach gave an approving grumble. She was right. He'd hardly been starving himself, it was just that he hadn't been giving food more than a passing thought these days. When he was hungry, he ate enough to not be hungry, and that was that. Nothing that required effort or planning.
"You ate steak?" His brows arched, the question loaded. The swan full of leftovers returned to its perch, staring up at him from his lap.
"Of course not." She crossed one leg over the other, and Scott noticed the elegant heels. How the hell did she walk across the marble floor so quietly? Sometimes he forgot just how skilled she really was. "Logan had steak. But I made sure he ordered two, so I could bring one home for you."
"Logan?" Scott wasn't sure what he should feel. Revulsion, for damn sure. Who did Logan think he was? First Jean, now Ororo? Frustration. She knew better ... she could do better. Logan'd only use her up and throw her away for the next great adventure, or the next unsolvable mystery. Or the next unavailable redhead. "Fuck, Ororo," he muttered, some anger seeping into his voice. "Not you, too ... "
One elegant eyebrow arched, and she drew herself up to her full height, back rigid. Oh, Scott knew this tactic. She was angry, or making a good show of it, puffing herself up to seem bigger than she was. More imposing. Problem was, she couldn't pull it off with him. He knew her better than anyone in this mansion. From the moment she'd stepped into this house with Charles, so damn skinny and lost and full of edges - some false, some real. He knew how to figure them out - or most of them, anyway - because they'd been his once, too. Maybe they still were.
"I would not owe you any kind of explanation if it was 'me, too,' but I assure you it was not what you are thinking." Ororo sniffed delicately, averting her imperious gaze to the bracelet at her wrist, fingers tracing it idly. Avoidance? "It was only a dinner. And it wasn't just Logan and myself."
"So why all ... this?" Scott waved his hand vaguely at her dress, tone softening a fraction now that he knew she hadn't been on a date with that asshole.
"Is it so wrong of me to want to look nice every once in a while?"
"You could wear a potato sack and look nice, 'Ro." That got her, and her shoulders relaxed just a little. "But I take it this wasn't some random trip to Harry's?"
"No, we passed on Harry's this time." And apparently, that was all she was going to say on the matter, leaning back in the loveseat to mirror his pose. They sat like that for some time, Scott still with that silly tinfoil swan on his thigh, but surprisingly he didn't mind so much. Ororo was one of those rare people who didn't feel the need to fill up empty spaces with words - at least, not all the time - and he didn't feel like she was sitting there waiting for him to say or do something.
Which was precisely what motivated him to say or do something.
"Look," he started, not sure what he was going to say or why there was already a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've ridden you guys hard and the kids ... well, I probably don't want to know what names they've come up with for me."
Ororo's focus was still on the night sky, but he could see her lips quirk. "They are a creative bunch, there is no question."
Scott snorted. "Yeah, well. Not much I can do about that." He turned and looked at her profile, eyes moving unseen over her high cheekbones, her strong jaw. It was infuriating, that she was able to hide her emotions so completely. Usually he was pretty good at that himself, which made it even more maddening that she wasn't cracking while he was doing ... whatever the hell it was he was doing. "I'm just ... I'm doing the best I can, 'Ro."
"I never said you weren't." Her eyes flickered to his, gaze penetrating straight through the quartz and into his soul. Scott squirmed a little, the swan crinkling quietly against his jeans. "I only wish ... "
She sighed then, almost imperceptibly, and turned back to the window. Scott realized he was holding his breath. It wasn't often the goddess opened up, even a fraction, and despite his newfound jackass status he wasn't going to interrupt.
"It is nothing." But it wasn't, and he was almost insulted she thought she could away with that. Her fingers picked at her skirt; an old, nervous gesture she'd had since the day he met her. "But it's harder, without you."
She couldn't see him blinking behind his glasses, but he was. Scott had no idea what she was talking about. He was right here. Hadn't gone anywhere. Wasn't that the point?
"You lost me." His voice was half-joking and half-warning, almost daring her to continue.
Ororo shook her head, as if waging a silent battle with herself, then shifted in the seat to face him fully. Even in the darkness he could see her determination. "She was my best friend, too," she finally said, the words bursting out of her as if they'd been waiting there, hiding just behind her teeth. "You and her. The both of you. And I know it is harder for you - believe me, I know - and you are not doing a thing wrong. It is your grief ... "
Scott sat still under her flood of words, not moving, not responding. Frankly, he was shocked. And a little angry. What the hell had brought this on? It had been months, and she was just digging into him now?
"It is your grief," she repeated after a moment, sounding somewhat defeated. "And you need to deal with it as you see fit. I apologize. Sometimes ... well, today was a bit tougher than most." Ororo tried a smile then, and failed miserably. "Try not to stay up too late."
She shifted then as if to leave, but Scott's hand shot out and grabbed her arm, anchoring her where she was. He wasn't sure why he did it - she was right, it was his grief, and all he had asked of anybody was to be left alone to deal - but clearly she was troubled and, well, that was his job, right? To fix all the wrongs.
"What is it you want to say to me?" he asked, hand still closed on the soft, bare skin of her arm and her eyes trained on his hand. His voice was harsher than he would have wished, but softer than it might have been.
"Nothing. I didn't want to say anything." She licked her lips, then shifted her gaze to the swan, of all things. Nervousness was not something he was accustomed to seeing from her. "That is a lie. I just ... I wanted to tell you that I missed you."
Scott knew what she meant, but he wasn't ready to give in. "I'm right here, 'Ro." He released her arm to wave both hands around comically. Ordinarily he might have gotten a laugh out of her, but not tonight. "Sitting right here beside you. I haven't gone anywhere."
"Yes, you have." Her eyes pierced his again, and though her words were fierce her eyes were soft. Sad. They sat there like that for who knew how long, Scott matching her stare for stare. She was right - wasn't she always? - but this wasn't a surprise. He had known exactly what he was doing, all along. Hiding in plain sight. There but not. Disconnected. It was the only way he could have gotten through all this.
But seeing her now ... this formidable woman who had become so important to him, her eyes moist and her breathing slightly labored and her hands twisting just a little ... it suddenly seemed wrong. This wasn't him. This wasn't them. Getting back, however, seemed next to impossible. And he still wasn't even sure if he wanted to bother.
"Good night, Scott," she finally said, breaking the silence and attempting another smile. "Try to sleep well."
Still he said nothing, not sure what she wanted him to say, and she didn't wait. Ororo stood with a rustle of skirt and the sound of high heel striking marble, and without another glance in his direction she vanished back into the leafy darkness.
Part of him kept expecting her to reappear, to explain herself or tell him what to do or yell at him or something. But he was left alone, staring at a giant fern with his confusion and his aluminum swan. With a frustrated sigh Scott slumped into the loveseat, head flopping back against the wicker. Damn her ... he knew he was being selfish, but it was his fucking right. They didn't need him. Not really. The team was running smoothly, he was handling his classes. Hell, they were even having dinners out now, and hadn't even thought to ask him to come along. He probably wouldn't have gone, but that wasn't the point. Clearly they'd all managed to find a way to move on. Great for them. He wasn't going to be forced into pretending he had.
But.
He wasn't the only one who had been left alone, was he? Scott still couldn't bring himself to feel pity for Logan - the arrogant shit - but Charles had lost a daughter, and Ororo, a sister. The notion made the corner of Scott's mouth twitch. It really was comical. When 'Ro had arrived here she had been about the un-girliest girl Scott had ever met. Graceful, sure, and undoubtedly beautiful. He didn't need normally-functioning eyes to know that. But she had been rough and angry and uncomfortable and had never opened a Cosmo in her life and Jean had no idea what to do with her. Over the years, though, they had adopted her, and she them. Scott could still see those two clearly, giggling over some bridal magazine in the library ... Jean had become the family Ororo didn't remember. He had become part of her family.
Fuck.
Realization slowly dawned on him, and he looked down at the swan almost accusingly.
Fuck.
He knew what day it was. Or had been, now. Ororo's birthday. That's why they'd gone out. That's why she was so dressed up. And that's why she'd looked at him with the beginnings of tears in her eyes.
God ... how much of a shit had he become, that he'd managed to forget? It was the thing they had in common. Both orphans, and both had their childhoods taken away from them. She hadn't even known exactly when her birthday was until Charles got a copy of her birth certificate, and that year Scott had thrown her a first birthday party to celebrate. It had become a silly tradition, complete with balloons and party hats and candle wishes, but he'd never missed one. Not one.
Until now.
Fuck.
In irritation he banged his head against the chair again, but self-flagellation wasn't going to fix this. Jean would be so pissed at him, if she could see him now. But not any more than he was at himself. This wasn't working. Hadn't been working for a while, and he had known that and ignored it. Pretending not to care about anyone or anything only worked for so long ... people crept back in, whether you liked it or not. Life crept back in. Nothing stopped, no matter how much you willed it. And it wasn't such a simple thing, to turn off your emotions. Even when your heart had been ripped out.
Strange, that.
Scott had no idea what he was doing. Not then, and not now. But obviously it was time to stop this. It had gone on for too long. Maybe he'd never be able to reclaim the part of him that had died with Jean, but the part that remained couldn't hide among the orchids anymore.
Turns out he was needed, after all.
Before his determination could fail him again, Scott stood, with none of the whisper-grace of Ororo's passing. Tucking the swan under one arm he straightened the pillows on the loveseat, stalling just a little. But despite what it felt like he wasn't leaving anything behind, or giving up. He was moving on. He had to, before he lost the path completely. One foot in front of the other.
With one last glance at the moonlit sky behind him, Scott followed in Ororo's wake.