Scott, Sam, and a tree with very poor timing, Tuesday evening

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Scott runs into some trouble on the way back from DC.


He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, and Scott was fairly sure that wasn't healthy. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his hands going white-knuckled. "Damn it," he muttered faintly to himself. He had this overwhelming sense of… unreality, for lack of a better word. Like he would wake up at any moment and find out that this had all been a dream, that the conversation with Jean hadn't just happened, that…

It was raining, he realized dimly. Although the rain sounded awfully solid, the way it was hitting the windshield. Maybe he should slow down? He should probably slow down. He was driving just a little more quickly than he should be, with these road conditions.

But he wanted to get home. Get home, put the car in the garage… go to bed and wake up in the morning with Jean beside him in the bed where she belonged? Wishful thinking, a bitter part of his mind told him harshly. Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere.

His mind kept replaying the conversation, over and over. The link had still been there. She hadn't blocked it, although it had seemed dampened… and it had felt like her. Much as he didn't want to admit it, it had felt like her. Scott blinked rapidly, his real eye burning, and not in the 'about to blow out the windshield with an optic blast' way.

I've found someone better. Someone less broken than you. Scott swallowed past the unbearable tightness in his throat. He had been awfully needy, he supposed. Undependable at first, with all that angst over Betsy. Then, after Seattle…

One hand went up from the steering wheel to rub at the scars on his face. The side of his face hurt, a ghostly echo of the pain that had driven him to distraction those first several weeks. Broken. Less than whole, on more levels than just the physical. She'd always known that, hadn't she? Had always been the one to make accommodations for him, to be the understanding one, to catch him when he stumbled.

And all he'd ever done was fail her. This last time, the worst of all. How had he missed this? How had he managed not to see? Something like this, there had to have been signs that he'd missed…

But there had been signs, hadn't there? Scott's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. The times she'd been tired and joked about running away to Alaska, or somewhere, or just getting in the car and not coming back... had they been jokes, ever? Had he not been listening closely enough all along?

You didn't see. You never see. Standard operating procedure, standard Scott Summers myopia, and he had owed her more than than, so much more.

You're like a little puppy with a bone. You get some new idea and you worry at it and you obsess and go over and over and over it until my head feels like it's going to explode... That time she hadn't been sleeping, when she'd exploded at him about not having room in her own mind. Had she really been talking about her uncertain shields, or had it been the link?

The link she'd never asked to have restored in the first place.

Oh, God, what did I do... The pain in his chest was almost overwhelming. Selfish, he'd been so selfish not to have seen this. He'd thrown their wedding vows at her? Such a hypocrite, he was such a hypocrite to hold her to them if he hadn't seen this...

My mind is my own. And it had felt like her. Much as he didn't want to admit it, much as he wished he could hold to some hope that it wasn't her, that something else was going on, that had been Jean's anger on the link.

He'd told Ororo it didn't make any sense. But looking back on it, adding up all the bits and pieces... maybe it did. Maybe it did, and Scott's breath caught in his chest on a soft noise that was part denial and part pain.

Had he gotten her back only to lose her again - but through his own stupidity and blindness this time? Scott's vision blurred and he raised a hand to wipe at his good eye. He couldn't blame anyone but himself this time. Not Stryker or Magneto. His own damned fault. What a track record he had. He would need to wear a sign warning women off at this rate...

Before he could put his other hand back on the steering wheel, the car hit a icy patch and skidded. Scott tried to correct, but he was going too fast, the road was a mess, and his reaction time wasn't what it should be, not tonight. The car went from somewhat out of control to entirely out of control before he could do a damned thing, and the only blessing was that he spun off onto the shoulder of the road, rather than into incoming traffic.

Except that there was something of an incline, which meant the car kept going.

Then the tree came up on his blind side.

~*~

Scott was sitting on the gurney, staring at the linoleum floor of the emergency room, when someone appeared around the edge of the curtain separating him from the next patient and just stood there, watching him. It was not, unfortunately, the doctor returning to tell him that the precautionary x-rays were fine.

No, it was Sam. Scott looked up at him, his expression bleak. "I killed the car," he muttered.

Arms folded across his chest, Sam looked down at Scott, his expression somewhat impassive. "So the very nice police officer who called the school explained to me." He raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly did the car get killed?"

"Black ice. And stop looking at me like that." Scott straightened, wincing. He touched the bandage on his forehead, knowing that it could have been much worse. Just what he needed - more head injuries. "I wasn't... I suppose I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been to the road," he said somewhat desolately. "I talked to Jean, in DC."

The police officer had mentioned that Scott seemed sort of depressed, though not actually suicidal. Still, Sam had had a bit of a scare, and several hours in the car to fret, and he figured he was entitled. Something in Scott's tone of voice tugged at him, and he frowned. "An' what'd she have to say?" he asked, a bit more concernedly.

"That she wasn't possessed, so I didn't need to worry on that score." Scott swallowed past the tightness in his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. Sore neck. If he wound up with whiplash again... "Also, that she didn't want a life with me and hadn't since Seattle, but that she stayed out of pity. Even though she'd met someone less broken than me." He thought he was doing well, getting all that out without his voice wavering once.

Oh dear. With that information out of the blue, Sam could see how Scott's mind might not have been on his driving. It was a shock to Sam, who hadn't perceived any rocky spots in Scott and Jean's relationship. He supposed that he wasn't infallible, and that they could have been there without him noticing them, but...he blew out a breath slowly. "Damn," he said, for lack of anything else to say.

Scott swallowed again. "I suppose I shouldn't have been driving back," he said, his voice hoarse, but a little steadier. Where was that doctor with the damned X-rays? Nothing was broken, surely. Seatbelts and airbags were wonderful things. "I just wanted to get home."

Sam rubbed his temples slightly. "No, ya shouldn't have been drivin' back," he agreed. "Daddy always said there are three things ya shouldn't be when behind the wheel: drunk, angry, or upset." But it was entirely too hard to lecture Scott in the face of that lost, confused look he had. Sam knew it too well himself. "Ya should have called me, or...well, pretty much anyone."

"I suppose I thought I had to try and put a good face on it," Scott said a bit dimly. "No one needs me falling apart again. I used up my get out of jail free card."

"There ain't no such thing," Sam said gently. And lord, did he know from putting a good face on things. Thankfully, the good face had gotten easier, until it wasn't a front at all, really. He still didn't care for Haroun, but he seemed to make Alison happy, and in the end that was all that really mattered. "Ya don't have ta be puttin' a good face on things with me," he continued, putting a hand gently on Scott's shoulder.

Scott didn't pull away at the touch, but he did take a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I... I appreciate that, Sam, but I can't..." Couldn't what? Scott swallowed. "They wanted to run some x-rays," he muttered. "He was supposed to be back by now."

Sam sighed inaudibly. He never understood why Scott felt like he had to constantly be in control, but the least he could do was respect it, and not push, and be there if and when Scott needed him. The doctor picked that exact time to peek around the curtain, the mentioned X-rays in his hand.

"Mr. Summers?" The doctor gave him a reassuring smile. "Just bruises," he said, coming over to the bed. "You're liable to be pretty stiff for a few days, but the seatbelt and the airbag did their job."

Scott nodded slowly. "Can I go now?" he asked almost inaudibly.

The doctor's smile turned concerned, and he glanced at Sam. "Now that someone's here to take you home, yes... I'd prefer you to check in with your family doctor sometime over the next few days, just in case."

"That won't be a problem." His doctor. Amelia now, he supposed. Scott swallowed and slid down off the gurney.

Sam thanked the doctor and followed after his trudging CO as they made their way to the emergency room doors. He wished there was more he could do, but for now he didn't really think there was.

Scott didn't say another word until they were back on the road. "You know," he said, "it's not as if there's not precedent. I missed... I missed it when she died, and now I missed what was important again." His throat tried to close again. "Should've lost both eyes in Seattle," he muttered. "Then I'd have had an excuse."

Sam gripped the wheel. "Ah understand you're hurtin' right now, but that's just crazy talk," he said bluntly. "What happened ta Jean at Alkali Lake wasn't your fault, Scott. And if she hadn't wanted ta be with ya since Seattle, she shoulda said so."

Scott's jaw clenched, and he rubbed at his real eye for a moment. "I missed it," he repeated, almost numbly. "Again. I missed it." He stopped, shaking his head. "I have to pull myself together," he said hoarsely. "I'm not doing this again. I'm not."

"Good," Sam replied. "Because Ah'd have ta take ya down ta the Danger Room and whip your ass if ya did." He wasn't sure if tough love would work or not on someone as proud and private as Scott, but Sam wasn't planning on sitting through a 'woe is me' pity party.

Scott glanced at the clock, calculating driving time back to Westchester. "If the job's all that's left, I'm not screwing it up again," he said tiredly.

"The job ain't all ya have left," Sam countered. "It ain't like Jean's the only person at the school that cares about ya."

"I know that." Scott ran a slightly unsteady hand through his hair, then did not let himself scratch at the scars on his face. "I just... why can I not ever..." Scott swallowed, then shook his head. "I'm tired," he muttered faintly. "The doctor said I didn't have a concussion. Do you mind if I try to sleep the rest of the way back?"

A slightly more audible sigh escaped from Sam. "That's fine," he said, staring at the road ahead. The hurt was still too fresh for Sam to make much headway against, he supposed.

"Just..." Scott stared out blankly at the road in front of them for a long moment. "Don't tell anyone, all right?" he asked, his voice breaking just a little. "I'll come up with something to explain the car. There was black ice."

Sam shrugged. "All right," he said after a long pause. Mentally, he reserved the right to talk to someone if Scott spiraled deeper into depression.

"I'll be all right. I was the first time, wasn't I? Eventually," Scot said hollowly, slouching in the seat. Something occurred to him, and he swallowed. "I promise I won't not talk to you," he muttered. He could trust Sam. Sam and Alison and Ororo and Charles, and probably some of the others, too... but he needed Sam to know that he wasn't going to shut him out.

That reassured Sam a bit. "That's good," he said with a small smile. Maybe he wouldn't need to rat Scott out after all. Turning the radio on low, he glanced over at Scott. "Now get some shuteye if ya need it," he said gently.