-X- X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World Summary Chapter 1: Bright Stars Chapter 2:Stand Still Chapter 3: Empire State University Chapter4: Distant Early Warnings Chapter 5: Brand Annex Chapter 6: Open Secrets Chapter 7: Change of Faith Chapter 8:Winter Breaks Chapter 9: Healing Breaks Chapter 10: Ice Skate Eve Chapter 11: Razor's Edge Chapter 12:Last Call Chapter 13: Thoughts Ignite Chapter 14: Red Tide Chapter 15: The Pass Chapter 16: Spring Breaks Chapter 17: Kid Gloves Chapter 18: Second Natures Chapter 19: Prime Movers Chapter 20: Moving Parts Chapter 21: Barriers Fall Chapter 22: Hand Over Hand Chapter 23: Hand Over Fist Chapter 24: Open Hand Chapter 25: Open Hand Closed Fist Chapter 26: Racing Heart -XX-
X-Men: Foundations part 2: Changing World
Chapter 13
-X-
Thoughts Ignite
At the Brand Annex, Jean pulled on a white lab coat over her street clothes, swapped out her more fashionable shoes for some plain white sneakers, then checked the shift schedule to see who was working this afternoon. After Dr. Waren had assigned her to lead his project early last semester, making her a lab supervisor, the first thing she’d done was to streamline duties in the lab for her fellow students as much as possible. Some days it was grueling, and scheduling was a task in and of itself, with a dozen or more ambitious fellow students eager to pursue their individual projects whenever time presented itself outside their other class commitments. Jean made the schedules and set their shift times. She assigned projects, prioritizing the work Dr. Waren needed done first – which often ruffled feathers among those same ambitious students – and she successfully coordinated all that with the lab’s full-time support staff... all in addition to carrying out her own research. She absolutely loved it. Loved working in the lab. Loved the fast pace and the multi-tasking. Loved the science of doing lab work, the thrill and the reward of making real time, measurable progress toward their research goals, day after day, and week after week. Today Ted was already at work in the lab when she arrived, despite his shift not starting for another half an hour. Jean greeted him on her way to her own lab station. “Getting an early start?” “Huh?” He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Hey, boss-lady.” He tacked on a charming smile. Jean shook her head. Better than “task-master”, which was the banter he tended to go with if the work was not going well. “So... did you get any flowers?” he asked as she took her seat and started setting up. “Maybe I did. I’ll send out a memo later: Pretty flowers will not change lab assignments, or get anyone a better spot on the duty roster.” Jean was fully aware that he was making a pass at her – and at the moment she’d decided to play it off as a joke, because this was not a private conversation and because she was his supervisor in the lab. Ted didn’t look up from his work. “Maybe another half dozen tomorrow will improve my chances.” “It won’t. Please don’t waste the effort– or the flowers.” “Too late.” Jean sighed. A bit of glassware Ted was heating abruptly shattered. He stifled a curse. “Must have set that too high,” he mumbled as he turned down the burner and replaced the ruined glassware, carefully sweeping up the old shards. Jean stood and went to retrieve her own work for the afternoon from cool storage, only to come back empty-handed. “Ted– Did you move my samples for today?” “Oh, yeah– sorry, Jean. I got distracted.” With a tired sigh, Jean walked around to his lab station to retrieve her samples, which had somehow gotten packed together with his. “Maybe this had something to do with it?” Jean teased. Alongside a set of supervisor’s lab keys – which Ted must have borrowed from Dr Waren’s office when he arrived early today – there was a copy of the Excelsior sitting at his elbow where he’d been making notes. It looked like a list of dates and times, possibly movie showings for tonight? “Hot date?” She needled him over that possibility before taking the paper and dropping it neatly into a nearby drawer, out of sight. “Keep your head in the lab for a few more hours, Romeo.” “Yes– ma’am,” he agreed, blushing furiously, “will do.” That boy was acting more strangely than usual.
-x-
After his lab shift was finished, Ted met Trish Tilby outside the Annex, newspaper tucked firmly under his elbow, like he was guarding a football. “Calm down– you’re doing the right thing,” she reassured him as they walked. Ted took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right. Either way, thanks for doing this.” She was the only person he’d told this whole crazy story to since it had happened. He’d told Ralph most of it... but he hadn’t told Ralph that the Hellfire Club might ask him to make a drop off. He’d been afraid. Afraid of what that might mean for Ralph’s job, afraid Brand might decide to chuck him and Cal both straight out of the Annex, and maybe from ESU to boot. It had been Tilby who’d come up with an alternative, a way to stop the bleeding. “It’s not everyday a story this big drops on my doorstep– or a friend needs my help in the middle of the night,” she added with a smile. “Shows up desperate on your doorstep, more like,” Ted scoffed. “That too.” But story or no, the important part was, he needed her help.
-x-
At the Natural Sciences Building, Ororo Monroe was sitting outside Dr. Lykos’ office, just another student waiting on him during office hours. While she waited she was working on an essay for her sociology class. She had set out to use Maslow's hierarchy of needs as a framework to explain, or at least explore, the cycle of poverty and failing schools in poor neighborhoods. After about half an hour the door opened and Scott stepped out. “Well?” Ororo asked, putting her notes away. Scott shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. Nothing exciting. I told him about the bad dreams. He said we could talk about them, like therapy, and if there are things I can’t remember – that I want to remember – I can try hypnotic suggestion, if I choose to.” “That sounds like a reasonable approach.” “Yeah.” Lykos had been pretty insistent that he could help. Scott had agreed to set a weekly appointment for therapy. The word still made him wince. “Guess that means I’m in therapy now.” Ororo only shrugged. “Why should it matter what you call it, if it helps you?” “I guess it doesn’t– long as I don’t call it ‘hypnotherapy’ around Jean.” “She simply wants good things for you.” “I know. Problem is, I’m not always sure I want the same for myself.” “Hopefully this therapy will help you to figure out what you want, and what may be holding you back from the things you want.” “That sounds complicated. I’d settle for being able to sleep properly,” he joked to lighten the mood. “That too,” Ororo agreed, giving his arm a supportive squeeze. When she saw Ted Roberts and Trish Tilby walking toward them Ororo discretely steered Scott in the opposite direction before they could be recognized.
-x-
Karl Lykos picked up the phone in his office and dialed a familiar number. “You were right. He came in to see me.” “As expected. When you’ve been studying a subject as long as I have this one, you can almost predict his next moves.” The voice on the other end of the line replied with smug satisfaction. “If you don’t need me to provide hypnotic suggestion then....” Lykos trailed off. “Then, naturally, I’ll be making use of your other talents.” There was a knock at the door. “My next appointment is here.” “By all means, don’t let me keep you.” The line went dead. Lykos replaced the receiver on his desk, straightened his shirt, and went to meet Ted Roberts.
-x-
“You did the right thing in bringing this to me,” Karl Lykos assured a visibly nervous Ted Roberts. “Tilby said I could trust you. And you helped Cal when Dr. Serba’s lab shut down.” “We’ll get to the bottom of this whole thing. Not to worry.” “They want the drop off tonight.” Ted glanced nervously toward a police officer standing at the office door. He was also here at Dr. Lykos’ request. “We’ll make the drop look good– and we’ll keep you safe in the process,” the officer confirmed. “Ms. Tilby, I’ll have to ask that you don’t publish any of this until the whole matter is resolved with the authorities.” “I understand, Dr. Lykos.” Ted had come to her for help, and frankly for documentation in case this went badly for him. “I’m just here to keep everyone honest, and to get all the facts on record.” The two of them left Lykos’ office a few minutes later to go over logistics with the police, leaving behind a small package on Karl Lykos’ desk. Small enough to be smuggled out of the Brand Annex in a folded newspaper. Just a few sample tubes kept on ice in a plastic lunch baggie. So low tech it was almost comical... except this operation was deadly serious. The next time the door opened it was to admit J. Martin, who was followed closely by Cameron Hodge. “So, you’re the brains on the other end of this operation,” Cameron surmised, walking in like he owned the place. Lykos made no reply. Martin looked on in silence while Lykos carefully unpacked the samples.” “Why these?” Hodge asked next, noting that only some of the samples smuggled out of the Brand Annex had been repackaged for transfer. The others remained in their more low tech housing, ready to be handed over to police custody. “Because these are the ones he wants,” Martin answered simply. “I mean, I know he’s interested in Summers. Are these others freaks like him?” Lykos raised an eyebrow. “Such harsh language, Mr. Hodge,” Martin reprimanded him, “you’ll offend the good doctor. After all, one man’s freak is another man’s wondrous scientific anomaly.” Cameron Hodge didn’t appreciate the humor in even a mild reprimand. “I don’t care why he’s a freak – excuse me, variant – that’s what he likes to call them, right? None of those defects ever belonged here in the first place, and I’m counting down the days until we can send them all packing, right back where they came from.” “All in due time, Mr. Hodge,” Martin soothed, taking the boxed samples from Lykos and handing them to Hodge. “You know where these go. Don’t be late. He is not a patient man when he is awaiting important things.” Cameron Hodge paled and finally shut up. “I think responsibility is going to his head in unpleasant ways,” Lykos observed dryly after the door had closed behind Hodge. “That one’s an apple that didn’t bother to fall from the tree.” “I wondered why he wanted the Hodge kid close to Summers. Makes a bizarre sort of sense now.” “Don’t overthink it, doc.” “Are you sure it’s wise to keep relying on Cameron Hodge?” “He serves his purposes.” “Which are?” “For now? Interference between us and our subjects. Later, perhaps distraction, perhaps blame if we need a fall guy. His suspicion and dislike of Summers and his cohorts are well known, and only becoming more so.” “That’s what worries me. How do we know he won’t turn on us if he takes a fall?” “If he becomes a threat he can easily be neutralized.” “Considering who his father is?” “Precisely. That’s our best leverage.” The phone rang and Lykos answered. “Yes. The package is in route now.” He nodded and handed the phone over to Martin. “Exactly as planned,” Martin answered. “The pawns are playing out their roles far better than expected.”
-x-
“I can’t believe he’s really going through with this; the whole thing is ridiculous!” “This is a big deal for Scott. It is important for us to support him at a time like this, is it not?” “I can’t believe you’re humoring him, Ro.” There was a knock on the door, interrupting Jean mid-rant. “Not again–” A bike messenger had dropped off more roses. “I said, no!” The door slammed behind her, harder than necessary, especially considering she hadn’t touched it. “Why is that so hard to understand?” Jean asked rhetorically. “In Ted’s defense, perhaps buying things is an easy form of communication, or perhaps this is his idea of subtle negotiation?” “Just what I need. This one can’t communicate without bribery. The other one needs hypnosis to figure out what he feels.” “Jean. You’re taking all of this quite personally. Think for a moment. As far as Scott is concerned, the first real memory Scott has is of waking up from a coma. Alone, as a small child, in a strange medical environment. Is it not natural that he would have complicated feelings about doctors and medicine?” “Dammit. Why didn’t I think of that?” “Because you have very different feelings about doctors and medicine. And because Scott is very good at keeping complicated feelings to himself.” Jean laughed at that last understatement. “That, I noticed.” Or maybe, with everything else going on in her life, she had forgotten just how complicated Scott could sometimes be. Sometimes she got so distracted by the steadying effect he tended to have on her that she forgot: Scott was no good at admitting to himself that he needed help or, heaven forbid, actually saying so, to anyone. Maybe a therapist would help him figure out how to do that for himself. Also, maybe that was a little threatening to her, the idea that he might not need her as his primary sounding board anymore. Then there was her own poor reaction to his choices.... His choosing something so patently unreasonable had landed with her like a combination of insult and rejection. Or perhaps it just seemed like he was setting himself up for failure... and that was something she would not tolerate. Sometimes with Scott, even regular conversation was more like carrying out a precise surgical procedure. As a rule, he would tell the truth as best he could. But you had to ask him the right set of questions, otherwise he would only tell you the bare minimum of what he thought you needed to know. This whole hypnotherapy thing, and his recent nightmares, was definitely falling into that need-to-know category for Scott. Jean didn’t like being on the outside. She took the unopened box of flowers and deposited it straight into the trash can. It was a hollow gesture. A hollow pursuit. And she’d had more than enough of each. “Come with me,” Ororo insisted. “Where?” Jean sat down on the edge of her bed, making a half-hearted effort at telekinetic clean up of her messy side of the room... only to lose her grip and send things scattering about worse than they were before. “Just a short walk. You’ll talk to me about what has you so wound up–” “I thought you said a ‘short’ walk?” Jean joked humorlessly as she accepted a coat and scarf. Minutes later they were all bundled up and walking along the edge of campus near the park. Ororo obviously felt better, being out in the fresh air and surrounded by nature– at least as much of each as ESU could provide them with. “Now, what is bothering you?” Jean grumbled, “Better question is– What doesn’t?! At the moment, it’s those damn flowers, and that makes no sense at all!” They walked on a little farther, Ororo giving her friend ample time to collect her thoughts. “I made a joke earlier, at the lab, that Ted was using those flowers to suck up to me at work. He decided on the spot to send me more of them.” “And you’re angry that he won’t respect your wishes?” “I wish it was that simple. It’s me he doesn’t respect. To him, it’s just a temporary blip that Dr. Waren left me in charge of the lab. Like a schoolmarm there to keep order rather than a peer or, heaven forbid, a supervisor. I’m just a place-holder, there for him to tolerate, or to play off of, to get whatever outcome he wants from the situation.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t so bad when I thought he just liked me too much. Now I realize he thinks he can use that – playing with my emotions and reactions to him – to get around his having to respect my having authority over him.” She took a deep breath. The air seemed to pulse around her with barely contained fury. “It was hard, keeping all of that in check this afternoon– things I shouldn’t know in the first place. I hate being manipulated, Ro. I saw those stupid flowers and I flipped out.” Ororo sighed. That, coming on top of Scott’s not listening to her either– and certainly not sending her flowers.... “Don’t start on that, Ro!” Jean scooped her arm into Ororo’s, seeking solidarity. “I don’t have it in me to argue with you any more today, especially over Scott. Okay?” “As far as I am concerned, no one at all could possibly be good enough for my very dear friend– my sister. So I suppose we two will just be forced to grow old happily together.” A mental image of two old ladies rocking contentedly on Ororo’s garden patio made Jean laugh until she stopped walking to wipe away tears. “Thank you for that.” “Of course.”
-x-
Following Day. Karl Lykos’ Office.
“My mind is always busy, constantly turning over problems, like panels in a rubix cube. I’m used to that; this is different. This is like being caught in a violent windstorm, and I’ve lost all control over it. The content and the pace– It’s exhausting.” “The winds being your thoughts.” “Yes.” “How does that feel?” Scott suppressed a bitter laugh (and the knee-jerk desire to curse). “Like something is balled up in my chest that I can feel every time I breathe, shortening my breath, threatening to suffocate me. It wakes me up at night. I can’t get my mind to stop. Bad memories. Nightmares. I used to get up and go run when I felt that, even when it was still dark outside. And after a while my heart would stop racing and I could breathe again. Lately, it’s so constant, and I’m so exhausted, I just lie in bed trying to sleep– and I can’t. I feel– trapped. “What you’re describing is a cycle of anxiety and chronic stress, Scott.” He desperately wanted to say, “No shit, doc.”. Scott grinned instead. “What do I do about it?” “In the short term, for lack of better advice: try to tire yourself out. Go for your run after dinner. Read for a couple of hours before you go to bed. When nightmares do wake you, try to immediately write down everything you can remember about them and describe everything you feel in their wake. In the long term, it’s going to take getting down to the root causes of your feelings, determining what is causing you this level of anxiety, and figuring out a way to deal with it head-on rather than letting the stress hijack other parts of your life.” “No offense, doc, but if I knew what the problem was, I wouldn’t be here.” Lykos patted Scott on the shoulder as he walked him to the door. “I might be able to help with that part.” Once the door had closed behind Scott Summers, Karl Lykos reached down to press a flashing button on his desktop phone. “You get all that?” “Every word,” the voice on the other end of the line replied. “Any changes?” “Carry on. The plan is proceeding perfectly.”
-x-
Scott was cornered and he wanted to run– he wanted that escape so bad he could taste it. But he didn’t dare look away from Jack, not even for a second. Balanced on the razor’s edge of Jack’s blind rage, just one split second, one wrong move with Jack could be life or death. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears like the sound of a freight train. He could hear the wind whipping at him. They had to jump now, while they still could. His mother’s hands were shaking. He ignored the voice behind him and kept looking out the rainy window. No wind, no parachute in flames, no more falling. Just dry tears. That was when Scott startled awake, gasping for breath, in a cold sweat. This time he sat up, turned on a lamp at his study desk, opened a notebook and started writing. Some of it was exactly as expected: things he remembered and wished he could forget, moments so full of fear and horror they felt permanently burned into his memory. But then some of it was puzzling: juxtaposed and almost nonsensical. And some just stayed fuzzy: half stuck at the edges of his mind. Scott sat there, writing it all down, until it started to get light outside. Then he paused to check his schedule. Nothing for this morning. He closed the notebook and put it away in a desk drawer. He decided he’d take a jog over to Thunder Dojo after breakfast, see if Shang-Chi might have some time for him today.
-x-
Scott had been studying Tai Chi for the past month. After that first failed attempt at push hands he’d realized that nothing about this was going to play out the way he expected. When he’d come back the following week, as instructed, he’d done his best to reset his expectations with Shang-Chi and to simply keep an open mind toward the training. After that he just kept coming back, as often as he could make time for it in his schedule. Shang-Chi had started by teaching him thirteen postures and thirteen principles of Tai Chi. Since then, he’d spent hours learning basic forms and breathing exercises. Once learned, each posture could be held in short or long form (meaning: each form lasting anywhere from seven to thirteen minutes), and for each posture Shang-Chi stressed attention to very specific guidelines: Stance. Posture. Balance. Movement. Breath. The flowing motions through their set patterns and timings, matched with their careful attention to detailed transitions... all of that fit well with Scott’s exacting nature. He found the physical forms to be simultaneously challenging and relaxing. However, Scott found the principles – the underlying philosophy of Tai Chi – counterintuitive and often confusing to him. As Shang-Chi had begun training Scott in forms and postures and breathing exercises, he also taught Scott what amounted to an ancient philosophy centered on physical discipline. A physical discipline meant to unite martial arts and the use of force with physical and spiritual awareness... with its ultimate goal being to utilize the least possible force, even to the point of not fighting. Today’s lesson was very much in that vein. “There is a spiritual idea among the ancients,” Shang-Chi explained, “that, once you strike a blow, that action – that energy expended out into the world – can never be called back to you. For that reason, each hit must be measured, necessary, just, and merciful. Never strike out where a block would suffice. Never throw a block where you could instead dodge the blow. Never come to blows in the first place if you could instead settle a dispute with reason or negotiation.” Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Reminds me of nonviolent action.” “Ah,” Shang-Chi smiled, “but there is a yin to the yang. A parallel school of thought insists that every blow you absorb in life will either add to or detract from your chi... either increasing or decreasing the eternal well of spiritual life energy within you.” Scott smiled back. “I assume there’s a trick to figuring the good from the bad.” “That ‘trick’ is you. Your chi will determine the proper flow of internal energy. But once a blow has been released or absorbed it is already too late to change its course. It is in the moments prior (be they seconds or minutes, weeks or years) that self-discipline can alter the internal state of your chi and determine your reserves of physical, mental, and spiritual life force in ways which can be either good or bad for you.” “Then it sounds like I should be training my chi to work in my favor, in the same way I would train my body or my mind, to build up strengths and overcome weaknesses. So how does training like that work with an eternal well of spiritual life energy?” If Shang-Chi detected the hint of skepticism underlying Scott’s question, he chose to ignore it and answer him in all seriousness. “Much depends upon will and focus. Your focus can determine your reality, and your will can either bring your chi into balance or leave it unfocused.” “I thought you said the object of training was to conform my chi to my will.” “In learning to focus your chi, your chi may eventually conform to match your will, but that accomplishment is not simply a matter of practice or will power. Your chi, like the rest of you, is shaped by your experience of life. As you make your way through this mortal life, your chi will be impacted by both light and darkness. Like wrongful lessons one has been taught, if you absorb darkness into your chi, the task then becomes how to process that darkness into your being without allowing it to corrupt the light within you.” Scott nodded. “I’ve learned that sometimes bad lessons have to be unlearned to make room for new, healthier lessons.” Shang-Chi gave a small deferential bow, which Scott took to mean he hadn’t completely missed the point. “The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” Scott nodded in recognition before they continued on with practicing his forms. He still remembered his Confucius. Maybe this was slow progress toward inner peace. At the very least, he’d managed to avoid inducing any more panic attacks in himself thus far today. He’d take his victories where he could get them.
-x-
By the time he met with Dr. Lykos again, Scott had made a respectable dent in the notebook he’d been keeping beside his bed. As he explained when Lykos asked, it hadn’t helped his actual condition. He still felt rotten most days and still wasn’t sleeping well at all, but he did feel a little more in control, like he was making some progress... or at least maybe starting to understand. “Alright then,” Lykos offered gamely as he took a seat behind his desk, “let’s start with the bad news first. How do you feel?” Scott launched into the best description he could manage, but the symptoms made little sense even to him. There was the feeling he’d described before, like his thoughts were always moving too fast. His heart raced, he couldn’t focus, he was jittery and forgetful; then there were spikes of anxiety, like little walking panic attacks that came out of nowhere, seemingly unprovoked. All of that was in addition to poor sleep: the bad nightmares, and the lesser but still chronic stress dreams. “None of it is pleasant independently, but taken together, all of it is– disturbing. I don’t feel like myself anymore.” “Alright then. Don’t you have any good news for me?” Lykos asked hopefully. Scott laughed, appreciating the attempt at gallows humor. “I’ve taken up Tai Chi?” he offered in answer. “And how’s that going?” “Slowly. But helping me, I think. Good thing too, since I’ve mostly given up on running.” “Not enough time?” Lykos asked calmly. “Something like that,” Scott agreed coolly. With his poor sleep, an extra hour often made the difference between his being able to concentrate in class or not. His appetite was hit and miss too; some days he practically lived on coffee and candy bars. There was never enough time or energy. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams while spiraling out of control. Turned out there were still a lot of things he wasn’t willing to say out loud. Barely holding on enough to fake his way through normal was both terrifying and exhausting. But having anyone know just how close he was to falling apart– that was worse. How could he let down everyone who believed in him? Who’d gotten him this far? How could he possibly explain that he was cracking under pressure he didn’t even understand? Drowning in his own head. He was ashamed of the weakness, which scared him into pushing himself harder. “I won’t lie to you Scott, and I’m not gonna sugar-coat things. I know you’re in a rough spot. Last time you were here I told you, what you were describing to me was a cycle of anxiety and chronic stress. When your body and brain undergo that kind of stress for extended periods of time, the brain will often try to classify its current situation in comparison to old traumas. That can manifest in a resurgence of PTSD, instances of primal fear and panic– waking or sleeping. “I still think the best way out of this thing is intensive hypnotherapy.” Scott shook his head warily. “I’m not there yet, doc.” Lykos nodded in concession. “Then we’ll keep trying to get to the bottom of your issues in more traditional ways. You said you thought the notes were helping– helping gather thoughts, helping interpret dreams?” “Both, I think.” “Good. Let’s talk about what you’ve written down.”
-x-
Scott was exhausted by the time he got back to his dorm room. He’d stayed talking to Lykos for at least another hour, about the dreams and about the past. It felt like his mind was still swirling with too much information as he lay across his bed, barely pausing to kick off his shoes first. For as hard as it was to revisit this stuff, and as much as he would prefer to simply put it in the rear view mirror and never look back– some things were becoming clearer to him now. At first he’d been focused on just getting through it, afterward he’d turned to proving himself in a variety of ways – ranging from survival to success. And he’d learned to equate freedom from the past with walling off a large portion of his life: his past, himself, even his emotions in general. But as he’d told Lykos today, he was starting to realize that he couldn’t separate who he was now from who he was then. Everything that happened before left its mark, even the marks he didn’t want to see. Like with Jack O’Diamonds. He’d run from Jack Winters until he couldn’t run any more, until he’d had to turn back and face him... maybe that was why he was dreaming about Jack again now. He and Lykos had spent a considerable amount of today’s time discussing abusive childhood guardians. Lykos had given him some interesting insights.... “People, and especially children, have an instinctive need to ‘normalize’ their surroundings. Abusive behaviors experienced by children – especially involving authority figures – short circuit that ability to normalize. They think there must be some explanation as to why an adult behaves in horrible and hurtful ways toward people close to them... people whom they may profess to care for... people whom they should not treat the way they do. “And too often children will turn that short-circuited logic around to normalize their own abuse or mistreatment, to defend or justify the actions of their abusers or their bullies... even against their own self-interests. Even, and sadly, when the abuser may never have been trustworthy or working in the best interest of the child at all. In a nutshell, it’s sometimes easier for a child to believe that they have done something wrong, that something has warranted their mistreatment, rather than to impugn an authority figure whom they wanted or needed to trust and admire.”
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Following Month. Karl Lykos’ Office.
Scott Summers put the notebook he’d been reviewing aside and took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking about them. “I realize now that it’s hard for me to fully access what I feel because I put up those walls as a kid, to protect myself. I looked around and found myself in a place where no one cared what I felt– and where sometimes the goal was to elicit pain, as a power play; I could either let that hurt me or I could not feel the hurt. So I learned to turn off – to repress – inconvenient emotions when I thought they were a danger to me. It was the only thing I had control over, the only means I could use to protect myself in that environment.” Scott looked down at the page. It was surreal to see those raw emotions staring back at him in written words, but he could see them for what they were now. “That’s a good observation, Scott,” Lykos noted quietly. “Same basic thing with Jack,” Scott continued. “Jack was a good con artist; he told me what I needed to hear to keep me in line and cooperative. But I did just as good a con job on myself. I bought into a system of abuse. I chose to stay instead of walking away because I was able to make that okay in my head. I knew exactly what Jack was; I never set out to change him or save him, but I thought I could handle Jack, point him in a safer direction. And I was willing to get caught in the crossfire, times when that backfired on me. It didn’t scare me. I thought that made me– I don’t know– brave, strong, independent? “Jack felt to me like a culmination of my life up to that point. Brutal but real. Not hidden apathy, like in the Home. It never occurred to me, until the Bogarts, that there could be a better way. That somebody on the outside might think I deserved better than what I was settling for... might want to give me a better life... or show me I could be a better version of myself. And that happened again, on a bigger scale, with Charles Xavier. I started to realize I could do better, I wanted to be better. But who I am now– it’s all a product of who I was before, the good and the bad.” “That’s very good, Scott.” “As much as I want these damn nightmares to go away, I think I get what they’re trying to tell me: I can’t just shut out the past. It’s the same as trying to shut down my emotions as a kid. It might work short-term, but it doesn’t help me long-term.” “How are you feeling now?” Scott sighed. Certainly, he felt emotionally exhausted. Maybe that was the norm for therapy. Or maybe he was just keeping so much bottled up that letting it out was physically exhausting. “Not much has changed physically, or mentally either, really. I’m glad to feel like I understand it better. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t expected more concrete progress by now.” “That’s entirely reasonable. But stick with me on this, Scott. There’s no predicting the pace of healing, and the path usually gets bumpy before it finally smooths out. Trust yourself, keep doing the work. Results will come.” Scott laughed. “You sound like my Tai Chi instructor now.” Shang-Chi was always telling Scott to trust what he was experiencing and stay in the flow of the moment. Accept what is. Lykos laughed too. “How is that going?” “Almost as slowly as this,” Scott quipped. Scott could learn forms and postures. He could read the movements and carefully follow the patterns through their transitions. Strategic planning, precise motion, careful timing, that all made sense to him; a philosophy that relied on becoming empty and still did not. “In fact–” he checked his watch, “I’m due at Thunder Dojo in twenty. So... are we done here for today, doc?” Scott asked, noting Lykos’ momentary distraction. He smiled. “Yes, we’re done, Scott. Are you taking classes from Danny Rand?” “You know him?” “I know of him.” Lykos paused. “To be frank, I gather he’s not a fan of my particular practice.” Lykos smiled again. “Of course that hardly makes him unique in many circles. I’m sure you’d be shocked to learn that hypnotherapy is not always well-received or well-respected as a mental health treatment.” Scott nodded, thinking of Jean’s opinions on the matter. Her continuing disapproval of that particular “quack medicine” was a big part of why Scott had yet to let Lykos try putting him under for hypnotherapy. “I’ve only met Rand briefly. But I have friends at his building, one of whom is willing to teach me Tai Chi on the cheap. So, in my case, the two disciplines are playing nicely thus far,” Scott replied. Lykos nodded. “That’s good to hear.”
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Thunder Dojo.
“This is starting to feel a little like undoing every lesson I ever learned on how to fight or how to defend myself.” Today’s Tai Chi lesson wasn’t turning out quite as productively as Scott had hoped. “How so?” Shang-Chi asked him. “Well,” Scott came to a resting pause, hands on hips. “With those lessons, the first rule was always to look for openings, patterns, weak points at which to strike.” In street fighting, especially, you learned pretty quick to create your own advantages by exploiting opponents’ weaknesses. “While perfectly acceptable for crude self-defense or for common street fighting, that method is no longer compatible with your current course of study.” Scott grinned at what amounted to a long-winded dismissal. Yeah. He had gathered as much. That only made him feel more frustrated; today’s lesson was striking Scott as more unproductive than productive. According to Shang-Chi, his strategy should depend more on timing than on preparation. Or rather, everything depended on the pairing of appropriate action with patient timing so as not to force a desired outcome, but to yield and be still until it was time to act from a calm and focused center. Yeah. Scott didn’t understand that part yet either. But he had been more willing to entertain those ideas a few months ago. They were starting to wear a little thin on him now. Or maybe just trying to keep up with the constant duality of these teachings was starting to drive him a little crazy. He was reminded of why he had gravitated toward Confucian rather than Taoist texts. Taoism was built on these theories of seemingly conflicting yet coexisting dualities. How could one be simultaneously rooted and yielding, still but in motion? Soft but strong, empty but aware, relaxed but alert? Those platitudes served no logical purpose, they just kept him chasing around in circles rather than moving forward in a straight line. “I think you still misunderstand wu-wei,” Shang-Chi told him thoughtfully. The concept of wu-wei was certainly a perfect example of what Scott found so frustrating and confusing about the underlying philosophies of Tai Chi. How could one’s actions be effortless, or without intent, and yet still be disciplined rather than random actions? At least Sun Tzu’s advice in The Art of War was unapologetically straightforward! Shang-Chi clarified. “It does not mean to take no action nor to seek passive escapism in the face of an attack. It is not a show of weakness nor an act of surrender. Simply a more fluid state of awareness.” Shang-Chi extended an open hand, palm up. “The same hand that carefully caresses a loved one’s face, tickles a small child’s foot, or strokes at the ear of a fluffy animal also remains capable of a calculated strike or block. All depends on matching the appropriate action with patience, timing, gentleness, and wisdom.” Scott still looked skeptical. “Seeking advantage should never be your starting point. When adhering to Tai Chi Chaun,” he reminded Scott, “you should seek to strike a blow only when the blow already thrown can no longer be avoided.” “But by that point, haven’t you already sacrificed tactical advantage?” Scott protested. “By entering the fight seeking advantage, you have already conceded yours.” That statement so dumbfounded Scott that he just stared wordlessly at Shang-Chi, for several seconds, until he finally expanded on that platitude. “By looking outward, toward attack, you sacrifice internal focus. When you are focused within yourself – still, centered, calm – that self-discipline begins to bring your chi into balance. Your chi can then determine the proper flow of energy needed to direct you through offense or defense, to meet aggression or to make peace. All of this energy flows together in perfect physical, mental, and spiritual balance with your chi. Your eternal well of spiritual life force.” Scott sighed. So they were back to this lesson. He didn’t understand how Shang-Chi could insist in one moment that Scott was at war within himself and in the next moment his advice was not that Scott train to fight, or even properly prepare himself for defense, but to insist that he rely on some elusive force of passive peace meant to guide his actions. Some days none of it made sense. Or maybe the constant duality was just wearing down his patience. His overactive brain certainly didn’t need any extra encouragement to keep him running in circles; he was doing enough of that already, all on his own.
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His reaction to Elaine Grey was about Trisha, and his reaction to Trisha Bogart was about Robyn, and his reaction to Robyn Hanover was about losing his mother. That part wasn’t subtle, even without the way his mind cycled through the juxtaposition of mind-numbing fear, pain, and loss in his nightmares. Scott knew that... and yet it didn’t change anything. He was still waking up in the middle of the night, panicked and in a cold sweat– cornered by Jack Winters, knowing he was about to get pulverized, and not a damn thing he could do to stop it. Sometimes there was a moment there where Trisha Bogart tried to intervene but Scott wouldn’t allow it. That one wasn’t so subtle either. Scott’s reaction to Trisha was also about Jack. She had reached out to him gently, affectionately, and he’d fought with himself over allowing that. He hadn’t trusted enough to let down his defenses then, not physically nor emotionally. But increasingly as of late, the nightmares’ last word had been over his glasses. Scott shut the notebook and put it away... and he wondered if he was sabotaging himself now just as thoroughly as he had with Trisha Bogart. He couldn’t very well walk into Lykos’ office and explain that he was terrified of losing his glasses and unleashing mass destruction as a result. He was unwilling to risk even writing that down on paper... but maybe he was going to have to find another, safer, way to get that fear out in the open. Hell, he certainly felt like he’d covered that one thoroughly enough while at the Institute. His head seemed to think otherwise now. Scott sighed. It was never just about losing the glasses. He had to accept that, as with the Bogarts, letting people care for him, allowing people that he cared about to get close to him– that could be more costly to them than to him. That was always going to be true, no matter how many times he wrote it down or whom he talked to about it: a nightmare possibility that was never going away. The question became, how did he deal with that possibility, his responsibility to keep that from ever happening again? And Scott didn’t know how he could do any differently on that front. He had Dr. Conor’s class with a lab this morning and a full schedule of classes after lunch. He’d have to wait until late afternoon for therapy with Lykos, and his Tai Chi lesson after that. As Scott closed and put away the notebook, he realized he hadn’t overslept for classes recently. Even after the worst nightmares he woke up ready to write it down and then go on about his day. He was exhausted but functioning. Maybe this was the beginning of turning a corner.
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Late that afternoon, Lykos concurred with Scott’s early morning assessment. “Believe it or not, that’s significant progress, Scott,” Lykos told him. “How?” Scott challenged. He was feeling a bit cranky, and exhausted after a full day of classes. It was easier doing deep dives into his head first thing in the morning, when it was fresh, and easier to wall it off from the rest of his overactive thoughts. “Your mind is more and more insistently daring you to confront these situations and images, presenting you with an opportunity to face the way they shaped you.” “Strange. I’m not real keen on confronting beatings and loss and death; it sucked the first time through. But I get it,” Scott admitted. “There’s something there my brain thinks I’m not grasping: some lesson, some danger– or both.” “Finally being able to confront it without fear is a very big step forward, Scott.” “There’s still plenty of fear,” Scott countered. He relayed the details of the most recent nightmare, ending with his finally confronting Jack at the Bogarts’ rather than his facing the more familiar false choice of either not confronting or of being beaten by Jack. Fear of what happened after that, without the glasses, was the one thing Scott was consistently, purposefully, leaving out. He wondered again if it really could be that damn simple. Of course he was afraid of losing the glasses, and of inflicting massive death and destruction without them. Could his own subconscious mind possibly be that dense?! He sighed. More likely, as long as he harbored that fear – basically forever – his brain would keep dredging up all the others, to – so helpfully – remind him of the danger. Lykos studied him silently for a moment. Scott had a feeling the therapist suspected he was deliberately holding back now; he probably got that a lot in his line of work. “Have you thought any more about the window imagery you told me about?” Scott had written about and talked about Robyn Hanover several times previously. That first day at the Home, especially. In retrospect, it felt like that day had set him on a path which he was both still following and still fighting against. He understood why it remained of interest to Lykos, but not so much his focus on the imagery of it. Scott pushed a hand through his hair. He liked talking to Lykos– most of the time. But, in Scott’s opinion, the doc was steadily getting more and more sidetracked with more unimportant stuff. He wanted to chase down shadowy, illusive images that Scott couldn’t quite remember, or things that didn’t make any sense to him, when it seemed to Scott like the real culprits were making themselves known in blatantly obvious ways. Still, Scott couldn’t really fault him for that. Not shocking that a specialist in hypnotherapy would want to make use of that talent. “Think we could be done early today, doc?” Scott asked. “I’m pretty tired this time around.” Matter of fact, he was considering rescheduling Tai Chi... maybe just getting some dinner and crashing for the night instead. Lykos came out from behind his desk and sat beside Scott, perched on the edge of a nearby chair. “What if I put you under– very briefly? Give you a suggestion for sound sleep. You’ll wake a few minutes later feeling more refreshed. That’s it.” “And you think I’ll sleep through the night for once?” Scott challenged, calling that bluff. “No guarantees it would be that successful on the first try. Like any other treatment, hypnotherapy works best over time, with regular reinforcement...” he trailed off. “But we’ll see,” he added hopefully. Too hopefully, in Scott's opinion. It was a fair ask, but Scott was still reluctant. Frankly, he didn’t see an upside to trying hypnotherapy, but felt it rude to say so at this point. “Of course, if you’d rather wait and have someone you know present in the room for the first time you go under, that’s okay too.” Scott paused to think briefly about that. He assumed they both knew they were negotiating terms now, in addition to navigating Scott’s trust issues. He could always ask Ro to come back, sit with him and make sure this hypnotherapy stuff was on the up and up. He sighed as he reconsidered that thought. It seemed like more of a trust decision than a competency issue. Lykos had been telling him regularly, for weeks, his professional opinion was: they may not be able go much deeper without hypnotherapy. He felt Scott was facing either a dead end or a breakthrough, and they stood at an impasse beyond that. He’d been seeing Lykos for a couple of months now– either he trusted the guy or he didn’t. If the choice was to stop or to keep going, Scott was more inclined to keep going than to stop. He’d come too far to give up now. “Okay, doc, but just briefly– If I do wake up feeling better after this, I’ve got someplace to be.” “Your Tai Chi lesson.” Scott nodded. “So try not to completely knock me out before the training does,” Scott kidded, a joke to break the tension. “Nothing at all to worry about.” Lykos smiled reassuringly. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on the sound of my voice.”
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That post-nap, refreshed feeling Lykos had promised him was already beginning to wear off by the time Scott’s cab made it over to Thunder Dojo. He didn’t regret trying it. But for all Lykos’ insistence that it was only a start, Scott couldn’t help but suspect Jean was right this time. Lykos seemed like a good therapist otherwise, but there was a pretty good chance hypnotherapy was quack medicine. He guessed they all had their blind spots. When he told Shang-Chi what he had done, the kid laughed hysterically – mercilessly, Scott thought. That was when Scott realized, despite his cynicism, he really had been hoping for a break in the clouds on this thing. Maybe even some good news for a change... no such luck today, apparently. “All right. Can we get started now, if you’re done laughing at my misery?” “Sorry Scott,” Shang-Chi managed as he recovered from his fit of laughter. “But why not try acupressure or acupuncture? Those are ancient medical disciplines, not silly modern fads.” Scott declined. “No thanks. At least the hypnotherapy is painless,” he grumbled as they got started. “Pain is only resistance to deeper growth,” Shang-Chi replied stoically. “Either way, I think I’ll stick with just the Tai Chi for now.”
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At the end of his session Scott sat down on the mat and buried his head in a towel. Along with the familiar exhaustion, he was feeling a good bit of that resistance to deeper growth – as Shang-Chi had termed it – aching throughout most of his major muscle groups. When he looked up again Shang-Chi was seated on the mat beside him. “You are improving, Scott.” Shang-Chi wasn’t one for superfluous compliments. “Thanks.” Scott nodded thoughtfully. “My physical forms are improving.” He suspected he still had a long way to go beyond that. “You are most successful when you are relaxed into your forms. In the moment. Relaxed but poised. Fluid but aware. Loose but alert. Yet, any time I coach you to yield, you resist.” Scott nodded. He did still find concepts of yielding, and of making one’s self empty and still, particularly difficult to master. In a normal state of mind his thoughts were never still. In his current state he felt constantly on high alert, all the time readying himself for fight or flight. Not at all conducive to flowing or yielding. “Water is the softest and most fluid of all elements, the one which will always yield to the others, and yet water will adapt itself to fit any form: from the smallest crevice to the widest river. Water by itself is neither weak nor strong, but, in motion, its flow will wear away any rock too rigid to yield before it.” Scott nodded in agreement, but also couldn’t resist adding, “Of course that could take years to accomplish, if not decades.” To his surprise, Shang-Chi agreed and raised him, “Sometimes generations, if not millennia. You should read Dao De Jing – the Book of the Way –” Shang-Chi concluded. Scott chuckled. “You’re assigning me homework.” Shang-Chi nodded. “Study the writings of Lao-tzu, The Old Master. They will bring clarity.” Scott generally found the teachings Shang-Chi spoke of interesting (even if the circular logic tended to confound him at times), and he suspected the reading would be interesting as well. He also suspected the specific mental discipline required to master this particular skill set would continue to elude him. “Maybe between exhaustion, hypnotherapy, a good workout, and some challenging reading material, I might finally get a decent night’s sleep.” Shang-Chi frowned. “Your poor sleep and nightmares have nothing to do with simple physical or mental exhaustion.” Scott nodded. “I’m at war with myself– I remember, you said that. Any new suggestions on how I call a truce?” “There is no truce to this sort of war. The battle is life or death. You must strengthen your physical and mental defenses in order to defend your chi against attack from dark forces.” “Dark forces. Right.” Scott wasn’t much more inclined to believe in that line of thinking than he was in hypnotherapy. Shang-Chi got to his feet and motioned for Scott to do the same. Then he took up a defensive posture. “Push me, if you can, Scott Summers.” Scott took a deep breath and nodded, accepting the challenge. He quieted his mind and began his progression through the familiar forms, meant to strengthen and focus him, all the while watching Shang-Chi. As he concentrated on his forms and calculated his own approach, he began to sense the flow of energy around him. It started slowly. He was aware of ambient background noises, the flow of air around him, his own breathing. The flow of air through his lungs. Then the flow of his own energy. Then the flow of Shang-Chi’s energy. It reminded him of physics. Like the blending of waves and particles into light: two divergent entities combining into a single form. The combination of energy and motion began to make sense to him: action and reaction. Inertia countering the constant flow of energy. Everything buzzed with living energy and felt hyper-connected as one. That was when it clicked for him. The key to push hands. Being aware of your opponent’s motion when it was nothing more than potential waiting to shift into kinetic energy. Motion reduced to intent, action reduced to thought. Energy converted to advantage in a fraction of an instant. He realized, with a trace of a smile, why his interest in The Art of War had first struck a chord with Shang-Chi. What Shang-Chi was doing bordered on precognition, but it was cultivated in careful effort, observation, planning, and patience. Scott didn’t understand the mysticism. He understood the enormous depth of mental discipline underlying the call to action. The trick was in finding its countermeasure. Emptiness. Stillness. The ability to relax and simply to exist fully in the present moment until it was time to move or be moved. He didn’t move Shang-Chi. That wasn’t the point of the exercise. Water wasn’t meant to move rock. Not instantaneously. Walking back to campus that cool spring night, Scott felt clearer than he’d felt in a very long time. Almost like after a good run... but also kind of the opposite of that sensation. Where running provided a disconnect between mind and body, this clarity was the submersion of mind in body and vice versa: an amplification of the two until they were one. Balanced. Adaptable. Fluid. Not two separate forces locked in conflict, but two interlocking pieces of a greater whole. He was certain he still had a long way to go but, at least for tonight, he was on the right path forward.