Title: Opera and Ice Cream
Author: Sarita
Email: s.riley@southampton.gov.ukRating: PG - occasional mild swear word
Disclaimers : I don't own anything - everybody should know that by now.
Pairing : Scott, Hank, Xavier (friendship)
Notes: This is the third part in my'Beginnings' set. Follows 'Hope'. Doesn't make much sense unless you have read both of them. This is a very short piece that forms an interlude of sorts before the next installment (because I had time on my hands and this wouldn't stop dancing around in my head). Thanks to every one who had suggestions for future installments, I am trying to work them all in over time, but for most of them i've got to give scott his sight back first - working on that i promise. Thanks especially to Minisoo for the help that inspired me to start this series and for 'Beginnings' and 'Hope' in particular.
Feedback : Wanted as much as a three gallon drum of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia!
-----------------------------Scott sighed and rubbed the back of his head, noting absently that his hair was getting a little longer than he liked it. In the background he could hear Dr McCoy humming some god-awful tune to himself whilst he studied the latest set of CAT scans he'd had to sit through. *Okay lay down for - it's not like it's hard work, just boring an irritating * he mused silently. The humming rose to a queer crescendo behind him. * Figures he'd like Opera. *
"Eureka, to misquote a genius in his own time. I do believe we are on to something here, Mr Summers." He could feel the floor vibrate as Hank bounded over to the table.
"Great" mumbled Scott. It was the 10th time in recent memory that Hank believed he had found `something'. * Okay, it's only been just over a week - be fair on the guy, Scott. * The professor had been true to his word and not hounded Scott over the first few days he had settled in. Hank on the other hand was a large (at least he sounded large) bundle of energy with enthusiasm for everything and a no nonsense attitude to Scott's various mood swings. Both had gone to great lengths to `socialise' him within their tiny family, but had given him plenty of space when it had all become too cloying for him - the professors telepathy no doubt at work there. While very little had actually been said about his history with sharp objects it was made clear in very subtle ways that they were not ignoring the issue, but rather letting it work itself out at Scott's pace. Scott realised that Dr McCoy had stopped speaking and was waiting expectantly. * Shit, what did I miss? *. "Sorry?" Scott asked quietly, a little embarrassed at his mental wandering.
"I asked, in a rather long winded way I will admit, whether or not you have ever suffered any sort of head injury in your past." He waited expectantly.
Scott shifted, his posture clearly that of someone who was uncomfortable with the question. "Yeah," he answered at last. "When I was little."
"It is apparent to me that this is not a subject that you are enamoured of, but I fear I do need you to be a little more specific. I need to know how old you were and the nature of the injury, also whether or not you received any hospital treatment for it?" The bench shifted slightly as Hank leant his weight on it, settling in to await Scott's' answer. "I do not mean to pry Scott," he added gently, "but these details will be genuinely helpful given what I currently have in mind following this mornings' tests."
Scott shrugged. "I was in a plane crash when I was younger, about six I guess. I got tossed about in the wreckage and smacked my head into a wall when it hit the ground. I don't know much more about it really. Apparently I wandered out of the wreck before passing out. I was taken to hospital and was in and out of it for a couple of weeks before they let me out of the hospital."
"A lucky escape."
"Kind of. It was more good planning I think. They knew it would be rough and bundled me into one of those inflatable rafts in back. It protected me from most of the impact. I only actually broke a couple of ribs and a wrist."
"They?"
Scott shrugged. "My parents. It was my Dad's plane. They didn't make it." His hands gripped the table fiercely.
"I'm very sorry Scott."
They sat in silence for a long while before Scott finally spoke up again. "Nebraska. Valentine Ridge, Nebraska. You could probably get records or something from the hospital there I guess."
"Thank you Scott. That is very helpful. With your permission I will telephone them this afternoon and have all the necessary records transferred to us as soon as possible."
Scott shrugged again. "So what were you so excited about just now anyhow?"
"Ah, " McCoy laughed, "Excited indeed." The momentary discomfort set aside he launched into a blistering explanation of discovery. When he finally wound down a good ten minutes later, pausing so that his audience could grant stunned approval to his brilliant plan...
"Okay," Scott responded calmly, "can you repeat that in grade school English so I can get excited too?"
"Remind me to add remedial science to your curriculum come fall, " Hank muttered sourly. " The extremely edited version of my oration is quite simply I think I may have found the key to safely blocking your gifts' more destructive manifestation."
Scott shot off the table, frantically reminding himself to keep his eyes firmly closed. " I thought the professor said there was some problem with being able to control it normally?"
Hank smiled at Scott's sudden, if not entirely unexpected, animation. The boy had begun to fall back into himself over the last few days and needed some tangible proof that he had been right to give Hank and the professor a chance. "The area of your brain that would normally be employed to control aspects of your mutation is damaged. The tests we have conducted are all clear on that. The record of your injury may help us in determining whether or not that damage can be reversed. In the meantime I have been employing some lateral thinking and I may have come up with an alternative. Again, your records will be helpful in that I will need to be sure that controlling your power in the manner I intend, if its possible, will not be harmful to you or cause further injury to your brain."
"I get that part," Scott waived his hand impatiently as if dismissing the explanation, "what is this alternative you're talking about?"
"Well, I'm embarrassed to admit that I've been so focused on whether or not your natural control mechanisms could be restored that until yesterday I hadn't considered using an external method of control. Analysing the nature of the energy you produce this morning has given me a few ideas with regard sympathetic harmonics. In essence your power is emitted as a concussive force beam of pure energy. That energy has a distinctive and quite unique biochemical structure. It may be possible to find a material that can either block or absorb that signature by virtue of its own composition. Hopefully we can construct some sort of protective eyewear for you."
Scott paced. "There's a lot of if, buts and possibly in there. "
Hank snorted. "I've only been considering this since breakfast, give me a chance to work on the detail. I'm good, but I'm not that good. Yet."
Scott turned slowly in his general direction. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful."
"Nor I to suggest that you are. I understand your frustration. There was a time when I had a thousand ideas swimming in my head that I couldn't realise for lack of the requisite knowledge, a time when I didn't know my own strength and broke nearly everything I touched. We will find a way Scott and hard as it is, you must be patient."
Scott shook his head. "It's not just that, I wish it were. It's just….this `gift' as you call it... kills. Something as simple as blinking can kill. " Scott sat down on the floor hugging his knees to his chest. "I'm tired. I'm tired of not being able to stop myself hurting people `cos sooner or later something happens and I open my eyes. I can't see what's going on around me and so I can't take steps to prevent some of the shit that happens and if I could see it'd be because I screwed up again and opened my eyes anyway. Chicken and Egg!" Hank slid down to the floor beside him and gently patted Scott's shoulder. "You are not alone anymore Scott. We will help you get through this, and you will get through it. You have the makings of a very fine young man with the determination and strength with which you have dealt with this trial so far."
"Yeah so strong I tried to ventilate my wrists with a toothpick!"
Hank actually laughed and at Scott's injured look continued, "think about it Scott. Think about why you did that. Not out of self-pity that's for sure, though I'm sure that an element of that crept in. At the end of the day we are only human, regardless of what some smart- ass politicians would like the public to think. You didn't want to hurt others. Laudable however misguided your solution may have been. One must learn to laugh a little at life's little ironies don't you think."
Scott actually grinned. "Y'know Dr McCoy, I may actually get to like you once I figure out whatever language it is you speak."
"Hank, my name is Hank. Dr McCoy suggests some small bespeckled egghead in a lab coat or some fool grouch from Star Trek. I like to think of myself as a little more entertaining than either of those sad fellows. What say we ditch this lab for a while and raid the kitchen where, I happen to know, the professor has a secret stash of Ben & Jerry's."
"Ice cream to cure all woes?"
"Beats sitting here talking about all woes. We can sit there and pile on the calories instead."
"I don't have to worry about that," Scott's smug grin widened. "I have one of those irritating metabolisms that lets me eat whatever I want without worrying about weight gain or bad skin."
"Smart ass, Wait until you hit thirty and you won't be saying that. I get the chocolate."
Scott stood slowly, nodding as if deep in thought. "You could be right you k'now. `Cept for one thing of course."
Hank arched his eyebrows as he looked up at Scott. "Oh? And that would be?"
"I get the chocolate, race you!"
Hank stared in astonishment as Scott shot out the door in full flight for the elevator. "Oh my stars and garters! " Supreme agility and strength aside, by the time he untangled his feet and raced after the boy the elevator was clanging shut.
Hank raced up the auxiliary staircase, emerging just in time to see Scott race around the corner ahead of him, hand brushing against the wall to guide him. * Oh no you don't, next thing you know he'll be taking advantage of my Twinkies! * "Come back here you," he roared after the fleet footed boy.
Charles returned the phone to the cradle looking perturbed. The crashing noise outside followed by Hanks bellow was enough to alarm him greatly. Had something happened with Scott? He sent his chair wheeling toward his study door even as he searched with his mind, though that only left him even more confused. The fleeting thoughts he touched didn't appear to be couched in anger, fear or any other negative emotion. He pushed the door open but before he could move forward the door slammed violently closed, shuddering on its hinges. There was a muffled crash and a groan from behind the door. Charles hurriedly pushed the door open again and stared in shock at the sight before him. Hank was sprawled on his back on the rug outside the door, which now sported a face-sized dent on one side, groaning. Scott stood uncertainly at the end of the hall in the doorway to the informal staff kitchen, looking concerned.
"Hank, are you okay? If this is some kind of trick I warn you, I already made it to the kitchen so I win!"
Hank looked up from where he lay. "It's a good job you don't need teeth to eat ice cream. I concede victory. " He looked to Charles and wagged a finger at him. "As for you Professor Charles Xavier, young Scott had me well beaten without you contributing a door to his cause! Will somebody please help me up?"
Scott jogged back down the hallway and stopped just short of Hank and the professor. "Umm, where are you exactly?"
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TBC...