Title: Unapproachable Light
Author: Rach L.
Email:Rated: PG-13 to R
Feedback: Needs it to survive. Category: Action/Adventure. Angst. Set on Movieverse. Lots of Scott.
Pairing: Oh, take a wild guess, please? ;)
Summary: Scott gets a second chance.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I don't even get paid to write this thing, ya know?
Note: This is absolutely, utterly, totally Sandra's fault, so she gets all the blame. My first X-Men fic. ;)
-----------------------------~Prologue~
***
And it's this unapproachable light
That I'm dying just to see...--from "Mezzanine"
***Scott Summers was dying.
It was expected, because what he'd been doing had long ago made him the target of many organizations, those who hated mutants, those who were afraid of changes, those who never tried to understand.
They got their wish.
Scott Summers, AKA Cyclops, the leader of X-Men, was dying.
It was worth it, he tried to convince himself even as the sharp pain shot through his spine and left him shaking and trembling. It was worth it, because he'd saved a dozen kids who'd been going their merry ways to the school, unaware of the bomb planted by the twisted SOB's who'd thought they'd be able to blame the mutants. They were wrong, though, because he and his team had gotten here first.
He'd stopped the bomb from blowing the school bus into pieces.
So it didn't matter that the bomb exploded in front of him instead, its impact blowing *him* into pieces. It didn't matter that his vision was now blocked by something red --not the cool surfaces of pinkish ruby glasses, but the thick, jelly red goos that felt sticky on his face.
It didn't matter. He knew this was to come in one way or the other, so it was okay. At least it meant something.
...No.
It meant nothing, because he didn't want to die.
He didn't want to die like this.
He instinctively knew that the Quartz glasses were no longer a part of him now, and therefore there was no need for pretense. He didn't have to be strong. He didn't need to be in control of his emotions. He didn't have to be so many things that his role demanded him to be. He'd wanted things--longed to see the colors again, wanted to see his face reflected on his parents' eyes that contained absolute pride, wanted a little brick white house with dogs and the works. Wanted to be seen by others for who he really was, not the fearless leader people presumed him to be.
What differences had he made with this power of his? 'People' would never get it, he thought bitterly even though it was just too hard to think straight with ragged breaths. People, the 'normal' people, would never get it. The fight was meaningless--he'd made no difference. No matter how many people X-Men had saved, they'd failed to save themselves. He'd failed to save himself.
He was tired.
At the last moment, all he wanted was to give up. Give up fighting.
~Is that what you wish?~
Suddenly a cool voice rang inside his head. Whose voice was it? What did it mean? It wasn't Charles'; not his warm, calm yet commanding inner voice. Not Jean's either, because it didn't have her sweet fierceness. Were they okay? God, he hoped so.
~Is that what you wish?~
The voice asked again, and this time, no matter how selfish it was, he knew the answer.
No.
He wanted to live.
He wanted to be normal again.
He wanted to see the colors.
He just...wanted to live.
~Even with the consequences?~
The answer was yes.
Nothing else mattered.
~Done.~
Before he had a time to think about the meaning of that particular word, suddenly everything exploded into the unbearable whiteness, and he felt himself approaching the light.
It was too bright and too sensual, so he closed his eyes.
Never he thought that he'd get a chance to see the world again.
***
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't supposed to, because he couldn't feel the weight of his Quartz glasses upon his eyes. He wasn't supposed to, because if he did, he'd surely kill anything or anyone on the way.
But he did. For some reason he wanted to, and there was no panic or fear that always accompanied him when he thought about 'opening' his eyes. He was overwhelmed by the uncontrollable, yet strangely calm urge to open them, and it didn't feel threatening. It felt as if...it was the most natural thing to do.
And when he did, he realized he could see.
See as in full-color spectrum images, no more red glows or pink sunrays. The sky was...so, that was what seeing indigo blue felt like. He'd almost forgotten how sad and soul-shattering that color was. When he turned his face, he was basked by the yellow-gold sunlight, and there was a twinge of pain as the white gold rays directly touched his pupils.
He blinked.
"Scott?"
A whisper. He knew this voice from his past. Very well. The voice that sounded pleasant and warm, but also associated with...pain?
"Selena?" he spoke the name he once despised, the name he'd thought long forgotten.
She was beside him, lying on the grass like he was, watching him with an odd look.
...wait a minute. He was lying on the grass --green, forest green, so cool and comforting green-- under a tall tree that was strangely familiar. Just like the one he fell off when he was eleven, wasn't it? Kevin dared him to climb the tree, and out of stupidity (and impulsiveness that he used to have), he did exactly that.
Of course. The Law of gravity. What went up always came down. ...which explained the broken branch at the left of the tree.
...Oh god. He was home, he realized with a shiver. Not Westchester, but Alaska, where he'd grown up. The trees and the grass--it was unmistakable where he was now.
On the backyard of his parents' house.
Oh god.
"Scotty, are you even listening to me?"
Selena.
Wasn't entirely sure of what to do, he turned to face his ex-girlfriend from his past. She *was* from the past, wasn't she? Certainly, this couldn't be Heaven, (any dream that featured Selena was more associated with Hell than Heaven, unfortunately) but it seemed a little too 'alive' to be Hell. "Selena," he carefully let the word out.
With a curt look, Selena spoke angrily, "You're so...out of it. I knew it! You're having the second thought, aren't you? Why don't you just tell me so?"
She was exactly how he remembered, although she looked older. Much older. She was no longer the irresistible, beautiful, and cold-at-heart prom queen but a worn-out, and irritable everyday girl in the next door.
What was it about her that'd made her so special to him, he wondered. His youth, probably. Compare to his students --Marie, Kitty, or even ever-so-bratty Jubilee-- the seventeen-year-old Selena had been a shallow brat. She'd been one, and he got the feeling that she still was one now.
"You know what? If you're regretting ever proposing to me, then just say it! And don't play the agonizing bastard with me."
At *that*, all the thoughts that went on in his head --namely, what the hell was going on?-- disappeared.
He dumbly asked, "Uh...what?"
He gathered that'd been a wrong move, since Selena's response was to slap him, hard, and storm off.
Scott sat up, dumbfounded and astonished. This wasn't happening, was it? He was back home with Selena, and he was no longer a mutant.
His wish.
It'd been his wish.
He was normal again.
TBC...