"WHERE ARE YOU, SCOTT?"

Scott sat up suddenly, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, and confused at his surroundings. His eyes were closed tight out of sheer habit. In only a manner of seconds, his fumbling hands recognized the rough texture and uneven support of an old couch beneath him and he remembered where he was. With effort, he opened his eyes. Illuminated by faint moonlight was the living room Julia had introduced to him as his own a short while ago.

Scott wiped the sweat from his brow with his wrist and let out a long sigh. The dream again, he thought. Emma's voice had been louder in his dream this time, so loud it seemed to still echo in his ears. He swallowed hard and decided he could use a drink of water to help cool him down. A stab of pain in his side reminded him he hadn't escaped his adventures unscathed and he hissed as he turned on the couch, clutching his bandages to his side. He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he dropped his feet onto the floor. He stood up and lifted his foot to step but froze when he saw something in his peripheral vision, something lying across the floor.

He'd nearly stepped onto Julia's arm, bent under her head. Placing his foot back carefully on the floor, Scott examined the strange woman breathing heavily as she slept. Her legs were pulled into a ball in front of her. She looked cold, but Scott decided not to wake her. She had chosen to lie on the ground without a pillow and blanket, and she was sleeping heavily enough. Disturbing her seemed pointless.

Slowly, Scott worked his way around Julia, careful to step as soundlessly as he could. He then made his way to the kitchen and squinted through the moonlight as he searched the cupboards for a glass. Finally, he found the right cabinet and filled the glass with tap water. He downed the contents with a couple gulps and refilled it. He sipped more gingerly as he stepped out into the hallway. The cold water had chased all of the clouds from his mind. Sleep would not come easily a second time. He decided to search the home that was to be his own to limit the chances of waking Julia and to pass the time.

The hallway got darker as it stretched away from the living room, so Scott had to squint and grasp blindly to find the doorknobs that he knew were there somewhere. Finally, his fingertips rapped a metal handle. He turned it and entered. Closing the door behind him, he flipped on the light. After his eyes had adjusted to the light and he could stop squinting, he examined the room and immediately started grinning. He was obviously in young Rachel's room. The walls were painted pink and lined with Disney Princess borders. Everywhere his eyes landed, there were stuffed bears and pink hearts. It was adorable.

The bed was empty. Twin-sized and draped in a pink comforter, he could just imagine a young girl cuddled beneath the covers and smiling. For the first time since he'd been introduced to the child who was to be his, he wondered what little Rachel would look like. The picture he'd seen briefly had been two years old, or older. For reasons he hadn't really worried about before, Julia had been wary of bringing Rachel around him. When Scott had made conversation, he would ask when he would see her. Invariably, Julia was full of excuses. It made sense, he supposed. Julia knew he had no recollection of Rachel, or her for that matter. At the time, Scott had assumed the child actor had been hired as a one-time deal and couldn't be reached. Now, the possibility that Julia had been trying to spare Rachel the pain of being exposed to a father she barely knew and didn't know her at all seemed much more likely.

He moved over to the dresser sitting opposite Rachel's bed after his eye caught the reflection of glass in a small picture frame. He recognized the picture as the same that had been in his wallet. Rachel was practically an infant, probably two years old, and she was sitting on her mother's lap. The baby's hair was much lighter than her mother's, and she was dressed in a white dress positively draping in frills. Julia was looking down at her daughter and smiling proudly. Scott's grin widened. He well knew the pride only a parent could feel. Both of the children he'd birthed (in one manner or another) were fine individuals, displaying strength of character and spirit so powerful that circumstances worse than he could imagine weren't enough to break them. He was fairly sure they were unaware of his feelings, but Scott couldn't have been more proud of them.

Metal slid against metal as the doorknob turned behind Scott, snapping him out of his warm feelings and reminding him that he was far, far away from the life that he remembered. He quickly returned the photo to its position on the dresser and turned to see Julia squinting at him. She was wearing cotton pajamas with a vertical pink stripe. Her hair was flat and dark, and her face was creased with "sleep lines."

"I'm sorry," Scott said, feeling suddenly like he'd been caught snooping where he wasn't allowed. "I was just looking."

Julia didn't respond. She simply stood in the doorway, a sad and tired frown on her face.

Scott stared back, his brow furled and a confused frown of his own. "I hope I didn't wake…" he began.

"I didn't want her to know," Julia interrupted.

"What?" Scott said, surprised and somewhat lost.

"I didn't want Rachel to know." Julia's weight shifted and her shoulder came to rest on the doorway. She brought her hand to her face and rubbed her forehead and then her eyes. Her face scrunched into something like a grimace. When she dropped her hand, though, her face was again solemn. She took a deep breath. "I didn't want Rachel to know that you didn't remember her. I sent her to live with her grandparents so the two of us could figure out what our life was going to be like. If you still--" She covered her mouth, swallowed, cleared her throat, and then continued. "If you still wanted to live with us. If your memory was going to come back…"

Scott's frown deepened, but he remained frozen. He felt himself becoming emotionally detached, pulling away from the situation. Something in his mind whispered that this wasn't his problem, that she wasn't talking about him. She was talking about someone else or nobody at all, that none of this was real, and that he didn't have any need to feel guilty.

At his sides, his fingers became fists. Stop it, he told himself. Maybe you weren't involved before, but you are now. You were involved the moment she bailed you out of jail and you climbed in the car with her.

"It's been hard…" Julia continued, wiping her nose. "Really hard, these last few weeks. And I just couldn't put Rachel through it. Not yet. I had to know which way it was going to go with us, first." Julia cleared her throat again. She shifted her feet, pushed off of the door jamb, and stood tall—regaining her composure. "I hope you're not mad," she said, "but, given the circumstances, I'm extremely glad she's not here."

"It's fine," Scott said. "I understand."

There was an odd silence between them. "Good," Julia said. She turned as if she was going to leave, and then turned back. "I'm glad you're back," she said. With that, she stepped out of the room.

Scott hurriedly followed. "Julia!" he said.

She stopped, but she didn't turn to face him. Even from behind, Scott could see that her right arm was clutched tightly around her waste and her left hand was hovering over her mouth. "What?" she barked, trying to hide her emotions.

"I'm going to fix this," he said.

"Scott, I'm not in the mood…"

"I mean it! I'll make everything right, pay back all that I owe you. You certainly deserve that much."

There was a pause. Julia took a deep breath, and her shoulders drooped a little more.

"Goodnight, Scott."

Scott stepped forward, into the hallway, in time to see Julia duck back into her room. The door shut softly behind her.

He turned, taking one last look at the brightly painted room of Julia's daughter. With furled brow and a deep frown, he sent the room into darkness and closed the door behind him. He stumbled towards the couch and lay down, crossing his arms behind his head.

He really wasn't sure what his obligations to this woman involved. He didn't know how long he would stay—how long she would want him to stay. But he'd given his word, and he wouldn't stop until he'd kept them. As an X-Man, his job was to improve lives. This time, he was going to help improve them on a very specific level, pay back the debts he owed.

Now, he thought, I just have to figure out how the hell I'm going to do it.