-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 9
-X-
Healing Breaks The first night back at the mansion saw everyone gathered in the rec room for a post-Christmas welcome home party. Amid music and snacks there was a lot of catching up to be done with boisterous and wide-ranging conversation. Charles Xavier was reassured for now that he’d done the right thing in sending his students off to school. They had returned a little worn – in all the ways youth tended to wear itself too thin when left to its own devices – but also thriving and well-adjusted. Full of enthusiasm for both their classroom learning and for ever-broadening horizons beyond their classrooms. About halfway through the evening Hank discovered a Twilight Zone marathon on TV and he and Scott planted themselves on the sofa. Jean wasn’t terribly surprised; a Twilight Zone marathon really was right up their alley. Scott already had an affinity for staying up for late, late movies; he had for as long as she had known him. He tended to gravitate toward old sci-fi and horror flicks – sometimes, she thought, the worse the acting and effects, the better he liked them. Jean had harassed him often for that over the years; he generally ignored her criticisms, both for the habit and his tastes in movies. But tonight she just yawned and settled in beside them. As the rest of the crowd steadily dwindled down to just Scott and Hank, Jean fell asleep on the sofa and neither of them had the heart to wake her; they all knew Jean was going through a lot just now. Hank tucked a blanket around her before he headed off to bed, and Scott agreed to wake her if she didn’t wake on her own before he went up to bed. When Jean did wake, Scott was sound asleep on the opposite end of the sofa. She turned the volume down on the TV a little to let him sleep and, assuming Scott had covered her with the blanket earlier, she returned the favor. But when she lightly tossed a blanket over him, Scott bolted upright, startled awake. “Hey, easy– it’s just me. You fell asleep.” “Sorry– bad dream. For a second there I was just– falling. And then–” he couldn’t place it. “Something horrible– and then.... everything just– stopped and was calm. The same way time seems to stand still when you’re falling....” Scott shook his head. “Guess that’s what I get for falling asleep in front of the TV.” “I should have such an excuse,” Jean countered, “falling asleep in the middle of my own welcome home party.” “You have an excuse.” Scott tossed the blanket back over to her. “Beyond exhaustion?” Jean shook her head. “Back here, I get to avoid the elephant in the room at my parents’. The trade off is, I’m back here again.” Going off to school largely meant tuning down her telepathy in order to function in the wider world. Over time, while that became easier and easier to do, it also became harder and harder for her to switch gears back into using those skills again. Jean had battled through the same learning curve when they had started team training last summer. Then there was the unexpected loop Sarah’s leaving had thrown her for.... Added stress didn’t help her control issues. But Sarah’s leaving had hit Jean especially hard, digging up old trauma and adding a new layer of loss and self-blame. The fresh emotional turmoil could only make matters worse when it came to the task of marshaling her powers for training purposes. “Least it’s not just me,” Jean finally conceded. “No, it’s not.” Scott smiled. “You have all of us, even when you don’t want us in your head.” Jean laughed at his joke. They both knew he wasn’t wrong. It was already hard, just blocking out their familiar minds; she often felt porous around the people she knew well and trusted, which only made her feel guilty for her own lack of control. Switching gears back into X-mode was excruciatingly difficult, and she hated it as much – if not more – than she had the first time she’d had to do it. She felt stuck, trapped in her own head. How ridiculous, to possess enormous power and be simultaneously afraid of yourself. “Not ridiculous.” Scott smiled and reached out his hand to her. “All too familiar with that one, over here.” She smiled and took his hand. Jean knew he understood; she’d felt the same feelings in his nightmare: a sensation of being held captive to something you didn’t fully understand and couldn’t control.... Something about this moment reminded her of home: the way, as kids, she and Sarah had often snuck into each other’s rooms whenever one of them couldn’t sleep. The visitor would pull a chair away from the window over to her sister’s bed and sit wrapped up in a blanket while the two of them talked for hours. Scott remembered sitting up, watching late movies, shortly after they’d all arrived here. Back then, he’d thought both Ororo and Jean were better at blocking it out than he was. Better at quieting the fears and the doubts. He’d wondered from the very beginning if he’d ever have it together the way they did. The late movies were a coping mechanism for all that fear and doubt, a welcome escape from his sleeplessness. Scott understood differently now. What Ororo and Jean had successfully done was to find positive ways to channel their fears and insecurities. He had done that too, eventually, with Cyclops. It was a step in the right direction, but not an instant fix. Jean’s hesitancy with her powers tied back to Annie: fear of loss, need for control, fear of doing harm. Her focus on medicine helped her circumvent those fears, gave her something positive to work toward, something about herself and her future that she could control. But crossing back and forth between the two worlds had always been difficult on Jean. Sometimes the goal was learning to gain control over her mutation enough to actively use those abilities, at other times her abilities were still an obstacle to be pushed aside for the sake of her other goals. “How are you doing, Jean?” he asked quietly. “I mean, really?” She let go his hand and sat back against the sofa. Jean nodded. “I’m okay, I think; I miss Sarah. Which is weird, because nothing is really that different from usual. Sarah is supposed to be gone back out west and I’m supposed to be back here– Yet everything feels different... both different and familiar. Part comfortable, part terrifying.” She didn’t have to go into detail; she knew Scott understood that set of fears. Jean wrapped her blanket around her like a cocoon. Scott picked up the remote and adjusted the volume. “One more,” he insisted. It was a distraction. They both knew that. “And you think you’ll sleep better after another episode?” she teased him, but Jean had already settled back into the sofa alongside him. “I don’t think it’ll matter either way. I had nightmares at the Home, after the coma; they went away after I left. Guess I was too preoccupied with surviving to worry about what happened years ago, or to be distracted by nightmares.” His voice trailed away. “What?” Jean asked, picking up on his hesitation. Scott shook his head. He had a sneaking feeling this time he was the diversion, speculation over the cause of his nightmare or reason for his sleeplessness let her avoid the fallout over Sarah or her worries over being back at the Institute. “You can tell me,” she insisted. “Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “They’ll go away once I have something else to focus on, some sense of control. They did that before. Even if it was mostly an illusion, once I got out of the Home, once I felt in control of my own fate, I stopped dreaming about the crash... at least until the blasts started. After that everything got all tangled up and confused. Blaming myself for all the things I thought I did wrong....” “Brooding over things beyond your control,” Jean teased him gently. She reminded him often, brooding on those things wasn’t healthy. “In some ways, it was easier to blame myself.” To his surprise, Jean agreed. “Easier to try to regain control than to admit you had none in the first place; I know that one too.” Jean scooted over to retrieve a snack bowl from the coffee table and situated it between them. Scott took a handful when offered. “Especially when it comes to people,” Jean continued. “There’s no controlling feelings, no changing them.” She’d learned that the hard way with Sarah. “How many times have I told you, it’s not healthy, trying to keep everything bottled up inside? But that’s what Dad and I were doing with Sarah – just trying to make things nice on the surface without ever really talking to her about what was wrong or why it all bothered her so much – and it finally backfired on us, spectacularly.” “It’s easier when you don’t expect anything from anybody,” Scott finally stated bluntly. Jean knew exactly what he meant by that: It’s less painful when you don’t expect anybody to care. “Easier, maybe,” she said quietly, “but not better.” Scott gave her a wry smile. “That all depends on your expectations, and if the people in your life meet them or not.” Jean smiled back, giving a slight nod of concession. “I guess it does.” “Before I came here, it was always easier,” Scott added after a moment. “But now... this is better.” “I’m glad. You deserve better, Scott.” “I never really believed that before.” Jean laughed. “I noticed that.” “Thank you, for telling me otherwise.” “You mean, ‘over and over again,’ until you actually listened?” “Yes, over and over again, until I was ready to hear it– I’m sorry for being so annoying sometimes,” he laughed. “You’re my friend,” Jean said simply. “You get to be annoying sometimes.” Scott smiled. “That’s why I actually did believe it.” Not because of him, but because of her. Jean had a way of working those kinds of miracles; being with her made him feel at peace with himself. “One more episode,” she conceded, leaning her head on his shoulder, the same way she did at the movies. “If you don’t fall asleep on me first,” he teased. She tossed a few pieces of popcorn at him. “One more episode. Thanks for keeping me company, Jean.” “Thanks for listening to me about Sarah.” “Of course.”
-x-
Jean awoke early the next day to a quiet Saturday morning, the day after Christmas, the start of their two week long winter break at Xavier Institute. After getting dressed for the day she sat down at her study desk in front of the window, high above frosty grounds, and looked through the books on her desk. There were a couple of favorite novels there alongside a text or two of interest to help keep her occupied over the break. She looked out the window again, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Like cautiously flexing tired muscles, she let her mind slowly relax and lowered her guard just slightly, enough to take in the blessed absence of pressing volume which she’d become accustomed to in the city. The mix of quiet and familiar surroundings felt like a balm on her weary mind. Scott, of course, was out running – and probably had been at the break of dawn – using all the available light, as he put it. He’d likely return with plans in place for himself and the rest of them over the next two weeks. Ro was also enjoying the early morning, in her case reacquainting herself with her green houses, humming happily as she tended her beloved plants. Before Jean had opportunity to investigate the mansion further, she got a telepathic invitation from Xavier, asking her to join him and Moira for morning tea in the sunroom off Xavier’s office. She accepted in kind, and Jean opened her eyes with a sigh. She was reminded of another conversation in Xavier’s office.... “Can’t you just block it out, like you did before?” While Xavier had checked on her frequently after Jean had come home from the hospital, she had only begun to come to the school, then still just his family home in Westchester, around the time she’d turned thirteen. That was when her powers had begun to reemerge, as Xavier had termed it. Thirteen-year-old Jean would have liked for them to stay repressed. “Your gift is a part of who you are, Jean. I didn’t block it to stop it from happening, only to correct the timing a bit, until your mind could better handle the strain. It will take effort and time for you to learn to use your gifts, but you are ready to begin that work now. Out here, away from the hustle and bustle of busy neighborhoods, you’ll find that it’s quieter. Fewer mental distractions.” Thirteen-year-old Jean wasn’t convinced by the peaceful setting. She crossed her arms and set her jaw. “What if I don’t want to? What if I don’t want any of this! I don’t want to be different.” “But you are. Each one of us is different. Like it or not, the only question is: What are you going to do with the collection of all of those unique differences that make you, you?”
-x-
“Good morning, Jean.” “Hello, Jean.” “Good morning, Professor. Dr. MacTaggert.” “Please, call me Moira. There’s no need to be formal.” Jean nodded. “If you prefer.” Xavier smiled warmly. “I was just reminiscing to Moira about how, if not for you, we might none of us be here today.” Jean smiled as she took a seat at the table and smoothed her pleated skirt over her knees. “That is true – or, at the very least, if not for a phone call from my father.” “Of many accidents of fate, that one is perhaps the happiest for me.” Jean’s glum mood lifted a bit; Xavier often had that effect on her. His pure joy for her gift managed to lift her worries over it. Charles made a production of making a little toast with their juice glasses. “To two people who have changed my life in incredibly profound ways. Here’s to starting new chapters.” They echoed him, “To new chapters,” then smiled and sipped at juice or tea while they sampled pastries and made small talk. “I certainly can’t argue with the success of this chapter.” Moira was equally pleased for both the success of the school and its positive effects on Xavier. The school had been good for him in much the same way her Muir Island Research Center off the Scottish coast had been healing for Moira. A peaceful place could both calm and focus the mind. Of course Moira hadn’t always been so certain that would be the case here. Moira’s primary goal was to understand genetics in order to better the lives of baseline humans and mutants alike... she hadn’t always been certain that had been Charles’s goal – it certainly hadn’t been Erik’s – and she had worried for the future of the school the three of them had once envisioned. Moira and Charles had first reconnected years ago over Jean’s case, helping a little girl recover after a traumatic accident had triggered her emerging mutant abilities too early. A world-renowned authority on human genetics, and – unofficially – on human mutation, Charles had needed Moira’s consulting on Jean’s case. Specifically, he’d needed her knowledge of human neurological evolution (for which her work had earned her a Nobel Prize, and that same work had later lent itself to the scientific theory behind Cerebro). All of that history aside, this morning Moira was glad to finally have an opportunity simply to chat informally with Jean Grey. “I feel I’m owing you an apology, Jean, for any strife I unwittingly caused in your family’s household.” The angry accusation rang in Jean’s head for an instant: “You’ll have HER here. Listen to anything SHE has to say.” “I take it you heard about Sarah’s airing the last of the Grey family dirty laundry....” Jean shook her head tiredly. “None of that drama was your fault.” While her family had always been deeply appreciative of Xavier’s intervention, his giving Jean back to them, Jean hadn’t fully realized how much Moira had become a foil to Xavier’s hope and optimism... at least in Sarah’s memory of those dark times. It made an unfortunate kind of sense. Xavier was a known quantity, an old family friend, while Moira was a stranger from far away. Through no fault of her own, Moira had become the catalyst between Sarah and Elaine, the fulcrum between success or failure, hope or despair. “There were things Sarah never got over,” Jean concluded sadly, “and the rest of us put too much pressure on her to let go of her anger, forget her hurt, and simply trust the family moving forward... when Sarah couldn’t.” “I feel I bear some of the blame for not being more transparent at the time,” Xavier confessed. “I thought I was presenting John with two equally viable options. Either I would facilitate your recovery in the short-term, or Moira and I would do the same from her facility at Muir Island in the longer term. At a highly emotional time for your family, my intent to help became more convoluted.” Jean swallowed hard. She was much more familiar with the fallout, the push-pull of later years when John and, especially, Elaine had worried for her future as she became more entrenched in Xavier’s vision of a school for mutants... and presumably more removed from normal life as a result. But Jean also remembered vivid fears of seemingly harmless hospital transfer papers... hiding the specter of long-term institutionalization. It had been agreed between John and Elaine with Xavier that, if Charles’s initial efforts failed, Jean would be placed under Moira’s care at Muir Island. Of course Sarah had assumed the worst. She had been a frightened twelve-year-old trying to hold on to her little sister. And Jean’s own understanding of it all had been colored by her struggles with her own powers, shaped by over-awareness of the grief and trauma her entire family had endured because of her. “Either way, I needed Moira’s assistance,” Xavier brought the conversation back to more hospitable ground, “and she delivered admirably.” Suddenly not very hungry, Jean absently paged through a text she’d brought along to read later, after breakfast. “What’s that you’re studying?” Moira questioned agreeably. Jean showed her a new textbook she’d gotten on trauma psychology. “I've hardly been able to put it down since Thanksgiving.” Jean laughed. “That may or may not be good for me, but it’s fascinating all the same.” “Let me give you some free advice: Leave the text in the textbook. Don’t analyze yourself– or your family– or your friends! We’ve all had trauma and we all develop coping mechanisms. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s not a medical condition. It’s just the fallout of living life.” Jean shrugged. “How do you know when it’s not?” Moira smiled. “It’s almost never a problem when you’re overanalyzing; it’s a problem when you’re doing everything you can to avoid seeing it, avoid thinking about it, or remembering it– and you still can’t avoid it.” Xavier excused himself to make them some more tea, giving Jean and Moira time and space to bond over a shared love of science and medicine. He’d made no exaggerations with what he’d said to them earlier. His life had changed forever when he’d met Moira at Oxford. They had been on the verge of perhaps the greatest scientific breakthrough in genetics: uncovering the science behind emerging mutants. They were so certain their knowledge and research would lead to the betterment of humanity. When Jean had come into his life it had been the opposite of hope; he’d been in a state of utter despair following the worst years of his life. He’d finally recovered enough from his injuries to return home but had yet to recover emotionally. He’d lost the better part of another year feeling trapped in a chair, trapped in this mansion. When John Grey had called, Xavier had thought him yet another so-called friend calling only to offer pity. Instead he was calling to ask for help... help that Xavier could still offer his old friends. That morning Xavier had been alone, fearing he’d die in this god-forsaken house, like his mother had before him: broken, defeated, and alone. By that evening he’d experienced the greatest turning point of his life to date. Charles Xavier had seen the beginning of this dream. His life’s work. The seeds had been planted for the Xavier School for Gifted Students with an innocent question from a ten-year-old child. Before he could leave her hospital room, Jean Grey had asked him a timid question. “Do you think there are others out there, other kids like me?” He felt that question reverberate through him, a truth he couldn’t ignore. “I’m certain there are, Jean,” Xavier had replied. All timidness was gone in the next moment. “Will you find them too, and help them?” The strength and simplicity of child-like expectation behind that question had cut him all the way to the quick. He knew in that moment what needed to be done: He would make it his mission to find and help those other young mutants. “I will try my hardest. I promise.” He had formed this school to find them, and to teach them – to teach them not only to use their gifts, but to build toward a day of open, peaceful coexistence with the rest of humanity. Another half an hour or so passed agreeably before Jean returned downstairs to join the others at breakfast. “I fear you’ll only be apologizing to the girl again if you don’t come clean now, Charles.” Xavier offered a grim smile. “You’re probably right at that.” “Aye, I am. But you still won’t listen to me, will you? Ya stubborn man,” she mumbled resentfully. Moira was the only other person who knew the depth of Charles’s worries for Jean. Bringing Jean out of the comatose state she’d slipped into in self-defense after experiencing the death of her friend had been relatively easy to do. For the sake of her mental and emotional well-being, he’d shielded her mind before waking her so that Jean would later be able to discover her abilities at her own pace rather than the sudden and overwhelming onslaught she’d initially experienced, brought on by the trauma of latching onto Annie’s mind and trying desperately to hold on to her. After that, Charles Xavier had never stopped working over the following years to help Jean understand and eventually learn to control her gifts. As Moira had consulted on Jean’s case, helping him to further his own knowledge of emerging neurological gifts in mutants, he’d confided in Moira that Jean’s was the most powerful mind he’d ever encountered. As her abilities reemerged, he felt it imperative not only to shield her for her own sanity and ability to function in the world, but also to protect her from dark forces like that of the Shadow King or other dangerous mutants that might seek to use her for ill means. It was a devil’s dilemma. Shielding Jean meant slowing her growth. Releasing the shields meant placing her in danger while she was yet unable to harness and control her own abilities. “Why not simply be honest with the girl? Give her the choice. She’s mature enough now to make that decision for herself.” Moira’s own views hadn’t changed from when they’d last revisited the matter, back in the earliest days of planning for the school. Moira had insisted then that, as Jean’s abilities continued to emerge and Jean gained more conscious control over them, Xavier’s continued use of mental shields for her protection was unnecessary and would eventually become counterproductive. It had both surprised and worried Moira at the time that Erik had agreed with her. Charles, however, had remained as insistent then as he was now: Until Jean was older, and completely able to control the shields for herself, the danger to Jean was still too great to fully release her. Moira was able to reluctantly accept his reasoning, but his insistence on hiding his actions remained perhaps even more worrisome. “I fear that chance is still not worth taking. The risk to her is greater than she knows and–” “You don’t think her strong enough to handle that risk, or even the knowledge of it?” Again, Xavier offered a grim smile. “I’m not sure anyone would be, in her position.” Charles Xavier had realized early on that Jean’s mental powers were different from those of most telepaths. Where Charles’s own abilities required both knowledge and effort – he had to learn to reach out to other minds, and then to do so deliberately – Jean’s powers faced no such limits. She would always struggle to keep out voices she did not want nor intend to hear... and that was without even taking into account her telekinesis. He suspected that the combination of enormous emotional stress associated with Annie’s death and the consequent displacement of Jean’s mind to the astral plane had somehow altered Jean’s mental abilities past what would have been a normal starting point. In effect, her time on and experience of the astral plane had opened up her mind to the entirety of Jean’s lifetime potential for growth and power. That secret Xavier kept to himself – it was one that still puzzled him. How did the experience of death, itself, alter the living? Jean was quite possibly the only living being able to answer that question. His original sin was the lie he’d chosen to tell a frightened child. “Your gift is a part of who you are, Jean. I didn’t block it to stop it from happening, only to correct the timing a bit, until your mind could better handle the strain. ” Xavier regretted the deception. But he also believed the lie. Jean’s enormous power – her gift – was entirely her own. “But Jean is very special. She may yet be ready for the burden– in time. I only hope we can give her that time, to grow fully into her own enormous potential.” “As do I, Charles. So very much is at stake.” Charles nodded. “Everything we have built here, and more.”
-x-
Scott reported to Xavier’s office after breakfast, at the professor’s invitation. “Scott. How are you this morning?” “Very well, sir.” Better than he’d felt in weeks. “It’s good to be home again, for a while.” He’d been up at dawn and off again to chase the light, to chase life in the available light; he loved that, watching the night’s shadows recede. No more shelter there for half-forgotten memories. Every morning the shadows receded, no longer able to hide the light. And like some sleight of hand magic trick, that half-forgotten stranger faded from his mind. No longer the way he used to be. The new light reminded him, there was still so much out there he wanted to see. After a good night’s sleep and a long morning run, followed by a hot shower, and topped off with a tall stack of pancakes, he felt more like himself than he had in a very long time. “So, what are your plans for the break?” “Mine or ours?” Scott cheerfully answered the question with a question. He already had ideas for the break, plans for getting his team back into shape and a few new ideas for their training. “Either,” Xavier countered as cheerfully. Despite the open-endedness of the exchange, Scott strongly suspected Xavier would already know, Scott came ready with a plan and ready to talk to Xavier about it. “Well, I thought I’d take the weekend a little easy. Do some informal work with Ororo and Jean on our individual skills, see where we are after the layoff. Warren and Hank mentioned to me this morning that you wanted us to hold off on team training for a few more days.” Hank, Ororo, and Warren had been sitting out on the patio with their morning coffees when Scott had returned from his run. Warren had broken the news to him with an almost gleeful fake disappointment, while Scott and Ororo had exchanged puzzled looks. “Yes. As an accommodation, while we host Dr. MacTaggert,” Xavier clarified, “I would like for us to focus on the school and leave team training on hold for just a few more days.” “Do you mind if I ask, why?” “We will only disrupt your schedule through the remainder of the weekend,” Xavier concluded. “Moira is due out to Scotland on Sunday night.” That wasn’t an answer, but Scott was really just looking for confirmation. Warren had already offered Scott his take on the situation earlier: “If she thinks there’s anything more than standard classes going on here, she’ll bolt back to Scotland.” “Xavier wants to keep her around, at least for a few more days,” Hank had concurred. “Ideally, he would have her return to stay with us for next semester as well.” “So his solution is to deceive her about the purpose of the school while she’s here?” “Technically, while Cyclops was away, we weren’t doing any training, so no deception,” Warren had explained, still gleefully. Scott had scowled. Well, that was going to make his talk with Xavier more interesting.... Xavier took note of Scott’s current contemplative silence. “You’ve heard Moira’s take on human-mutant relations. She’s more pacifist in nature than either you or I. I believe she would find some of our more aggressive approaches troubling.” “Clearly she understands that we’re more than a normal school; she was one of the original school founders, after all. Part of our mission is enabling mutants to learn to use their abilities safely.” “But learning to do what with them? I assure you, Moira would quickly see through to the truth.” “And that’s a problem?” “It could be, for her. In this case, the devil may well be in the details. Moira left the school, in its earlier incarnation, because she feared I was moving too far away from her vision and growing too close to Erik’s. I want to give her the opportunity to see our success as a school before I ask her to accept that we are also going to be more than that alone.” Scott found that approach puzzling, frustrating, and completely unsustainable. He much preferred straightforward honesty to a collection of half truths... but it was Xavier’s decision to make. Moira was his guest, and in this case the school was also his home. Plus, Scott had to admit, coming off Christmas at the Greys’, he wasn’t terribly keen to find himself adjacent to another long-standing family feud. “I’ll admit, I don’t really understand the problem here, but I’ll respect your wishes on the matter, sir.” After extracting that concession from Scott, Xavier was happy to shift the conversation to Scott’s time at ESU. And he and Scott launched into several wide-ranging discussions on everything from the future role of the X-Men to the Cameron Hodges of the world. One of the questions Scott had been mulling over on his run was how Cyclops and the X-Men should react to threats, considering a broad spectrum of options: everything from complete non-violence to radical resistance. He’d eventually landed on a need to defend themselves, foremost, but an unwillingness to rely strictly on self-defense. Emory’s story about his parents had stuck with Scott, and he shared those insights with Xavier now. Scott was willing to accept the idea that he and the others, as first generation X-Men, would be making sacrifices to pave the way for future generations, perhaps similar to those sacrifices willingly made by leaders of the 60's Civil Rights movement. But under no circumstances was Scott willing to sacrifice his team or himself as tribute simply to prove their humanity – nor to use their sacrifices as bargaining chips meant somehow to win their rights to exist freely in the world. Those things were non-negotiable. That was a philosophy that had solidified in his mind through his talks with Emory. Scott could also foresee instances where they would need to act as human shields at times, to protect the weak, and especially mutant kids. And they would need to frame even their more aggressive actions as non-violent to the greater public. Conversely, they should expect that even their least provocations would be counter-framed as potentially dangerous destabilizations of civilized society. For the most part, Xavier listened to him, providing a sounding board and an occasional redirect for Scott’s stream of conscious thought. Often over the past several months, Scott had questioned himself, wondering if Xavier’s hope might be unfounded, or perhaps deluded by his own experience of privilege in the world. Now, back in Xavier’s presence, Scott was strongly reminded of an earlier speech Xavier had made to Scott... a warning that he would have to ask too much of him.... In his own youthful optimism and thirst to prove himself, Scott had not fully absorbed that warning. In this context, it gave Scott a bit of a chill. For all his hopeful talk, was it possible that Xavier both expected and was setting them up for this very conflict? Scott had never truly considered having to barter for Xavier’s dream, or for the future of generations to come, with his own or his teammates’ blood. But Scott was coming to the slow, painful, realization that people like the Hodges would demand blood. Of course the conversation came around to Cameron Hodge and his cohorts. “They don’t know the half of it. But they’re willing to hate us just for being ‘underprivileged’ or ‘disadvantaged’ in conventional ways. How the hell will people like that react to the unconventional stuff?!” “Likely not well,” Xavier readily conceded. “But we can handle them. Hate and fear are largely symptoms of helplessness, desperate reactions to a world that is changing beyond their control. They will undoubtedly try to bring it back under their control– but those efforts will be doomed to failure if we hold our ground and make change more palatable than the effort to hold it back.” Xavier gave a knowing smile. “In fact, I expect their bad behavior will greatly help our cause in the long run.” Scott nodded thoughtfully at the realization of Xavier’s unique wisdom anew. Xavier expounded, “Their mindset is similar to the choice between dictatorship and democracy. Strong-man leaders can promise safety, security, and prosperity – in the lie that they will hold back the changing tides – but always, at the ever-increasing price of freedom. True freedom is messy and chaotic, and democratic societies can’t always agree on what personal responsibility should look like when a free society rapidly grows and changes. But our greatest advantage over the Cameron Hodges and Michael Pensives of this world is our ability to inspire and to lead by example. They have only the empty promises of hatred and insecurity, desperate forces marshaled together by scapegoating and fear mongering.” All of his logical instincts told Scott it would be an uphill climb, and none of it easy. But he could also see the destination. And he could see why Xavier had done precisely what he’d done in precisely the way he’d done it. This morning, on his run, Scott had looked across the lake at the mansion and it had been a sight for sore eyes. He was home. More than anything now, he felt a sense of relief. While he liked the fast pace and found the challenges of ESU exhilarating– here, it felt like he could breathe again. He was ready to begin again. Xavier had done that for him. He thought of Jean, still mourning a loss with Sarah. Or Ororo and her newfound love for Harlem. In a weird way, it was like losing the last pieces of childhood... learning to let go of an idealized past instead of hoping the old pieces could still be made to fit their new reality. Hoping to still pass for normal. Passing for normal had been at the top of mind for them all when they had just been starting here. They had still been in something of a holding pattern then, not really knowing what they were capable of or what their futures might hold. Xavier had given them the time and attention they needed to realize the unhealthy nature of just hoping they could make things appear normal on the surface rather than doing the hard work it would take to truly be okay with every aspect of who they were. When the blasts happened, and he had been terrified even to open his eyes, Xavier told him it was okay. Told him that his mutation didn’t make him any less human. To Xavier, each of them was uniquely special. Gifted. That was the simple beauty of Xavier’s plan. It started with building people.
-x-
Scott had decided to meet Ororo out on the lawn by the lake for a more informal training session. Instead of the frisbee-like training disks he and Jean sometimes used, today they were trying out a new lightweight skeet shot Hank had designed. Reusable and aerodynamic, it bore some resemblance to a badminton birdie. A challenge for Storm to direct and for Cyclops to target. They began slowly, letting Ororo get a feel for wind dynamics. Like flying a kite, once she got the birdie established in the air she was able to make it perform all manner of loops, zigs, and zags meant to avoid Cyclops’s attempts to blast it out of the air. Scott also had to be more conservative with his targeting, considering their more exposed location. Outdoors, they were still shielded from view by forest, mansion, and mountains, plus Ororo was keeping the birdie relatively low to the ground– but Scott was still wary of sending up optic blasts that might attract undue attention. They soon managed to strike up conversation between launch-shot cycles, the topic of which quickly veered to Harlem, which was always top of Ororo’s mind these days. Scott conceded that the place seemed practically custom-made for her. “I’m afraid I am already utterly in love with it, and I already sense it will break my heart.” “Why?” Scott asked, refraining from asking the more obvious, How exactly does a place do such a thing? Because, for Ororo, such things simply did not work the same way they did for mortal beings. She gave a sigh before answering, “Much like my mother’s homeland, I feel a weight of expectation there that I cannot entirely fulfill. Harlem bustles with vibrant life, loves, dreams. The intensity of a place trying to make itself anew. Like two sides of a coin, there is tremendous hope matched with crushing fear and despair. As troubling, when I go back and read my father’s journals, he describes it in much the same manner when he was my age. “Not since I left Cairo have I felt such desperation. Yet, there are dreams around every turn, a sense that anything is possible in the next moment, unrealized, like a winning hand of cards... all the while knowing the cards are rigged, or at the very least stacked for the house’s favor. But here, the house is a long legacy of oppression. More than history told in books. It’s alive in underfunded schools and the poor children who begin to believe this is the way life will always be for them. Expected to content themselves with crumbs and live in the shadows of society. Always somehow the servants, never their own masters.” Scott stopped simply to listen. Maybe it was foolish of him to think of Ororo as above such things, like the goddess his mind often cast her as... but he found he also preferred that fiction, and – to his shame – it took an effort for him to not look away from the harsh reality she painted. This hurt, this specific hate and injustice, acted upon his friend– that was unbearable to him. It had been a comfort to imagine her safely above such things. But it seemed Harlem had taught Ororo that she was no more a model blending of African and American than she was a goddess. Ororo gave a nod in prompt and they continued on with their exercise, picking up conversation again between breaks in the action. “I have been speaking to Misty Knight about her study of Criminal Justice as it relates to teaching.” The subject had been of intense interest to Ororo since she’d visited Heroes for Hire and taken a book Misty recommended: The Truly Disadvantaged, by William Julius Wilson. “You and I know from experience that there are too many opportunities for children to fall through the cracks in society. Just today, in the Daily Bugle, I read about political efforts to block the Americans With Disabilities Act, to overturn all the progress made since the Toward Independence report.” Scott nodded. He had seen that reporting as well. “So many thin lines bind a society together, beginning with our ability to take care of those who have the least, and who need help the most.” He was reminded of his own earlier conversation with Emory about his glasses. And he was suitably cowed at the thought of whole groups being disenfranchised in manners similar to his own. “It worries me,” Ororo continued, “the seeming popularity of those who stake their reputations on cruelty and nihilism. They take precisely the wrong lessons from conditions like those you and I grew up under. They see violent streets and think the answers are more and better-armed police forces. They see broken and abusive homes and think the answers are to impose harsher jail sentences. And always they want to cut the funds that keep poor children fed and housed, and the funds needed to properly school them. It is a vicious cycle that only creates more crime and deeper poverty.” “I take it I now understand why you’re changing your course of study for next semester.” “Quite so,” she agreed before launching another strike. “My perspective has very much changed from what it was just a short time ago.” “I know the feeling.” Scott took the shot and felled the birdie in one. He was realizing, just as Cameron Hodge had changed Scott’s perspective on the way he saw the world, life in Harlem had done the same for Ororo. “Do you ever wonder what the other side of all this might look like? Assuming we ever reach some point like the one Xavier hopes for, where we could simply learn to accept one another?” Ororo didn’t answer his question. “I often wonder, ‘How does one begin to forgive those who have so terribly wronged others for no better cause than to increase their own shallow benefit?’” Scott sighed. “I don’t know how, Ro....” “Do you not still feel the burning anger of that mistreatment?” Scott shook his head. “That’s a feeling I learned to turn off a long time ago; it only brought more misery. I do often think, ‘How do we keep moving forward, knowing that it could happen all over again?’ If things don’t go the way Xavier hopes.... They might not be ready or able to accept us. They might not be able to get past their fear of us, or a blind fear for their own survival.” There was another shot set and taken while Ororo considered. “When I first came into my gift, traveling through my Kenyan homeland, I came to think of the land and everything in it as mother, father, brother, sister. It was frighteningly easy to shed human bonds and think myself a god: more akin to nature than to man. I had forgotten myself in the belief that man needs life-giving water, to feed hunger and quench thirst, just like the land, or the plants, or any other animal. But man.... Man is a cruel animal because he reasons. He understands both his need and his helplessness– and he resents those things. Plots and plans to overcome those weaknesses in vengeance and bloodshed. “In a way, I had done the same, separating myself from my humanity. Believing I would rule with a benevolent righteousness, almost pity– pity for some lesser beings, weaker than myself. But not kindness nor compassion – that was something not of the elements but of Man. A weakness, I mistakenly thought, because nature acts without restraint and without mercy. But humans cannot afford to act such. We need each other, and I had forgotten that. In my error, I was able to allow myself that disconnect, to place myself above them, for I had forgotten Cairo. I forgot because I was eager to forget: the desperation of uncertain survival, the suffering of empty belly and dry thirst, the fear of human predators who would take all – including your life, if only given that chance....” She trailed off. “And perhaps that is why I failed in Kenya while I survived in Cairo. More than any measure of control or skill, I lacked compassion. Cairo was brutal on the helpless, but amid the want and need I found hope in the common cause of family. What I did not yet understand as a child goddess in Kenya was that all of life is family. We humans in our reason can like it or not, see it or not, believe it or not– but we are all of one family and we will live and die as such. If we cannot believe these words of truth, we will die ‘together as fools’ (in the words of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.). “Once I learned to put those two pieces together, I began to feel less anger and also less pity. Acceptance of reality as it is, but not without hope for what it may yet be... if only our better angels can outweigh our darker ones.... Xavier gave me that. Hope. Proof that there are still people willing to take risks to help others, working to make the world better. I must believe that his hope is not in vain. There are still great possibilities ahead of us if only we are willing to face them, and brave enough to fight for them. When I start to doubt, to fear, I remember that hope and the challenge of ever-present possibility. We can’t give up. As long as we keep fighting, keep hoping, then we still have a chance to change this world for the better.” “Well said,” Scott agreed. “Have you had enough, or shall we continue?” “Perhaps we make this game more interesting if we keep score?” “Okay.” Scott knew a challenge when he heard one. “But what good is a high score without stakes?” “Very well, then. Name your stakes.” “My stakes are ice skating. If Jean intends to make me skate at Rockefeller Center, then you are as well.” Ororo considered. “I accept. And once I defeat you, you will use those wretched metal fins to help coach the Heroes for Hire children’s hockey team, while I watch comfortably from solid ground.” “Done,” Scott agreed. Ororo launched the next birdie. “It occurs to me: Perhaps you should ask Jean out before someone else does.” Scott stifled a curse as his shot went wide. Ororo snickered at her clearly successful effort to shake Scott’s concentration. Scott scowled at her. “You play dirty.” It frustrated him that that trick had actually worked. “You were too easily distracted,” she countered. They went again and he was able to even the score. “So, Ted,” Scott assumed.... “Do you think Jean’s interested in him?” This time Ororo was stunned enough to let her own concentration falter, allowing Scott opportunity to go ahead by a point. Scott smirked at the reversal of fortunes, but Ororo wasn’t fooled into thinking that he’d spoken out simply for that effect. The question had shocked her only because Scott had never admitted even the possibility of romantic feelings before, not on his nor on Jean’s part. “You would have to ask her that, wouldn’t you?” Ororo replied calmly. They had come to an unplanned pause. Her Fearless Leader seemed suddenly distracted by the ground under his feet. Scott had gotten closer to Jean over this summer... closer than he’d ever been to anyone... and he’d be completely blind not to see the signs.... “She has more in common with Ted.” Pre-med, and pursuing the same research. Ted was the opposite of Scott: dashing, confident. He seemed like a good enough guy, but the type who would be determined to sweep a girl off her feet. Make a play for her affections with big, over-the-top, romantic gestures. And why not? Jean deserved something like that, like out of those romance novels she liked to read – when Scott wasn’t teasing her about them every bit as mercilessly as she teased him for his obsession with old sci-fi films. “Over the summer we mostly talked about the team, the mission, how...” he paused. “How it’s not what she expected it would be when we first came here. I would have nothing to offer her,” he admitted quietly, “except a life she wouldn’t have chosen for herself in the first place.” He paused again. “She’d be better off, happier, with someone who could give her more of what she wants out of life.” Ororo shook her head. “I don’t believe it’s that simple, Scott, and neither should you.” He gave a grim smile. “This place is my life. The school. The team. I’m not cut out for anything more normal,” he said the last word almost resentfully. “Couldn’t pull it off if I tried.” “No one expects for you to live up to some artificial standard, Scott,” Ororo gave a soft laugh. “But surely there is a normal for you that includes having someone to share yourself, your life with.” Just touching on that thought caused him to tense up. He shook his head nervously. “No. I don’t think that would work out, Ororo.” She smiled again. “You never know unless you try.” “Then I’ll never know.” He tapped the side of his glasses worriedly. “I know my limitations. It’s way too dangerous, getting that close.” “Dangerous there?” She nodded toward his glasses. “Or here?” She touched a finger lightly to his chest. “Both,” he breathed. If he was dead honest with himself, he still remembered the mind-numbing loneliness of the Home. The cruel apathy of the streets. The crushing bitterness of every hope repeatedly denied. It seemed those emotions were embedded in him, permanently. Even without his recent poor sleep and bad dreams to further remind him, he didn’t want to ever open himself up to that kind of pain again.... But everything that had come before still paled in comparison to that one week with the Bogarts. Hope. Followed by utter devastation. He wouldn’t put anyone else at risk that way again... not simply to sate his own need, bury his own pain, or ease his own heartache. It was a testament to the strength of their friendship that, without thought, Scott gave her an honest answer. And Ororo found herself unexpectedly identifying with him as she remembered struggling with her own powers in Kenya. “I once convinced myself that it was better to hold myself above the rest. Human emotions were unwieldy, messy things for a goddess. In truth, I was afraid. Not only of my own power, and lack of control over that power, but of the lives I held in my hands. A pique of jealousy, a fit of anger, a betrayal of affection. Any of it could lead to disaster when I was balanced on razor’s edge between ultimate power over life and death, and my own precarious control over that power. “Ultimately I reaped what I had sown in Kenya. The people saw me as a reckless, vengeful goddess who did not value their lives, but her own power over them. They saw this because I did not allow them to see deeper, to see into the struggle or the pain it caused me. They mistook distance for dispassion, for malice, and who could blame them? I expected them to follow me without properly leading them through the pain of their suffering or the joy in their happiness. “When the floods came, they were my failure alone. But all-powerful gods do not fail. Only fragile human beings with ordinary human emotions fail... and I had only ever let them see the goddess. It was no wonder they turned on me. Human beings make mistakes but they care for one another, and – above all – they love.” “And now?” Scott asked. “Given the chance, would you be ready to take that same leap, knowing everything it could cost?” Ororo sighed. Of course he had turned the tables on her. Was she, herself, open to such emotional risks or keeping her own vulnerabilities safely at arm’s length? “It’s easy for me to tell you not to be afraid, Scott, because I know your heart. I trust your strength. It is harder for me to trust in my own, to trust myself enough to take my own advice. So, I suppose, I am not yet ready.” “For what it’s worth, I have equal confidence in you, Ro. Whomever you choose will be lucky to be the object of your affections.” Ororo shook her head, looking down. “You are kind to say so. I still have a great many of my own doubts.” “Some pair we are,” Scott scoffed agreeably. “Should we call this contest a draw?” “No.” Ororo lifted her head determinedly. “I still very much intend to defeat you.” Scott laughed, taking up the challenge. “We’ll see about that. I’m still up by one.”
-x-
When it was time for Jean’s training session, she was especially jealous to learn that Storm had gotten to throw stuff at Cyclops before she did. Scott only laughed; he hoped he could keep Jean in good spirits. Even if the effort came at his expense, that was better than enduring her abject misery at being caught up in something she didn’t really want to be part of. “For. Not at,” he corrected. “Big difference there.” Jean only smirked at him. “Not the way I’d do it,” she insisted. “I’m sure you’ll have ample opportunity to throw stuff at Cyclops later.” Scott punched in a code to enter the Danger Room. “Promises, promises,” Jean replied teasingly as she walked inside ahead of him. One positive thing had come unexpectedly from Jean’s sometimes intense dislike for Cyclops. Scott had developed a thick skin for criticism very early on. He understood that he wasn’t there to be popular. His job as Cyclops was to make the team the best they could be, to accomplish the mission, and get everybody home in one piece. There wasn’t always room there for being nice or making people happy. “How does it feel, being back?” Cyclops asked as Jean Grey entered the Danger Room. He knew this transition was going to be rough for Jean.... he hoped she’d be ready. “Strange. A little nerve-wracking,” she admitted. “Don’t worry. Nothing too heavy for your first day back,” he reassured her. “We’ll do a simple obstruction exercise.” Jean nodded. “Let the room throw random stuff at us. Great.” “With a little team-building thrown in, just for fun,” he quipped in return. “We should continue using our powers in complement to each other’s. I want you using your telekinesis as a shield. You’re defense. I’m offense. My focus is all on moving us forward; I’m not gonna try to block anything incoming. I trust you to protect me.” She blinked, surprise, for just an instant. Then she nodded, determined. “Got it.” Happy about it or not, Jean was up to the task he assigned her. Making shields was something she could throw herself into. All brawn, minimal finesse. It was a power workout. She might never like this, but she was damn good at it. Sometimes scary good. Jean understood, this was Scott’s way of coming back to solid ground, letting her know – without doubt, and no matter what else was going on – he trusted her. He also knew her control over her telepathy was more spotty than usual when she was struggling with her emotions, so he purposefully gave her a task where she could throw all her focus into brute strength telekinesis. For most of the exercise, things went as expected. Cyclops fired on anything that blocked their forward progress, severed tentacle attacks before they could reach Jean’s shields, and kept pushing them forward relentlessly. Jean deflected incoming projectiles and energy blasts, along with crushing attacks, even some wind and rain events. “We could use Storm about here,” Jean quipped at the last. Cyclops agreed, just as an oddly colored fog began approaching them. “That’s not fog; it’s some sort of gas.” That was an unexpected attack, and more challenging than the room’s normal play of simply obscuring their surroundings from sight. “Let’s not figure out what else it does the hard way!” “Agreed. I can keep pushing it away, but at some point–” “It’s going to disperse enough to get to us. Jean– do you think you could form an air-tight bubble around us?” “I don’t know, but I can try.” Within a few minutes the gas had surrounded them, but Jean’s shield was holding. “Now what?” “Now hold what you’ve got.” Cyclops had been using the last few minutes Jean had bought them to track the room’s air flow, seeing where the gas was coming from. “If those vents let the gas in....” “There has to be a way to get it back out.” Cyclops fired to trigger an uptake vent. Jean’s shields held again as the room decompressed around them, pulling out the gas. The room lights came back up after that, indicating that they’d reached the end of the training program. Jean sat down on the floor, catching her breath. “Thanks, Jean. Really good job,” Cyclops added. He knew she was tired; she’d done enough for one session, and he wanted to end her first session back on a high note. Plus, Scott had been waiting to test himself for last. Jean paused, suspicious at the fact that she was being dismissed while Cyclops was apparently staying behind in the Danger Room. “Scott. What are you up to?” He smiled. “I’m increasing the level of difficulty a little. Don’t worry about it. I’m good here– I don’t need a spotter.” Her stern expression showed skeptical disagreement. Scott sighed. “Fine. Stay and watch if you like, but keep your distance – just in case.” He walked over to the room’s control panel and punched in a series of codes, selecting the training program he next wanted to run. Then he set his visor down on the equipment table. “Scott! What are you doing?” Jean demanded, getting to her feet. Even though his back was turned to her she could see he’d taken off his visor. She’d never seen him do that purposefully, not for any longer than it took to swap out his visor for his glasses or vice versa. And that wasn’t what he was doing now. “Just what I told you,” he answered calmly, “increasing the level of difficulty.” “No. You are not running this program without your visor! You can’t fight blind. You’ll get yourself killed.” He laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have said it like that, but that’s what she meant; this was foolish and unnecessary– and that was completely unlike Scott. “I don’t understand why you would even try this!” He looked down. “Don’t you?” Scott asked. Of course. If he lost his visor he didn’t want to be defenseless. “Scott–” “Trust me, Jean. I know what I’m doing. And you don’t need to be here for this.” “While you attempt to fight without opening your eyes. I don’t think so.” He smiled at her response. “I appreciate what you want to do but, in this case, having you watch my back would kind of defeat the purpose. I need to learn to defend myself without the visor or my glasses, in case that’s ever necessary.” Jean wasn’t budging. “Look, if you need something to do, you can man the control room. If I get in trouble – which I won’t – you’ll know before I do; you can shut the program down.” “If you won’t need me to shut it down, then there’s no use for me to be in the control room,” she countered. He sighed again. “Humor me. Please. I’d feel better if you waited up there. I’ve never had a slip doing this, but I don’t really want to risk it with someone else in the room.” She huffed as she walked away. He knew better than to say it; she’d be a distraction to him if she stayed. Scott grinned. He could hear her mumbling under her breath. “That’s just great. Classic. He wants to fight, blind, and he’s worried about me getting hurt.” He called after her, “Can you really like someone who annoys you this much?” “Of course I can,” she answered back without hesitation. “Why else would I put myself through this much aggravation?” Scott chuckled at having extracted that concession from her. Jean walked to the door but instead of letting herself into the elevator up to the COB she punched in a new series of program codes. “There. Now the room will spot – for us.” She returned to his side. “I got your back Cyke – like it or not.” This time she expected to be fighting at his side. She tapped the circular X shield, worn at her shoulder, triggering one of Hank’s safety protocols. “If either of us go down for longer than a few seconds the program will pause for thirty seconds to evaluate our conditions.” Scott nodded. That wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but he’d take the trade off. It wasn’t lost on him that this was exactly the type of commitment and engagement he’d wanted from Jean out of their earlier training sessions. He’d been down on some of Xavier’s methods from the previous summer; he still didn’t agree with them, nor would Scott stoop to purposefully manipulating Jean, or any of his teammates... but he couldn’t deny results. Nothing motivated Jean Grey to the point of fearlessness like the prospect of protecting her friends. “Okay. This is hand-to-hand combat. Close crowd. Powers to a minimum.” “Got it,” she replied. “Ready. Start program.” The next few minutes were a blur. All of Scott’s concentration was on tracking opponents’ movements and countering their attacks with a rough combination of street fighting, self defense, and combined martial arts. Having Jean at his back simultaneously gave him confidence and heightened his defenses. He had to be certain he knew where she was each time before he struck to make sure she didn’t get caught in crossfire. But it was good training. They could easily find themselves in a position like this one, and it was worth being prepared for. Jean watched, mildly amazed, as Scott defeated all three of his opponents then went directly back to the place where he’d left his visor, knelt down, and put it back on. “If you’re trying to impress me, Summers, I’m impressed,” she admitted. He was grinning, obviously proud. “I’ve beaten two before but never three.” While Scott was happy with the immediate outcome, he still found his own skill level lacking. At some point he was going to need further training, but that task came with its own obstacles. Whether something at ESU or private lessons of some sort, his glasses were going to be an issue. At the very least, they’d have to be explained. And unlike working within the specially reinforced surroundings of the Danger Room, he’d have to take extra precautions to make sure he wasn’t separated from them in any way that could do damage to his surroundings. “How long have you been working on this?” He shrugged. “A while.” “Since the day you lost your visor in here,” she answered her own question. “I just want to be prepared, as much as I can be.” “Scott– you know– not being able to control your powers.... That doesn’t make you weak, and it certainly doesn’t make you a threat.” He frowned. “You were in my head, that day.” She didn’t need to deny it. It wasn’t just Jean’s powers. Everything that had happened with D’Spayre... all of them had gotten a strong dose of one another’s fears. Scott’s had never been that much of a mystery. He thought about it – dwelled on it, some would say, to the point of obsession. But his purpose was never to torture himself with an endless barrage of worst-case scenarios, but to minimize what was (probably for the rest of his life) an inherent risk. He was constantly aware, constantly evaluating his environment and weighing the situation, constantly making adjustments to minimize that risk – his own proximity – to everyone around him. “I asked Ro... she hasn’t had any more incidents like the one at the Brand event. Have you had flashbacks to what happened this summer? Or nightmares?” He thought that had been a casual enough question, but Jean was looking back at him with shock in her expression. “Those nightmares you’ve been having– it’s not just the one,” she realized softly. “Scott. This could be serious. Why didn’t you say anything?” “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “I’m sure it’s just fallout from what happened over the summer.” “You should talk to Xavier, let him decide that.” “And tell him his field leader is shell-shocked after one mission? No. I’ll work my own way through it; I just need a little more time to adjust.” “Scott–” Jean placed a hand to his arm. “Accepting help is not weakness; you know that.” His jaw tightened. “I feel better already, just being back here, being in my element, in control of my own fate... I know I can handle it, Jean. Let me handle it for myself– please.” Jean nodded, reluctantly conceding. “I won’t say anything, for now–” she hedged, “and if that changes, I’ll talk to you first.” Scott nodded. “That’s fair. Thank you.” “But if it gets worse, you have to say so too. Deal?” “Deal,” he agreed. Jean looked up a few seconds before the rest of the team filed into the Danger Room. For a second there, it felt exactly like it had over the summer. Their team was ready and waiting for Cyclops and Jean to lead them. Jean raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought Xavier didn’t want us to do team training while Moira was here.” “We’re not.” Hank punched in a program code and the room transformed around them to a frozen winter landscape, complete with light snowfall over an icy pond. “I’m teaching Ro to skate.” “You’re what?” Scott shrugged. “She lost a bet.” Sure enough, Hank produced a box containing ice skates and began offering them out. Warren roared with laughter as he waved off Hank’s offering. “No way am I going out there on those.” Ororo insisted she could easily have frozen over a section of the lake outside, and was mildly scandalized by Hank’s indoor replication as she accepted a pair of skates from him. Jean grabbed her own pair of skates from Hank. “It’s not that hard,” she insisted to Warren, looking offended by his distaste for skating. “Most heartily agreed.” Hank had quickly laced up his own skates and was now beginning to tiptoe and stride across the ice with deceptive ease for someone of his bulk. Scott looked up from lacing his skates to see Xavier and Moira watching from the COB. Jean quickly joined Hank on the ice and the two of them skated around like an Olympic figure skating duo. Ororo sat beside Scott to lace up her own skates. “I’m not doing– any of that,” he warned her of Hank’s acrobatics. “No,” she agreed. “Basic functionality will more than suffice.” “Good.” Scott had more of a Nebraska hockey player’s mentality toward skating. He could skate hard, with speed and precision, enough to get him quickly from point A to point B. He stood and offered Ororo a hand, demonstrating how to navigate solid ground and transition onto the ice. Ororo quickly got her balance on the hated metal fins, and Scott as quickly taught her direction and propulsion, while Jean demonstrated spins and turns that only Hank managed to duplicate. When Scott tried (at Ororo’s insistence; she wouldn’t try Jean’s fancy spins until she saw him do one) he wiped out every time, to the great amusement of everyone else present. Finally Jean took pity on him and held on to his elbow while he skated along in uncomplicated lines and arcs. Warren entertained himself by gliding around the room, and occasionally dive-bombing the skaters below. Finally, once everyone had had their fill of skating, they headed outside for a bonfire-style cook out on the back patio, a celebration Xavier had organized in honor of Moira’s send off.