Scott had tried for hours to calm himself, using a mental trick that Professor Xavier had taught him, but sleep didn't come that night. It had always worked before, but Scott supposed that his mind was too active to be quieted. He took advantage of the extra time, though, to plan his course of action. In keeping with his newfound determination, he was determined to never again be left on the defensive. The game would be his from here on out.

Hence, when the nurses came in during the night, Scott pretended to be sleeping. When the sun started to peek through the window, he stirred appropriately. And when, at last, he heard the footsteps of the nurse shuffling towards him, he turned his head to face her, opened his eyes, and smiled.

The nurse was an extremely thin woman, probably in her late forties, early fifties, though her skin looked like leather and the bags under her eyes were enormous. She looked as bad as Scott felt. Still, her expression had been warm, when he opened his eyes. That changed, though, when she noticed her patient was staring at her.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest with one hand and trying her best to steady a tray of food in the other.

Scott raised his hand slightly, "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The nurse started laughing nervously and sat the tray down on a small table that she then placed over Scott's lap. "Don't be sorry," she said, still giggling. "I just wasn't expecting you to… be awake."

She distributed the flatware next to the plate on the tray. "I should be apologizing. I woke you up."

"I wasn't asleep," Scott said.

"Are you an early riser?"

"Six o'clock every morning," Scott admitted, "but I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh, I see," the nurse said, smiling. "Well, you must be feeling a little better. You're definitely more talkative today than you were yesterday."

Scott didn't reply. He just gave the nurse a slight smile and a nod and then looked down at the tray in front of him. It was a brown tray, with a white plate in the center covered with light-yellow scrambled eggs, sprinkled with black pepper, two sausage links, and a steamy, buttery biscuit. On one side of the plate was a glass of orange juice, and the other had his napkin, silverware, and a white mug of coffee.

Besides being extremely hungry, the sight was nothing short of miraculous. So many colors, Scott thought. He shook his head and then raised his hand to rub his eyes with his fingers to hide his emotion. Not many people get teary-eyed looking at breakfast, Scott told himself. Especially not hospital food. Pull it together.

Taking a deep breath, he let out a long sigh, reminding himself of his plan, and turned to the nurse with a smile on his face. "Thank you," he said politely.

The nurse was watching him with keen interest and a somewhat smug expression. Her hands were crossed in front of her. "You're welcome, sweetheart," she said. The show over, she turned to leave. "Don't worry. You'll be out of here in no time," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while." The door opened and closed, and Scott was alone again.

He examined the "feast" before him with greedy eyes, struggling to decide where to begin. He finally decided to try the sausage. His arms, still tired from his late night struggles, complained as he lifted them to start eating. Skipping the fork, he grabbed a link and took a large bite. It wasn't the best sausage he'd ever had, but he wasn't feeling particularly picky. He quickly swallowed the barely chewed bits and bit off another chunk. With the other hand, he tore off a piece of biscuit and shoved it in his mouth, too.

At just that moment, the door to his room opened abruptly. Scott turned his head, his cheeks still full and crumbs dropping from his lips, and watched as a figure pushed the door open with their rear-end, backing through the doorway. A very familiar voice called down the hallway, with laughter in her voice, "Okay, I appreciate it. Thank you, Marie."

She turned around, but her attention was focused in her large, tan-colored purse. Her right arm was practically buried up to her elbow as she noisily searched for something. Scott couldn't help but smile, watching her. She was wearing a navy sweatshirt that was at least three sized too big for her. Her brown hair was tied back in a loose pony-tail, and she swiped a long strand of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, and pushed up the sleeves of the sweatshirt to her elbows as she muttered to herself. She wasn't wearing much makeup, probably just foundation, Scott guessed, and maybe some eye shadow. Her skin was very light and smooth, and her lips were full and a healthy pink. Her cheeks looked slightly flushed. Her face was long and lean. All in all, she had very nice features, Scott thought, but she couldn't have looked more like a mother if she'd tried. Or maybe that's the idea, he thought.

"You would not believe the traffic this morning," she said, still moving items back and forth in her bag. She walked towards Scott, and finally raised her eyes to look at him, only to find him staring back at her. Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, sh--," she said. Her hands couldn't decide if they wanted to go to her chest or her mouth, so they sort of bobbed between the two. She jumped as her purse hit the floor. Scott looked down and watched a tube of lipstick roll across the tiles until it disappeared.

He looked back up at her, an eyebrow raised. That certainly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

"Hello, Julia," he said, his voice low and warm.

Like a collapsible cup, she seemed to fold in on herself. Her legs crumpled under her, and she sat on the floor. She brought her hand to her face, covering her nose and mouth, and tears started to flow from her dark eyes as she wept silently. She took a long, rattling, breath. She dropped her hand, and a wet smile spread across her face, though her eyes were still clenched with emotion. She let out a half-laugh. "Hello, Scott," she said.