A little bit more of angsty Scott for your pleasure...
Chapter Six: Questions
Coming up to the large oaken door, Scott raised his hand to knock.
'Come in, Scott,' the fatherly tone sounded inside his head. He opened the door, stepping inside.
The office was the same as ever, a tasteful, seamless blend of Old English decorum and flowing, comforting feng shui. The dark oak desk faced the door, a painting on the wall behind it, French doors lead to the balcony on the left, looking out across the lake. To the right was a small arraignment of potted and hanging plants, as well as a small rock fountain placed on a dark-stained French Neoclassic end table. There was a leather couch and several matching chairs arranged around a glass end table, complete with an antique chess set.
"I'm glad to see you," the Professor offered, speaking aloud now. "You look well...Please, have a seat." Scott sat in the leather armchair across from the large oaken desk. His spine stayed rigid, not touching the back of the comfortable chair.
Despite everything, Professor Charles Xavier had not changed much. He remained an impressive man, from the waist up; finely dressed and well groomed. He still spoke with a comforting ease, due in part to his rich and refined British lilt.
"Ororo tells me that you have no recollection of the past thirty-odd months." Began the Professor, Scot doubted Ororo had to tell him anything. "You were in Toronto?"
"It's true," Scott confirmed with a slight nod. A silence passed between them. Scott was familiar with the technique; physiatrists used it to get their patients talking. Most people couldn't stand dead air; Scott was not most people.
"If there's anything you'd like to say, I'm willing to listen," the Professor prompted finally.
"Like what?" He asked with the most respectful tone he could manage considering the stress he was under.
"Feelings, thoughts, concerns, anything really," the Professor offered kindly. "You just lost two and a half years of your life; surely there must be something you'd like to talk about. You don't have to hold anything back."
"I don't even know where to start," Scott began, his voice pitching slightly as he went on, words spilling out as a deluge. "I go missing from a mutants' civil rights convention—I wake up almost three years later—in Canada, like no time has gone by—my fiancée is married—she has a daughter! I feel like my life is reeling out of control. I can't—"
"Scott," Charles interrupted soothingly. "Calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Scott yelled, slamming a fist into the arm of his chair, uncharacteristically loosing his temper, as if the dam holding back the waves of his anxieties and passions so stoically all these years had suddenly chosen to burst.
"I know you must have a million questions," Xavier agreed, reaching out telepathically to comfort his oldest student.
"I only have one," Scott corrected. "What the hell happened to me?" He took a breath, finding his center as Jean had taught him so long ago. Another breath to push away the feeling of nostalgia.
"How could this happen? Goddamn it!" Scott continued; it must have been the first time he had actually sworn at the professor, "How could you not find me? How could Jean not feel me? Where have I been all this time?" His voice broke, "What am I supposed to do now?"
"Scott, I realize this must be overwhelming for you," Xavier sympathized.
"No," Scott interrupted. "Jean—at Alkali Lake—that was overwhelming—I've learned to deal with 'overwhelming'—this is ...I don't even know what—torturous, sickening..."
"I understand that you're not accustomed to this loss of control," explained the Professor gently. "And I want you to realize that none of us are against you...We're all here for you, to help you through this...we're going to figure this out."
"I need you to read my mind," Scott interrupted finally. "Like you did for Logan, see if there's not something locked away up there."
"I can try, Scott," the Professor offered. "But—"
"Then try!" Scott urged desperately. Professor Xavier sighed, wheeling around from behind his desk to where Scott sat.
"Just relax," he instructed, raising his hands to the younger man's temples. Scott shut his eyes, taking a breath as the Professor leaned into him in concentration. In the next instant, Xavier jerked back as if he had been physically pushed out of Scott's mind.
"What is it?" Scott asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"
"Scott, I'm afraid I'm unable to read your mind," Professor Xavier explained. "At least not any thoughts or memories from the timeframe that you were missing...Scott I'm afraid it seems that there is something physically keeping me from your lost memories. Some sort of barrier—like a locked door..."
"Can't you try again," Scott pressed desperately.
"Even if I did," the professor offered him regrettably. "The results would be no different...you see, these memories, they aren't hidden—buried somewhere in the shadows—they're being suppressed by some sort of artificial blockade. Until we know why—or how—I don't think it's safe, for either of us, to proceed like this."
"What do you mean suppressed?" Scott pondered aloud. "Some sort of artificial barrier, as in a telepathic one." Xavier shook his head.
"If this mental barricade was created by a telepath, there would be some sort of impression," he explained. "Some sort of neurological fingerprint left in your mind...but I can sense nothing like that. No, I'm more worried that this stumbling block is physical."
"You mean it was placed there...medicinally?" Scott asked, deep lines forming in his brow.
"Perhaps," Charles offered in a soothing tone. "Scott, if this memory loss was surgically induced—as you fear—it is probable that there would be tell-tall physical signs or symptoms. When you feel up to it, perhaps it would be wise to meet Dr. McCoy in the basement infirmary for a standard physical and some basic tests."
"Is he ready for me now?" Scott asked, starting up from his seated position.
"Perhaps you should take some rest first," Xavier offered carefully. "The current situation must be very taxing on you. Some sleep would help to clear your mind."
"Professor," Scott started up, a little more forcefully than he had intended. "I'd really just prefer to get this all behind me."
"Very well," the professor agreed. "I'll let him know you're coming."