August 19, 1992

Scott rubbed his forehead, feeling tired. He wished that he could get some sleep, but he knew that it was going to be highly unlikely. His nerves were too on edge, and there was too much to think about.

They had absolutely no communication with the Institute. They didn't have communication with anyone outside the Institute either. Scott had wondered if cell phones, or just phones in general, would work when they got there. It was a classic tactic: cut off your enemy's means of communication. He was glad he'd left Deadpool behind to talk to Sean. At least now he knew that, someone, somewhere, would know what was going on with them.

The Brotherhood's presence was troubling. Scott had never teamed up with them, and for good reason. They'd had something of a working relationship before Lorna had left them, if it could be called that. However, after she had switched sides and they'd cast her out, it had all become so much more personal.

He'd never wanted to work with them. They had injured too many of his friends. He'd forced himself to, when he was younger, but that had been before Lorna. He'd seen the callous way that her father had thrown her aside after her courageous attempts to talk to him. The Brotherhood didn't really care for its own. Any affection or care that Magneto displayed was just that: a display. Scott didn't want to work with people like that.

There was so much to think about. One thing that he didn't want to think about was the pure hate that had showed in Max's eyes when he'd spoken to him last. He'd always known his nephew to be a quiet, contemplative boy. He'd never seen him lose his temper like that.

Then again, Alex had never held back his feelings, and Lorna was passionate as well. Scott tried to rationalize it like that, that his flare-up could be traced back to his parents. Not his grandfather. Never him.

At one point they were going to have to tell him. Lorna'd had a quiet word with Scott about Max's desire to join the X-men in case Max tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't his place to tell Max who his grandfather was: that unpleasant duty rested solely with Lorna and Alex. He didn't envy them.

Now Angel had died. Scott had never felt truly comfortable around Angel. There was too much history. Alex had told Scott early on that they had to be civil to the only member of Lorna's family who would still talk to her. As a result Angel had died to protect his nephew.

Lorna was also still missing. Remy had given him a quick rundown and, with every second, he felt his heart sink. He knew what 'missing in action' meant perfectly well. He thought of his sister-in-law, wondering if Sinister had decided to kill or experiment on her. There was a slender hope that she had escaped, that she was looking for them even now, but it was slender.

It was too much to think about. Scott wanted to go find Jean and talk to her about what was troubling him. Surely they could figure something out. At the moment she was busy though, trying to patch up the children who were hurt. They would have to get them out of the area before things really went down.

No matter what had already happened, Scott got the feeling that Sinister was just warming up. He'd been incarcerated for twenty years, and that did things to people's heads. Not that Sinister had ever been a picture of sanity.

He really did need to go find Jean. While he trusted Ororo, Jean was his rock. He needed to get it all out, to stop thinking for a few seconds. It would be better if he could just stop thinking for a little while.

"Uncle Scott?"

Max was standing in front of him, looking nervous and bedraggled. Scott could see that he had been crying. His eyes were rimmed with red and he looked bedraggled. Scott swallowed and sat up straighter.

"Hey Max," he said.

He looked around him, trying to figure out something to say.

"Where's Luna?" Scott said.

"Sleeping," Max said, sitting next to him, "Jean's with her now."

Scott nodded and looked down. Max shuffled a bit.

"I'm sorry," Max said, "I...what I said, it wasn't fair."

Scott closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"I didn't...I wanted you all to be there," he said, "And when you weren't and she...she died for me. Not anyone else, me. She was trying to protect me and I couldn't protect her and I thought..."

Max cleared his throat. Scott waited for him to finish.

"I thought that if you'd been there earlier she would've been safe," he said.

"If we'd been there she would've been," Scott said.

Max looked up, staring at him.

"Max, a lot of what you said was justified tonight," he said, "We were supposed to be here. Instead we were following a lead which, in all likelihood, was just a distraction to get us up there. I didn't do my job well enough and Angel died. That's all there is to the story."

His nephew didn't say anything. Scott leaned back, still waiting. He knew that it wasn't his turn to speak.

"You did the best you could," Max said.

"My best wasn't good enough," Scott said, "I can't be everywhere, and I will always regret that. I will regret tonight, for several reasons. I wasn't at the Institute when it was attacked. Our students were thrown out into the woods, left to fend for themselves."

"You were in Boston," Max said.

Scott laughed.

"Max, what changed your mind?" he asked.

"Actually thinking about things," Max said.

He waved his hand, gesturing around them.

"Magneto was around more tonight than you were," Max said, "And...that's bad. I mean, he cared more than I thought he would."

"Don't count on that," Scott said, "He has an odd habit of caring until you need to cash in."

He hoped that Max would take his words of caution to heart. Max sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Scott noticed how careful his movements were. He was still so scared of his own skin, of his midas touch.

"I guess," Max said, "I mean, I've heard the stories but...never mind. What's important is that you all were fighting and that's why you couldn't come. You tried. You really did. There was nothing you could do."

Scott smiled, but the smile was bitter.

"Max, I know that," he said, "But that's one of the things leadership does to you. You will blame yourself for things you can't change. Even when there's a mistake that doesn't cause any harm, I will always still blame myself."

Max frowned and Scott shrugged.

"Few years back, I was around your age, your father let me lead what we thought was a routine mission," Scott said, "I screwed it up. The Brotherhood cornered me and your father. He gave me the information they were after, sent me on ahead, and told me not to look back. He got captured: I got away."

His nephew continued to look at him, no doubt entranced at the idea of his powerful father being captured. Scott was fairly sure he'd never heard this story before.

"We looked and looked for him, but we couldn't find him," Scott said, "Turns out he escaped and got back to the Institute. He wasn't hurt beyond a few bruises. He could take care of himself. Nothing had happened."

He shrugged.

"But I blame myself for it," Scott said, "Because I could have done things better, fifteen or not. If I'd kept a cool head or just done something, well, I wouldn't be relating this particular story."

Scott turned to Max.

"That's part of being a leader though," he said, "We have to think about every single situation, what can be done for it. I have to shoulder the blame but learn from it. I'm never going to forget tonight, and I'm going to try to learn from it, as cold as that sounds. I'll keep trying to make sure this never happens again, but if it does, then it will be my fault again."

He put his hand on his shoulder.

"It's what makes us different from The Brotherhood," Scott said, "Caring so much. We respect the team, respect each individual life on it even if we don't get along with them. We're a family. A real one."

This time the silence lasted a lot longer than the others. Scott waited, hoping that his nephew understood.

"I think they care too," Max said.

Scott just shrugged again.

"Maybe," he said, "but not like that. We'll never leave someone behind and, whether you see it or not, we will always mourn those we lost."

Max wiped a few tears from his eyes.

"Looks like it takes a lot to be an X-man," he said.

"It does," Scott said, "But I can tell you that there's no other path I'd have rather taken."

Max nodded, his arms crossing over his knees.

"I think you can forgive yourself though," Max said, "Keep the memories, but forgive yourself."

Scott threw his head back and laughed. His nephew seemed surprised, but his laughter was genuine.

"That's what your father's been telling me for years," Scott said.

He patted Max on the back.

"You're a lot like him, you know," Scott said.

"I'm proud of it," Max said.

He looked down at his hands. As he did Scott heard some slight movement. He swiveled his eyes a little in its direction until he found its source. Once he did Scott stiffened, but he didn't say anything.

"Scott...do you have any...?" Max asked.

"I'm ahead of you," Scott said.

From his pocket he pulled out two pairs of long gloves. They'd been among some of the spare parts from the Blackbird. Max took them gratefully and began to put them on. Once he was finished he crossed his arms over his knees again.

"I'll give the other pair to Rogue," Max said.

"I was just about to suggest that," Scott said.

Max got up, his footsteps shaky. He looked down at the gloves again.

"Thanks for understanding," Max said.

"I try," Scott said.

His nephew smiled as he walked away. Scott watched him go for a few minutes.

"He does remind me of his father. Makes him stubborn, but it gives him strength too," Scott said, "He's got a lot of his mother in him too. She's always been pretty smart."

He turned his head so he was looking in Magneto's direction.

"Not that you'd know anything about that," he said.

Magneto's jaw twitched. Scott had no idea just how long he'd been waiting there.

"Come to talk about strategy?" Scott asked.

"Of course," Magneto said.

He looked after Max.

"The boy has a temper on him, doesn't he?" Magneto said, "Quite powerful too. You didn't see the display earlier but, well, you did come late."

That wasn't going to go by. Scott had the reputation for being the nice Summers, the one you could talk to. Not when it came to something like this. Losing his temper wasn't something he did often, but he was past his breaking point.

He laughed softly.

"I want to tell you something right now, in case you didn't hear me earlier," Scott said, "I consider myself a reasonable man, one who has been fighting you and your kind for far, far too long. I've seen what you do to people when they don't serve your purpose anymore. You discard them like they're candy wrappers."

Scott put his hands on his lap.

"So if you even think about involving Max or Luna in whatever screwed up things you're planning on, then Sinister or no Sinister, Professor or no Professor, then you won't even have to worry about Alex coming after you," Scott said, "I'll take you down myself."

Magneto raised his eyebrows.

"You couldn't bring yourself to do it at Staten," Magneto said, "I highly doubt you could bring yourself to do it in cold blood."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of when it comes to my family," Scott said.

He narrowed his eyes.

"No idea," he said, "So if you understand that, then maybe we can work together."