Scott and Charles, Thursday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott has another, not unexpected visitor at the hospital.


It was getting a little easier to think clearly, but Scott still couldn't figure out how long it had been. How long it had been, where he was other than a hospital... how everyone else was. He kept dreaming about the monorail, his team trying to get the people off while the mob shouted and the rain kept falling, but he couldn't remember how that had ended.

Jean was fine. That much he knew, at least, because she'd told him that and she was there nearly every time he opened his... woke up, and he thought that he could cope with anything so long as that was real and not a dream.

There was someone else sitting beside the bed this time, someone who was not Jean but who he could still feel in his head. Charles.

A hand covered Scott's, resting atop the white linen sheet. "Good evening, Scott," Charles' voice could be heard, calm and strong. "How are you feeling?"

The question needed some thought. He wasn't thinking that clearly just yet. "Kind of... out of it," he murmured finally, his voice hoarse. "Is everyone else all right?" He was almost positive he'd asked Jean that before, and that she'd given him an answer, but he couldn't remember.

"Everyone is fine, son," Charles gave Scott's hand a reassuring if brief squeeze. "If very intensely concerned for you. You made a very brave decision back there, putting yourself in harm's way like that. After all these years, I find myself still amazed by that courage."

"I let us get cornered..." Wait, no. He wasn't supposed to be doing that, because stewing was bad and Jean was worrying enough. "Everyone's okay," he muttered, instead of going on with that train of thought. "That's good. Jean said... the rioting's stopped?"

Xavier nodded, although Scott wouldn't be able to tell through the bandages. "Shortly after the monorail fell. Miraculously, there were almost no injuries thanks in no small part to the X-Men coordinating with the local emergency response teams." He let out a sigh of relief and approval. "I have no words for how proud you all make me, none that I can express."

Scott swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat. Ten years, and hearing something like that from this man was still like hearing it for the first time. "I... it felt right. The sort of thing we should be doing..." If it was the last thing he did with the X-Men... and he hadn't just let let his mind go there with the Professor sitting beside him. He hadn't. Really.

Charles did his best to broadcast his sincere feelings of reassurance at this man in the bed before him, his student, his colleague, his friend. "A good man once stayed with me when I was in a similar situation," he finally said quietly, holding Scott's hand in both his own. "I was afraid, and doubting my ability to go on. He told me 'If anything happens, I'll take care of them'. Allow me to return the favor, Scott."

A noise that could almost have been a laugh escaped Scott. "Knew you were hearing me, that time... not sure how, but I knew." He took a deep, shaky breath, then another that was a little more even. "Don't know why I'm... thinking like that," he said, his voice a little stronger. Determinedly stronger. "These things h-happen. Still have one good eye."

"I do not feel that I need remind you," Charles scolded good-naturedly, "that it is not your eyes that make you special, Scott. Whatever assistance you need, we will provide." He squeezed Scott's hand once more, exuding feelings of pride and sympathy. "I know what it is like, as you are aware, to suffer an injury, a disabling and permanent one. And the greatest source of comfort I found was simply the words 'we are here'. And so we are, Scott. Myself, Jean, all of us. We are still here."

And it was. More comfort than he had expected to find, lying here. "I know." He would be out of here soon, Scott told himself, and home... and that was what mattered. The first step. He'd have plenty of help to figure it out from there. He tried to smile, and wasn't sure just how successful it was. The whole one side of his face was still numb. "Tell me you... chased Jean off to sleep?"

Charles gave a small laugh and a wan smile. "You and I both know that it would take more power than you and I together possess to 'chase' Jean into anything. But yes, she is sleeping well. Every waking hour that she has not spent at your side has been spent in conference with the doctors and surgeons here. Soon we will be home, where you both may rest and recover."

"Can't be soon enough..." Whatever happened, however long it took him to recover... to get used to this, and adapt, it would be easier at home. Maybe not faster, but easier. And he hated hospitals, and had since waking up in one after the plane crash. "Alex... someone told him?"

"He has been here since yesterday, Scott," Charles informed him softly. "Concerned, to say the least, but with faith that you will be well. In fact, he was rather demanding that I inform him as soon as you were able to see him, if I may be forgiven the unfortunate turn of phrase."

"Poor Alex. Not having a good month..." Easier to think and worry about Alex. Or Jean. Or the team. That was avoidance, Scott knew, but he was too tired to take himself to task for it just now. "I'm... glad you're here," he murmured.

"And I will be here until we return to Westchester," Charles agreed, "But for the moment, I believe there is a young man outside who would like to have a few words with his 'stupidly heroic' older brother." He could not suppress the smile on his face, imagining Alex's unique mix of worry and exuberance.

"Tell him he's not allowed to scold me..." Scott managed another tiny half-smile. "Feeling... clumsy enough already, here."

Charles patted Scott on the arm, a mixture of support and paternal protection carried in the gesture. "Rest easy, Scott," he said. "I'll let him know you're ready for him."

As Charles wheeled himself to the door, he stopped to look back at Scott. Although a confident, full-grown man and a leader of the X-Men, he looked so alone and helpless in that bed. Charles Xavier smiled to himself, musing on how deceiving looks could be. Scott Summers was most definitely neither alone, nor helpless.