X-Men fan fiction
Chapter 1: Mayday
Chapter 2: Sunset Home
Chapter 3: Sunset Home, part II: Exam
Chapter4: Sleeping Rough
Chapter 5: The Bogarts
Chapter6: The Bogarts, part II: Glasses
Chapter 7: Xavier
Chapter 8: New Students
Chapter 9: Eve of Grey
Chapter 10: Grey Christmas
Chapter 11: Dilemma
Chapter 12: Confrontation
Chapter 13: Jack O'Diamonds
Chapter 14: Escape
The Bogarts, part II: Glasses
The following day Scott was fitted for special quartz-tinted glasses, and for the first time in recent memory he made it through that night and the following day without any headaches. He finished his exams and went back for a recheck.
The doctors were pleased with his results, but not entirely satisfied. Even though the glasses had helped alleviate his headaches, they insisted that the problem wasn’t with his eyes. They wanted him to undergo brain scans to try to find the underlying cause. Scott flatly refused.
Richard didn’t argue with him there, but on the way home he carefully suggested that further tests might still be a good idea. Richard thought the scans would be helpful, that it might be important to learn if the pain was being caused by Scott’s eyes or his head.
Scott balked. “I don’t want to know the cause.” He really didn’t care why the glasses worked. It was enough for him that they did. He was beyond happy just to be rid of the headaches. “I get that something in my head can be causing this. But what’s the point of getting a bunch of CT and MRI scans that say I’m brain damaged? They can’t fix that.” The honest truth was – if the fall from the plane really had permanently damaged him – Scott didn’t want to have to hear that.
“Even if that’s what the scans say,” Richard argued carefully, “there are still options. But it’s just as likely the problem could be caused by intercranial pressures or a chemical imbalance. It could be cured by surgery or treated with medications.”
“No way. I don’t want some surgeon messing with my head or doping me for the rest of my life. I am what I am, and that’s the end of it.”
“Okay, Scott. If that’s what you want, we’ll respect your wishes.”
Scott fixed him with a stunned look. Again, he hadn’t expected it to be that simple. Richard realized that for all the boy’s standoffishness and bluster about being self-sufficient, he had had very little control over the course his life and his circumstances until now. The simple fact that his decision counted for something clearly came as a surprise to him.
“I guess, if there’s nothing else I can do for you,” Richard cautiously amended, “you’ll be looking to get back out on your own soon.”
“I said a couple of days,” Scott agreed, “it’s already been a week. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I hope you’ll stay through tomorrow, at least. Trisha would be disappointed if you didn’t get to see the air show,” Richard reminded him.
Scott nodded. “The air show, yeah.” He didn’t want to disappoint Trisha.
Richard felt sick. How could he possibly be talking to Scott about postponing his homelessness in favor of a day’s light-hearted entertainment?
“Scott, I’d feel a lot better if you could at least tell me you have somewhere safe to go after this, preferably somewhere that doesn’t involve Jack Winters.”
Scott grinned. “Give me some credit,” he insisted. “You guys haven’t softened me up that much. I did okay before I hooked up with Jack,” he informed Richard, that familiar cocky confidence returning to his features. “I can still get by on my own. And actually, that might be a good idea,” Scott conceded more seriously. It dawned on Scott that now might be the ideal time for him to make a clean break of it. He was thinking about what Richard had said to him a week ago, Richard’s suspicion that Scott wasn’t proud of what he was doing in order to survive.... It wouldn’t make his life any easier, but at least Scott could look himself in the mirror and know he wasn’t basing his own survival on exploiting people, taking advantage of their weaknesses in order to steal from them.
“Are you being honest with me?” Richard asked.
Scott’s head jerked in his direction, the insistence in Richard’s question abruptly pulling Scott out of his previous thoughts. For a second Richard thought he detected hurt in that expression, but it was too fleeting to be certain. Then the confidence was back, only more earnest and less cocky this time.
“Yeah, I can get by without Jack, and even if that plan wasn’t permanent I’d still lay low for a while first. Jack holds a grudge better than most, and a week is probably not enough cooling off time for him to get over spending the night in jail. I’ll be better off on my own right now.”
For the first time since Scott had walked through their door, Richard wondered if the kid really might be playing him; if he was, it was masterful. The more Scott pulled away, the more he reassured Richard that he didn’t need his help, the less Richard wanted to let him go. Of course the flip side of that argument was – if Scott really was on the level – trying to keep Scott where he honestly didn’t want to stay would be the quickest way to drive him off. And, for Scott’s own sake, Richard needed to keep the door open right now.
“Thank you,” Scott said quietly, “I mean for everything.”
“You’re welcome, Scott.” Richard answered. “You know we’ll be sorry to see you go, but I hope you’ll remember us if you ever need anything.” The only way Richard could handle letting Scott walk away was if he believed Scott would feel comfortable enough with the way they left things to come back to Richard and Trisha if he needed help.
Scott nodded, unable to speak. When had he started wishing that he didn’t have to leave?
For the first time in years, it felt like he had come up for air. He could see past his immediate future, no longer preoccupied with desperation and the determination to survive another day any way that he could. And for the last couple of days, with no horrible pain in his head, he’d actually had the luxury of being able to think clearly.
He didn’t want to go back to the streets, where he was nothing more than a hustler and a thief, but he didn’t believe there was anyplace else for him to go, at least not on his own terms. So he had been lying awake the last couple of nights, feeling torn. There had to be something more than the life he had been leading.... Then there was this feeling of being part of a family... it was so satisfying and comfortable, the pull felt stronger every day, and he didn’t want to give that up.
Occupied by his own confusing thoughts, Scott didn’t really notice the silence over the remainder of the short drive. But when Richard pulled the car to a stop in the Bogarts’ driveway he made no move to cut the motor or to get out. As a result, Scott also stayed where he was.
“Scott–” Richard turned to face him, his expression serious. He looked worried.
“Whatever it is, just say it,” Scott insisted after another moment’s hesitation on Richard’s part. “I’d rather hear it straight out.”
Richard took a deep breath. “Scott, as grateful as I am that those glasses have helped you, nobody seriously thinks that you’re suffering from UV light ultra-sensitivity. Some of the symptoms are similar, mainly the eye pain and irritation, but that diagnosis doesn’t begin to touch on your headaches. It was a last-ditch rule out before moving on to more likely causes, more serious causes,” he added heavily.
“Things that brain scans might reveal,” Scott assessed calmly.
Richard nodded. “Scott, we don’t know why the glasses are helping you, which means we still don’t know what’s really going on. Speaking as a doctor,” he hesitated again, “there’s nothing normal about pain of this kind. Your body is telling you that something is very wrong, and these glasses – for whatever reason – are only a temporary fix.”
Scott nodded, taking all that in. Richard waited another couple of minutes, wondering if Scott might tell him the truth about his injury, the plane crash. Scott didn’t, and Richard suppressed a sigh. As long as Scott was unwilling to trust him with the truth and refused to undergo further testing, there was very little he could do... at least until things got worse.
“I meant what I said earlier, Scott. If you don’t want to pursue this further, if that’s your decision, we’ll respect your wishes.”
“It is,” Scott answered quietly.
Richard nodded. “Okay, Scott.” Richard’s acknowledgment was equally quiet. His voice betrayed that it wasn’t as easy for him to let this go as the words made it sound. For the first time since he had looked Scott in the eye a week ago and seen that the boy was suffering, Richard had no idea if he was doing the right thing. “If you change your mind, you know where I am, day or night.”
Scott nodded. He didn’t look back at Richard. He opened the car door and walked swiftly toward the house.
Richard followed more slowly. Everything had seemed so straightforward a week ago. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Knowing that Scott had suffered a severe head injury as a child changed everything. As long as the underlying cause of these headaches went untreated, Scott could be headed for life-threatening medical complications: a stroke, a seizure... without further testing it was impossible to know just how much danger he was in... how much longer he had until his condition seriously worsened.
The only thing that hadn’t changed from a week ago was Scott’s attitude. He was a tough kid who didn’t trust anyone and didn’t want to accept help. Richard sighed. He had hoped that that might change. He desperately hoped that when he did need help, Scott would be willing to ask for it. Richard hoped that one day he or Trisha would find the boy on their doorstep, maybe early one morning, or in the middle of the night... when he had nowhere else to go. How bad would it have to be before Scott got to that point? Richard prayed that Scott would come back to them before he wound up in an emergency room, or worse. Richard shook his head, trying to clear it of that last thought. It hurt too much to even consider, but he knew that Scott could easily end up somewhere out on the streets where there was no one to help him, where no one cared that he was suffering, or dying.
Richard gave Trisha a quick summery of their afternoon while she was finishing up dinner. He didn’t mention the disagreement between him and Scott over Scott’s further treatment, but Trisha seemed to pick up on it anyway – from her husband’s mood or from some evasive detail in the conversation, Scott didn’t know which. But he caught the questioning look she gave Richard, and Richard’s shake of his head in response.
Trisha let it go at that, and Scott busied himself with getting the dinner plates out of the cupboard. That small chore (setting the table nightly) was the only thing Trisha would let Scott do without reminding him of their earlier agreement. But Scott was glad that she did; it made him uncomfortable, standing around watching while other people were busy. As Scott set the dinner plates on the table he wondered if Richard would tell her the whole story later.... Just as Scott came back for the silverware, Richard got caught with his mouth full.
“This is why I don’t let you help in the kitchen,” Trisha scolded her husband, who couldn’t defend himself at the moment.
Scott laughed. After swallowing the evidence, Richard claimed it was only a taste test and quickly added that everything tasted delicious. But Trisha wasn’t buying his excuse or his complement.
“Dinner will be on the table in fifteen minutes, then you can eat.”
Richard smiled as he kissed her on the cheek. “Understood,” he mumbled by way of apology, then he headed off to change his clothes before dinner.
Trisha shook her head. “The boys were even worse,” she continued telling Scott while he put three glasses and a water pitcher on the kitchen table. “I swear, there were times I’d turn around for a minute and half of my dinner would be gone before I could get it out of the kitchen.
“Scott?” Scott was standing idly beside the kitchen table. “Hey, you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he reassured her. Trisha was watching him worriedly.
Scott had zoned out for a minute there, and that was unlike him. The only other time she’d seen him not paying attention to what was going on around him had been when his headaches were really bad.
“I’m just going to go wash up before dinner. I’ll be right back,” he excused himself.
“Scott– are you sure you’re all right?” Trisha asked, crossing the room to gaze at him appraisingly.
“I’m fine,” he smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know I don’t have to,” she smiled back playfully, “but I worry anyway. I can’t help it; I’ve raised three sons.”
Scott smiled reassuringly back at her, but there was something forced about his smile. He was back to telling her he was fine when he really wasn’t... but this time she didn’t think it had anything to do with his headaches.
Scott walked up the stairs slowly, trying to calm his chaotic emotions. He was mad at himself for letting things get so out of hand, so confused and complicated. He didn’t normally allow himself to let his circumstances distract him; it wasn’t smart or safe to be caught not paying attention to your surroundings... and it wasn’t like him to be easily distracted.
It was silly. He’d caught himself imagining what this place must have looked like when Richard and Trisha’s kids had been Scott’s age. Trisha would have chastised their minor transgressions in much the same way she had Richard’s, and she would have worried over them just like– Scott walked to the window and looked out. He should leave; he knew he should leave. But he didn’t want to leave. He wanted the Bogarts to keep him. They wanted to fix him.
He wasn’t willing to go down that road again: the endless exams and tests, the blackouts and the pain that lingered afterward, sometimes for days.... This hadn’t been like that, a small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind insisted. Everything the doctors had done up ‘til now had been painless. Richard had stayed with him and made sure the doctors explained everything they were doing to Scott; before, he’d never known what was being done or why. Richard had stood up for Scott the night Jack was arrested, and he had continued to stand up for him. Scott trusted that Richard wouldn’t intentionally let anything bad happen to him. But Scott couldn’t fight down the fear that once they started messing with his head it would be the same as before... it would be Essex all over again. Scott shuddered.
Bottom line: it all came down to what he’d told Richard earlier. The scans would say he was brain damaged, and nothing could be done for that. He should just say it flat out. They wouldn’t want him, knowing the truth; hell, they didn’t want him now. But they did care, that small, hopeful voice insisted.
Scott couldn’t shake Richard’s worry, his certainty that Scott’s condition would get worse again. Richard’s worry affected him far more than his own did. Scott usually didn’t think about himself enough to worry, the exception being that first night here... when he’d stopped ignoring the pain and started to wonder what was wrong with him. He’d been really scared, scared enough to admit to himself that he needed help. Even the following days, still not knowing what was wrong, and feeling the pain continue to get worse... it wasn’t as bad as it should have been. It wasn’t as scary as it had been that first night, because Scott wasn’t alone here, and not every weight had to be on his shoulders. That feeling was a huge relief.
After nearly fifteen minutes had passed into silence, Trisha went to tell Richard that dinner was ready.
“I thought you were changing clothes.” She found Richard still in his dress shirt and tie, his jacket draped over the back of the chair where he was seated at the small desk in their bedroom.
He nodded. “I was. I wanted to make a few phone calls first.” He sat back and loosened his tie before pulling it over his head. “Come in; close the door.” Trisha did, then she sat on the bed and waited for him to get to what was obviously bothering him. “I put in a call to the Nebraska State Home for Foundlings. I wanted to see how difficult they’d make it to get access to their patient records.”
“I didn’t ask about Scott, by name. I just told them I had a patient who’d once lived there, and that I wanted to have copies of his medical records from that time. Believe me, Trish, the last thing I want is to put Scott back on their radar.”
“But you want to see his medical records,” Trisha finished. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Rick. Technically, you’re not his doctor, and I don’t think he’s asked you to do this.”
“No, he hasn’t...” Richard’s voice went quiet, thoughtful, “but if I were a guardian, they would have to release his records to me. They’d have no further claim on him.”
For a moment, Trisha was shocked into silence. “Earth to Richard. Aren’t you the one who told me we needed to stay objective? This is Scott’s life we’re talking about.”
“I know,” Richard answered softly. “I think he might be willing to allow us legal guardianship if he understands that will free him from the reach of the Home. I’m willing to do that for him.”
Trisha shook her head. “I’m not. I’m not going to ask that boy to sign himself over to us like a piece of property changing hands.”
“You know I don’t mean it that way, Trish. I’m trying to look at this from his point of view. Scott’s known us for a week. He trusts us so far – we’re better than the Home anyway – but he still prefers the streets. I don’t know if he’s ready for us to start talking about making this permanent. If we start pushing for him to stay before he’s ready to consider staying, he might decide it’s better for him to just take off. And if he does–”
“Then we lose any hope at getting him the treatment he needs. I understand that. But as long as he thinks this is all about his medical condition and the Home, we do him an injustice. He deserves a family, Richard. I don’t think it’s fair to have this conversation with him and not let him know that we’re willing to commit to him, not just his medical treatment. And as long as we’re looking at this from his point of view, consider that he might not trust you trying to get guardianship over him if he thinks this is just a means for you to pursue whatever treatment you believe he needs, or even just to uncover his medical history.”
“You may be right,” he conceded heavily. “How serious are you about making this permanent?”
“Very,” Trisha answered immediately. “You?”
Richard nodded. “I want to do right by him. I think we need to talk it over some more before we talk with Scott.”
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Trisha reminded him.
Trisha grimaced. He meant that in more ways than one. “You really need to see Scott’s medical records,” she surmised.
Richard shook his head in frustration. “I’d like to but, even if I did, I wouldn’t trust them. The answers I really need are only going to come from Scott.”
“He may not even know what was done. He was just a kid at the time.”
“He knows enough,” Richard gritted, and shook his head angrily. “What I really want to know is what they did to him in that place to make him throw up the kind of roadblocks he does when it comes to his medical history,” Richard confessed. “Right now, Scott’s not going to tell me anything, and they’re obviously going to stonewall my efforts at the Home. So I tried another route.”
“Your employee who used to work at the Home.”
Richard nodded. “She very strongly discouraged me from pushing this any further. She said that the Home is very protective over its kids. That’s the reason she left. She suspected medical malpractice but couldn’t prove it. They threatened to ruin her if she did anything other than leave quietly.” He lifted his gaze to Trisha. “If they would go to those lengths to silence a suspicious employee, I hate to imagine what they’re hiding, what they’re holding over those kids that they’re so damn protective of.”
She swallowed hard. “What do you think–”
“I don’t know, Trish– I don’t even begin to know, and I don’t want to imagine. I understand that Scott doesn’t want to revisit anything about that place, and whatever medical treatment he received at that Home is probably something he never wants to repeat. Whatever it is, Scott’s still covering it up. And I’m afraid for him. Just because he’s not in pain right now doesn’t mean that he’s well, far from it. His underlying condition hasn’t changed. I have to believe that it all goes back to his injury as a child, but I can’t help him as long as he’s running from the truth. And I don’t want that decision to cost him his health, or even his life.”
Trisha nodded heavily. “Let me try to talk to him. Maybe I can get him to open up.”
Scott let the window curtains fall back into place and sat down on the bed. He took off the eyeglasses, absently turning them over in his hands, studying the plain transparent lenses curiously, wondering what it was about them that made the pain go away. That got him back to thinking about Richard’s certainty that it would get bad again despite them. What then?
For the second time that afternoon, Scott considered spilling his guts: telling the Bogarts about the crash, the Home, everything. It wouldn’t help with his head, he argued with himself... but at least he’d know where he stood with the Bogarts. Once they understood that they couldn’t fix him, then he’d know what to expect after this.
Foolish, Scott chastised himself. He already knew what to expect after this. He’d had a week here, more than expected, more than generous. The Bogarts had kept their end of the bargain, now it was time for Scott to keep his. He’d stay through tomorrow because he’d agreed to that. Then it was time for him to go.
As for his head... well, there was no use worrying over it, he’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. You couldn’t control the future. You had to deal with the present. He’d dealt with pain before; he’d deal with it again. But, for now, the pain was gone, and Scott’s reality was that he had two more nights where he could count on a safe place to sleep and food to eat. He had one more day ahead of him where he didn’t have to worry about his survival. There was no use ruining good circumstances with worries over things he couldn’t control.
He would enjoy the present. The air show tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Scott glanced at the bedside clock and saw that more than fifteen minutes had passed since he’d come upstairs. He quickly washed up and returned downstairs for dinner.
Trisha carried most of the dinner conversation with plans for the weekend. Her excitement over the air show was obvious, and she promised Scott a behind-the-scenes tour of the museum. He seemed excited about that, she thought, and she was glad to see his earlier mood lighten over the fond subject. But, aside from her conversation, dinner was a quiet affair. Scott didn’t have much to say, and she could tell that Richard was still thinking over various decisions yet to be made.
Trisha tried not to think beyond tomorrow. Her mind was already made up; it had been for days. She wanted Scott to stay with them, but she didn’t know if that was going to be possible. She wanted to concentrate on making the most of the time they had left to spend with Scott instead of wondering what would happen to him after that, or wishing for a way to keep him with them....
Later that night, Scott had just changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants for bed when there was a knock on his door.
“Hey, Scott.” It was Trisha. “You mind if I sit down for a minute?”
He shook his head. “Course not.”
She sat beside him, holding an envelope in her hands. “I have a friend who works in archives at the museum. She does a lot of research for us on our exhibits. This was just a best guess,” she told him, “based on your age, his name.” Trisha opened the envelope and handed Scott a photo.
She had been wavering on the decision to tell Scott outright what she had learned. Trisha suspected he might not appreciate her prying into his background, and yet she couldn’t keep this from him. So she had decided to give him the information and let him make the connection on his own, if he chose to.
The photo showed an Air Force cadet, in uniform, immediately following his graduation from the Academy. Underneath was printed the name, Christopher Summers.
Scott stared at the picture, trying to memorize every detail.
“He looks a bit like you,” Trisha finally offered softly. That was an understatement. The man in the photo could easily have been Scott if Scott were about five years older; the resemblance was that strong.
“That’s him,” Scott whispered. “That’s my father.”
She handed him another photo, this one showed the same airman, this time surrounded by proud family members.
“I thought maybe your mother, and your grandmother?” Trisha suggested.
Scott smiled. “Maybe so. I only know them by name. I can’t remember their faces.”
“I have one more,” Trisha said. This one was a photocopy of an old newspaper clipping. There was a grainy photo of Phillip Summers dressed in his pilot’s gear. His hometown paper had run an article about the mission he had flown destroying a top secret enemy research facility in Nazi Germany. More modern records indicated that Phillip had died shortly after that mission, or one similar, but Addie hadn’t been able to find a corresponding obituary write up.
Trisha could see that Scott was starting to get emotional over all this, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She rubbed his shoulder in reassurance, then got to her feet.
“Thank you,” Scott whispered. There were tears in his eyes when he looked up. A second later he stood and, after a moment’s indecision, he hugged her, surprising them both with the unexpected display.
After a moment, when he didn’t let go, Trisha put her arms around him and hugged him in return. “You’re welcome, Scott,” she answered softly. And she stayed there, holding him, until Scott pulled back of his own accord.
“I know that you and Richard disagreed today, and that has Richard worried. You know we want to help you, right, Scott?”
He nodded. “I know.” Then he motioned to the photos. “Sometimes there are things that can’t be helped. Things go wrong for no good reason and they can’t be fixed again.”
Trisha swallowed hard. “Sometimes,” she conceded. Her brow furrowed with regret over the word. Then she held her hands to his face and smiled as she gently, affectionately, smoothed his burnished hair. “But not always, Scott.”
Scott watched her for a long moment. She could see his confusion and his hesitation... the indecision that she’d seen for the first time just a few minutes ago. He didn’t know if he wanted to believe her or not... it was easier, safer, to keep insisting that he didn’t need anyone, that he was fine. It was much harder to accept that someone might honestly care, and admit that he needed someone to care. But he stood there looking her in the eye, and he allowed her to touch him for a couple of moments before he lowered his head, breaking eye contact. Then he took a small step back.
Trisha took his motion for the prompt it was meant to be, and she let her hands fall away from his face. Before, when Scott had hugged her, Trisha had simply allowed his emotions to run their course; she’d just held him until he was ready to let go. But this was entirely different. This time he was pulling away,
Damn, she couldn’t help thinking. She hated seeing him retreat. Trisha had hoped that something might change for Scott, that he wouldn’t feel the need to keep pulling back in self-defense... but he did.
“If there’s anything that you need to talk about, anything at all, you can tell me, Scott,” she encouraged him hopefully.
Scott nodded again, his eyes still averted. This time he stayed silent.
“Alright. Goodnight, Scott,” Trisha finally conceded before she closed the door behind her.
After Trisha had gone, Scott propped the pictures she had given him up on the dresser, where he could still see them, and he got into bed. He had managed to keep his emotions more or less in check while Trisha had been there, but before he knew it those emotions were pouring out uncontrollably. He cried for the family he had lost years ago, and he cried for the family he wanted now and couldn’t have.
Scott kept telling himself this wasn’t permanent and it was foolish of him to wish otherwise, to want something he knew he couldn’t have. Still, it was hard to prevent himself from hoping.... For as long as he could remember, Scott had endured loneliness and desolation, felt the sting of loss and abandonment... until now. Now, being here, it was like having a real home and a real family. It was so close... and yet it wasn’t real. It wasn’t his, and it wouldn’t last... no matter how badly he wanted it to.
He couldn’t blame the Bogarts for that. They had been generous and they had been honest. They had told him from the beginning that this was temporary. It was Scott who had gotten attached, and he had only himself to blame for that, for making things harder than they should have been. He should have walked away days ago, while he still could... before he had gotten in so deep that he didn’t want to leave. Now he didn’t know how to walk away, couldn’t imagine how he was going to say goodbye and pretend it didn’t hurt like hell to let go.
Lingering in the hallway outside Scott’s closed door, Trisha wiped tears from her eyes as she stood there silently. She couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever cared enough just to hold him, to comfort him, like a mother would.... She knew the answer. It was there, painfully so, in his reluctance to reach out to her, and his even greater reluctance to let her go. And it was there in the pain that he refused to let anyone see... the sound of muffled tears. She knew the answer to that question was no.
Scott had been left with little memory of the parents who had loved him enough to put his life before their own, sacrificed themselves in the hope that their children would survive them. Trisha sniffed back tears and wiped her eyes again. It broke her heart, his parents’ sacrifice and Scott’s loss. His own words subtly betrayed the way Scott saw himself, as an extension of that tragedy: something left over, left behind, one more thing that couldn’t be helped, or fixed... a wrong that couldn’t be made right again. Since their deaths no one had ever cared enough for him, and Scott didn’t expect that to change....
So Let it Be Written Publishing © 2004