fic: Dig for Fire (XMFC; Charles, Alex, Scott; g)
Dig for Fire
X-Men: First Class; Charles, Alex, Scott Summers; g; 760 words
"I have a brother."
You guys, I don't even know. Proof that you should never say never, I guess. This ignores all other Scott origin stories. Title from the Pixies.
~*~
Dig for Fire
"I have a brother," Alex says one day, sitting across from Charles, hands clasped between his knees in a transparent attempt to keep from fidgeting.
Charles waits and says nothing.
"He's younger," Alex says after the silence has stretched long past comfortable for someone who can't hear other people's thoughts.
Charles nods. It's meant to be encouraging, but not too encouraging; to convey meaning without meaning anything at all. He doesn't know how to deal with these teenagers, with their broken dreams and quicksilver emotions. With their constant need to ask questions he can't answer but pretends he can. He doesn't know why he ever thought he did, except that he'd had Raven, and then he'd had Erik, and with them he'd had hope.
It's a hard commodity to come by these days, even for him.
"Would you like to visit him?" Charles asks.
Alex looks away, silent shame rolling off him in waves.
*
Charles heads towards Alex's room before the newscaster has even finished his grimly gleeful description of the destruction.
Alex meets him in the hallway, dressed in the haphazardly repaired suit he wore on their mission to Cuba.
"He's my brother," Alex says.
"I know."
*
Charles doesn't even have to use his powers to get in to see the boy. The sergeant's relief at having someone to hand him over to is visible even to those without Charles's particular gifts. The room he leads them to is small and dingy, grey cinderblock walls and a tiny, grimy, high-set window that filters out any light from the street. Rain batters it insistently, but it doesn't leak.
Alex vibrates silently beside him, a seething mass of anger and guilt and the smallest spark of something that feels like hope.
The boy is skinny and angular, and he's wearing duct tape over his eyes. His mind is a thin veneer of tenuous calm over a riotous whirlwind of guilt and shame and fear and wonder.
"Scott?" Alex's voice is rough and low.
"Alex?" Scott raises a hand, and it takes Charles a moment to realize that he's not trying to defend himself--he's trying to protect them.
"Scott, Scotty, I am so sorry." Alex grabs the outstretched hand and pulls. Scott stumbles into the embrace, wearing a bewildered look. He buries his face in Alex's neck and Alex squeezes him tightly enough that Charles feels the need to take a deep breath. When Scott looks up, there are tears slipping silently from beneath the tape covering his eyes.
Charles waits for them to collect themselves before he speaks. "I run a school," he says, a speech he's rehearsed a dozen times if he's rehearsed it once, though it's still closer to a dream than to reality. "A school for," he pauses (not hesitates, no, it would never do for him to be seen hesitating), "people like us. Your brother is a student there."
Scott's body tenses, hope warring with wariness. "I don't have any money, sir."
"I'm sure we can work out a scholarship program," Charles answers. "Or perhaps make it a requirement of your release from this place."
"You would do that?"
"I would."
"Alex?"
"It's okay, man. Really."
"You live there, too?"
"Yeah." Alex has retreated back into his tough guy persona, but he puts a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezes. The boy relaxes under the touch.
He doesn't have any belongings to gather, so they leave the police station quickly. The ride back to the mansion is quiet, though Charles can feel their questions battering his mind, the touch as insistent as the rain on his skin.
*
"We have a new student, Hank. This is Scott. He's Alex's brother." Charles makes the introduction in the jovial tone that used to come naturally but has been harder to achieve recently.
They shake hands warily, Scott's head cocked inquisitively, his eyes still covered.
"Scott's mutation is similar to Alex's," Charles explains, "but it emanates from his eyes rather than his body." Hank's face goes from blankly polite to intrigued at that. "I've told him you'll be able to help him contain it while we work on his control."
"Can you really do that?" Scott asks, doubt and hope clear in his voice.
"Yeah," Hank says, "I can." His mouth curves into a wide, toothy smile that lights up his whole face. Charles can't remember if he's seen Hank smile like that since he changed. He feels his own mouth curve in response, the small spark of hope he'd felt in Alex earlier catching fire in his heart.
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/333835.html.
people have commented there.
X-Men: First Class; Charles, Alex, Scott Summers; g; 760 words
"I have a brother."
You guys, I don't even know. Proof that you should never say never, I guess. This ignores all other Scott origin stories. Title from the Pixies.
~*~
Dig for Fire
"I have a brother," Alex says one day, sitting across from Charles, hands clasped between his knees in a transparent attempt to keep from fidgeting.
Charles waits and says nothing.
"He's younger," Alex says after the silence has stretched long past comfortable for someone who can't hear other people's thoughts.
Charles nods. It's meant to be encouraging, but not too encouraging; to convey meaning without meaning anything at all. He doesn't know how to deal with these teenagers, with their broken dreams and quicksilver emotions. With their constant need to ask questions he can't answer but pretends he can. He doesn't know why he ever thought he did, except that he'd had Raven, and then he'd had Erik, and with them he'd had hope.
It's a hard commodity to come by these days, even for him.
"Would you like to visit him?" Charles asks.
Alex looks away, silent shame rolling off him in waves.
*
Charles heads towards Alex's room before the newscaster has even finished his grimly gleeful description of the destruction.
Alex meets him in the hallway, dressed in the haphazardly repaired suit he wore on their mission to Cuba.
"He's my brother," Alex says.
"I know."
*
Charles doesn't even have to use his powers to get in to see the boy. The sergeant's relief at having someone to hand him over to is visible even to those without Charles's particular gifts. The room he leads them to is small and dingy, grey cinderblock walls and a tiny, grimy, high-set window that filters out any light from the street. Rain batters it insistently, but it doesn't leak.
Alex vibrates silently beside him, a seething mass of anger and guilt and the smallest spark of something that feels like hope.
The boy is skinny and angular, and he's wearing duct tape over his eyes. His mind is a thin veneer of tenuous calm over a riotous whirlwind of guilt and shame and fear and wonder.
"Scott?" Alex's voice is rough and low.
"Alex?" Scott raises a hand, and it takes Charles a moment to realize that he's not trying to defend himself--he's trying to protect them.
"Scott, Scotty, I am so sorry." Alex grabs the outstretched hand and pulls. Scott stumbles into the embrace, wearing a bewildered look. He buries his face in Alex's neck and Alex squeezes him tightly enough that Charles feels the need to take a deep breath. When Scott looks up, there are tears slipping silently from beneath the tape covering his eyes.
Charles waits for them to collect themselves before he speaks. "I run a school," he says, a speech he's rehearsed a dozen times if he's rehearsed it once, though it's still closer to a dream than to reality. "A school for," he pauses (not hesitates, no, it would never do for him to be seen hesitating), "people like us. Your brother is a student there."
Scott's body tenses, hope warring with wariness. "I don't have any money, sir."
"I'm sure we can work out a scholarship program," Charles answers. "Or perhaps make it a requirement of your release from this place."
"You would do that?"
"I would."
"Alex?"
"It's okay, man. Really."
"You live there, too?"
"Yeah." Alex has retreated back into his tough guy persona, but he puts a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezes. The boy relaxes under the touch.
He doesn't have any belongings to gather, so they leave the police station quickly. The ride back to the mansion is quiet, though Charles can feel their questions battering his mind, the touch as insistent as the rain on his skin.
*
"We have a new student, Hank. This is Scott. He's Alex's brother." Charles makes the introduction in the jovial tone that used to come naturally but has been harder to achieve recently.
They shake hands warily, Scott's head cocked inquisitively, his eyes still covered.
"Scott's mutation is similar to Alex's," Charles explains, "but it emanates from his eyes rather than his body." Hank's face goes from blankly polite to intrigued at that. "I've told him you'll be able to help him contain it while we work on his control."
"Can you really do that?" Scott asks, doubt and hope clear in his voice.
"Yeah," Hank says, "I can." His mouth curves into a wide, toothy smile that lights up his whole face. Charles can't remember if he's seen Hank smile like that since he changed. He feels his own mouth curve in response, the small spark of hope he'd felt in Alex earlier catching fire in his heart.
end
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/333835.html.
people have commented there.