I thought I knew, but I don't. Not really.
I watch the trickle of colors, blues and greens, violets and azures, reds - well, I always had the reds - that sparkle in my vision.
Hank had prescribed a pair of glasses, a fog-grey, that he told me would ease the transition from - what? Color-blind? The thought makes me smile a little.
Walking down the halls, listening to the chatter of students, I sit silently, watching the youngsters play.
Outside, Cayanne has coralled her father, Nathan, and Stryfe into a game of dodgeball.
This time, I do smile.
I had never pictured Gambit as a father, but there he was, spending time with his daughter like any parent, laughing as he aimed the ball at the tall, silver-haired mutant.
Nathan - my son. Older than me.
I close my eyes.
Stryfe, Nathan's clone. Would-be conqueror.
I open them.
Stryfe is leaping for the ball, Nathan and him nearly tangling into one another while the teen-ager fields it and swats it back at her father.
I wish at that moment I was a telepath, able to reach out to the minds of the ones I love.
Whaaa....?
I almost feel my spine crack as I bolt upright. The voice is not Jean's, through our bond, our link.
No kiddin'. the wry tone could only be Cayanne.
You can...hear me?
You shoutin'. pointed out the youngster, holding the ball in her hands, staring up at the window.
Perhaps I was.
I'm sorry, Cayanne, I...
Lissen, you de leader o' de X-Men, but if you don' learn relax you gonna freeze in de upright position. Get down here an' play with yer sons.
Son. It was automatic. Maybe even a little petty. Stryfe? My son?
Sons. If you wanna not let Rafe be yer son, dat yer problem, but you wanna stay blind, pal?
God, she's beginning to sound like Logan.
Merci.
Ummm....
You got three minutes get down here or I send Nathan up dere to get ya.
Cayanne! I try for adult authority, and find that she is not overly impressed.
Two minutes, fifty second. An' countin'.
I stand up, feeling very put upon, and start down the stairs, automatically placing a hand on the banister as I make my way down. I convince myself it is just to make a brief appearance and then return to the study.
"Finalement!" calls Cayanne, a wicked grin on her elfin features.
I stare at her.
Then at the sixth member of our group, who was patiently puffing on a cigar.
Cayanne sneezed, glared up at Logan. "Cela SENT." she observed.
"Aquired taste, darlin'."
"So you go outta yer way t' aquire a taste fer somethin' that smells like roadkill?" the teen sneezed again.
I stare at her, then at Logan, then back at a grinning Remy. Nathan and Stryfe both have typically inscrutible expressions on their faces and I suddenly wish I could reach them, be a father to them, though I have no idea how.
"Me, Logan, and Papa versus de Summers." Cayanne rubbed her hands together.
"What...?" I stare at them, sure the girl has lost her mind.
"Don' worry, I go easy on ya."
"Cayanne!"
Logan took a last puff on his cigar, then dropped it.
Cayanne gleefully stomped on the offending object, while Logan pretended not to notice.
"It would seem we are allies." said Stryfe dryly.
I stare at him.
Nathan - did I see a flicker of a smile?
"Incomin'!" yelled Cayanne.
I was forced, for the next hour, to dodge, duck, and dive to avoid the deadly accuracy of Logan, who was obviously enjoying the game. Cayanne was tagged next, and then I found myself and an experienced group of X-Men scatter before the aim of a gleeful teen-ager.
I was stunned when I looked up and realized the sun was setting. Nathan's gaze met mine.
I saw something there I had never seen before.
A flicker of warmth. Light. My son, behind the years.
I had been color-blind since I was sixteen, but I had never realized that when I glanced at Stryfe, I saw - hurt. Not hate. It was a momentary thing. A realization.
Maybe a little too color-blind. I'd worked so hard on being the leader of the X-Men, the mutant known as Cyclops, that I'd become defined by the name, the calling. I'd never looked beyond it, because - perhaps, in truth, I feared what I would find.
Nathan and Stryfe had no choice in the matter.
I had judged them both based on who I was, not on who they were.
Cayanne had bounded up the stairs after her father.
Logan glanced back at me once, the gaze of an older brother, oddly comforting, then followed the Cajuns.
Nathan and Stryfe were still there, and somehow we all stopped at the same moment.
I stared at them, so alike in appearance, so similar in nature, yet so very different.
I swallowed hard, then said tenatively, "Are you both busy?"
I expected Stryfe at least to push past me, but I was almost shocked when he shrugged.
Nathan's gaze revealed an instant of startlement, then he replied, "I'm not."
"How about a game, then?"
They both nodded, almost in unison, and I started up the steps, a little in shock.
Could I be a friend to them?
Yes.
Could I be a father to them?
I don't know.
(Yes.)
