"Second Chances" (for kayim)
Author: harmonyangel
Title: Second Chances
Recipient: kayim
Disclaimer: Marvel owns these characters and this bizarre storyline. Elton John owns the quoted lyrics, and likeadeuce owns one or two tiny fanon details. So, really, yeah, I own absolutely nothing but the words I chose to use. No harm intended to any party.
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for a post-apocalyptic setting and very mild sexuality. Nothing really inappropriate here.
Word Count: Approximately 1,500
Summary: Scott Summers doesn’t believe in second chances, but somehow he keeps getting them. Takes place between issues 1 and 2 of the Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix miniseries.
Recipient's Request: 616 universe, family, no Emma Frost. [Scott Summers is] a leader who cares for his team as much as he cares for his family. Jean is the love of his life. (Cable’s crazy future timeline still counts as 616, right?)
People aren’t supposed to get second chances. That’s what Scott Summers has always believed. You get one chance to do things right, and if you fail, that’s it. You learn from your mistake, and you move on, but you don’t get the opportunity to go back and correct it. You’ve got to get it right the first time.
So even when Scott gets second chance after second chance after second chance, defying logic and everything he’s ever believed, he refuses to take it for granted. Even when everyone he has ever loved and lost returns to him-his brother, his father, the love of his life, and now, in this strange and terrible future, his son-he still refuses to trust the fates. One of these days, his luck will run out. One day, he’ll stop getting second chances. And he’s determined to appreciate what he has while it lasts.
So maybe that’s why, despite the fact that they’re living under a totalitarian regime, despite the fact that they’re constantly moving to keep themselves hidden, despite the fact that they’re wearing new names and new bodies and preparing themselves for a battle that may kill them all, Scott feels, in the depths of his heart, an odd contentedness. He has Jean and Nathan. He has the chance to be the lover and the father he has tried and failed to be before. And this time, he’s vowed to succeed.
They travel across wide plains and climb tall mountains in search of new, temporary homes, possessions strapped to the back of the donkey on which they sometimes ride, heading all the while toward the ultimate destination of Crestcoast. Slym and Redd Dayspring, and their son Nathan. He remembers a book from his childhood, a children’s version of the Nativity story on a bookshelf in the orphanage in Nebraska. “And they traveled to Bethlehem, Mary and the donkey and Joseph.” It’s probably blasphemous to compare the Holy Family to his own, but Scott lost most of his faith long ago. My son is a savior, he can’t help thinking. That’s what Rachel-Rachel, another child lost and regained-had said. My son is going to save the entire world. And I have to help him.
(He won’t let himself follow the metaphor all the way through, though, because if Nathan is the Savior then he is the Virgin and Jean is Joseph, the surrogate parent, all of which makes Madelyne God. And there’s not an altar in existence at which he could beg for her forgiveness. Sometimes, he reminds himself, no matter how lucky you otherwise are, you still don’t get that second chance. His only hope for redemption lies in his determination to love their son better than he failed to love her.)
They stay in caves and shelters, homes of dirt and impersonal steel, crowded together with other units of the sapien caste, speaking in a tongue that still feels foreign despite the rapid telepathic language instruction Jean had given him days after their arrival. They gather what food they can, processed protein in little containers and bottles of water that cost far more than should be allowed. Jean tries to liven up the walls of each new place, stringing up bits of fabric she’s sewn together in decorative patterns with the skills she learned so many years ago in her days as the X-Men’s unofficial costume designer. Sometimes, Scott will see the mini tapestries moving ever so slightly, becoming less crooked on the wall, and Jean will wink at him out of the corner of her eye. They’re careful not to use their powers, most of the time, but he won’t deny Jean her little indulgences. Her eyes don’t burn with Phoenix fire, here. There’s nothing for him to be afraid of.
Scott, for his part, is happy not to use his powers. For the first time since he was a child, he sees the world in color, his eyes freed from their ruby quartz prison. His perpetual headache has vanished (though it’s been replaced by the perpetual pain of his shattered left knee), and he sees everything with a clarity that he never dared wish for previously. His only regret is that the world he sees is not the one he once knew. This is a ravaged, desolate world, with little color and less familiarity. Even Jean, his beloved, is not herself-her face is fuller, her lips thinner, her hair less red for reasons that have nothing to do with his former ruby-tinted vision. He knows he looks different, too; he catches his reflection, sometimes, in the wall of a metal citadel and sees a nose that is too narrow, a chin that is too long, hair a strange reddish blonde. But when they make love in the hot, quiet nights, Nathan sleeping soundly on a straw mattress four feet away, he still delights in keeping his eyes open, drinking in the details of Jean’s new face and filing them away in his mind with the details of her old one, collecting them all under the mental category of love. “Redd, Redd, Redd,” he moans, softly, but through their psychic link it’s Jean, Jean, Jean.
Nathan is growing up strong, far healthier than Scott could ever have imagined when he sent his disease-ravaged son into this future. His powers-powers of which he is not even fully aware-keep the virus at bay, and by the time he’s five years old Nathan is just as active as any other child, making small, tentative friendships with other boys at each new home. He’s smart, too, as smart as his mother-Scott’s been teaching him math, and Jean has taught him how to read. They don’t have books in this world, and Scott’s not sure they even have a written form of language, but Jean traces letters into the soft dirt anyway, and Nathan learns them. Without heirlooms or histories or even faces, cultural legacy is one of the only things they have to pass on to their son. Cultural legacy, and wisdom. For they are determined, whatever their circumstances, to raise Nathan right. They pass on the lessons that their parents, and the Professor, passed on to them, as well as the lessons they have learned simply from living. They teach him about compassion and understanding, even for those who would seek to harm him. They teach him about responsibility and respect. They teach him about pleasure and control, and how to balance the two. They teach him about love.
Sometimes, when they’ve camped for the evening, they let Nathan play in the grass, carefully within their line of sight, allowing him to stretch his legs and capture a tiny bit of freedom in an oppressive world. While he plays, they curl up together, backs pressed against the techno-organic pillar of the thing they call a “tree” in this world, though it bears little resemblance to the maples and oaks of the school grounds against which they would lay in their younger days, holding each other tightly and dreaming of the future. Now it is the future, and they hold each other just as tightly, watching their son fight imaginary battles with imaginary swords that end as triumphantly as they pray the battle they’re here to prepare him for will end. As they watch (if they’re alone enough and no one can hear them speaking a dead, forbidden language), Scott sometimes sings to Jean, softly, the songs he sang to her as a teenager. “Oh, little Jeannie. You got so much love, little Jeannie,” he sings, playing with her hair. “And you take it where it strikes, and give it to the likes of me.” She snuggles closer, twining their fingers.
Scott doesn’t like to think of the future-or the past that should be his future. He doesn’t like to think of their bodies, left in the shallow waters off the shores of St. Bart’s without souls inside, doesn’t want to think about what will happen to those bodies if they lose the battle they’re here to fight. He hopes the X-Men can continue without them. The self-deprecating part of him scoffs and says they surely will; the overly responsible part of him panics that he’s failed them, and they’ll surely fall apart. He misses his friends, his brother, the Professor, his bed, warm food, working out in the Danger Room, relative security.
But when he looks at Jean and Nathan, playing a game of checkers with rocks on the dirt floor of their most recent shelter, he knows he’s where he needs to be. He knows he’s been given a second chance for a reason. He will raise his son to be strong and noble, a valiant knight to slay the dragon that is Apocalypse. He will love the woman he once lost, become the husband he previously failed to be. And he will lead this small team into battle, protecting a world that, after all these years, is still filled with hatred and fear. He will be Slym Dayspring, father. He will be Scott Summers, husband. He will be Cyclops, leader. And for the first time in his life, he will believe he is good enough to live up to all of those titles.
Title: Second Chances
Recipient: kayim
Disclaimer: Marvel owns these characters and this bizarre storyline. Elton John owns the quoted lyrics, and likeadeuce owns one or two tiny fanon details. So, really, yeah, I own absolutely nothing but the words I chose to use. No harm intended to any party.
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for a post-apocalyptic setting and very mild sexuality. Nothing really inappropriate here.
Word Count: Approximately 1,500
Summary: Scott Summers doesn’t believe in second chances, but somehow he keeps getting them. Takes place between issues 1 and 2 of the Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix miniseries.
Recipient's Request: 616 universe, family, no Emma Frost. [Scott Summers is] a leader who cares for his team as much as he cares for his family. Jean is the love of his life. (Cable’s crazy future timeline still counts as 616, right?)
People aren’t supposed to get second chances. That’s what Scott Summers has always believed. You get one chance to do things right, and if you fail, that’s it. You learn from your mistake, and you move on, but you don’t get the opportunity to go back and correct it. You’ve got to get it right the first time.
So even when Scott gets second chance after second chance after second chance, defying logic and everything he’s ever believed, he refuses to take it for granted. Even when everyone he has ever loved and lost returns to him-his brother, his father, the love of his life, and now, in this strange and terrible future, his son-he still refuses to trust the fates. One of these days, his luck will run out. One day, he’ll stop getting second chances. And he’s determined to appreciate what he has while it lasts.
So maybe that’s why, despite the fact that they’re living under a totalitarian regime, despite the fact that they’re constantly moving to keep themselves hidden, despite the fact that they’re wearing new names and new bodies and preparing themselves for a battle that may kill them all, Scott feels, in the depths of his heart, an odd contentedness. He has Jean and Nathan. He has the chance to be the lover and the father he has tried and failed to be before. And this time, he’s vowed to succeed.
They travel across wide plains and climb tall mountains in search of new, temporary homes, possessions strapped to the back of the donkey on which they sometimes ride, heading all the while toward the ultimate destination of Crestcoast. Slym and Redd Dayspring, and their son Nathan. He remembers a book from his childhood, a children’s version of the Nativity story on a bookshelf in the orphanage in Nebraska. “And they traveled to Bethlehem, Mary and the donkey and Joseph.” It’s probably blasphemous to compare the Holy Family to his own, but Scott lost most of his faith long ago. My son is a savior, he can’t help thinking. That’s what Rachel-Rachel, another child lost and regained-had said. My son is going to save the entire world. And I have to help him.
(He won’t let himself follow the metaphor all the way through, though, because if Nathan is the Savior then he is the Virgin and Jean is Joseph, the surrogate parent, all of which makes Madelyne God. And there’s not an altar in existence at which he could beg for her forgiveness. Sometimes, he reminds himself, no matter how lucky you otherwise are, you still don’t get that second chance. His only hope for redemption lies in his determination to love their son better than he failed to love her.)
They stay in caves and shelters, homes of dirt and impersonal steel, crowded together with other units of the sapien caste, speaking in a tongue that still feels foreign despite the rapid telepathic language instruction Jean had given him days after their arrival. They gather what food they can, processed protein in little containers and bottles of water that cost far more than should be allowed. Jean tries to liven up the walls of each new place, stringing up bits of fabric she’s sewn together in decorative patterns with the skills she learned so many years ago in her days as the X-Men’s unofficial costume designer. Sometimes, Scott will see the mini tapestries moving ever so slightly, becoming less crooked on the wall, and Jean will wink at him out of the corner of her eye. They’re careful not to use their powers, most of the time, but he won’t deny Jean her little indulgences. Her eyes don’t burn with Phoenix fire, here. There’s nothing for him to be afraid of.
Scott, for his part, is happy not to use his powers. For the first time since he was a child, he sees the world in color, his eyes freed from their ruby quartz prison. His perpetual headache has vanished (though it’s been replaced by the perpetual pain of his shattered left knee), and he sees everything with a clarity that he never dared wish for previously. His only regret is that the world he sees is not the one he once knew. This is a ravaged, desolate world, with little color and less familiarity. Even Jean, his beloved, is not herself-her face is fuller, her lips thinner, her hair less red for reasons that have nothing to do with his former ruby-tinted vision. He knows he looks different, too; he catches his reflection, sometimes, in the wall of a metal citadel and sees a nose that is too narrow, a chin that is too long, hair a strange reddish blonde. But when they make love in the hot, quiet nights, Nathan sleeping soundly on a straw mattress four feet away, he still delights in keeping his eyes open, drinking in the details of Jean’s new face and filing them away in his mind with the details of her old one, collecting them all under the mental category of love. “Redd, Redd, Redd,” he moans, softly, but through their psychic link it’s Jean, Jean, Jean.
Nathan is growing up strong, far healthier than Scott could ever have imagined when he sent his disease-ravaged son into this future. His powers-powers of which he is not even fully aware-keep the virus at bay, and by the time he’s five years old Nathan is just as active as any other child, making small, tentative friendships with other boys at each new home. He’s smart, too, as smart as his mother-Scott’s been teaching him math, and Jean has taught him how to read. They don’t have books in this world, and Scott’s not sure they even have a written form of language, but Jean traces letters into the soft dirt anyway, and Nathan learns them. Without heirlooms or histories or even faces, cultural legacy is one of the only things they have to pass on to their son. Cultural legacy, and wisdom. For they are determined, whatever their circumstances, to raise Nathan right. They pass on the lessons that their parents, and the Professor, passed on to them, as well as the lessons they have learned simply from living. They teach him about compassion and understanding, even for those who would seek to harm him. They teach him about responsibility and respect. They teach him about pleasure and control, and how to balance the two. They teach him about love.
Sometimes, when they’ve camped for the evening, they let Nathan play in the grass, carefully within their line of sight, allowing him to stretch his legs and capture a tiny bit of freedom in an oppressive world. While he plays, they curl up together, backs pressed against the techno-organic pillar of the thing they call a “tree” in this world, though it bears little resemblance to the maples and oaks of the school grounds against which they would lay in their younger days, holding each other tightly and dreaming of the future. Now it is the future, and they hold each other just as tightly, watching their son fight imaginary battles with imaginary swords that end as triumphantly as they pray the battle they’re here to prepare him for will end. As they watch (if they’re alone enough and no one can hear them speaking a dead, forbidden language), Scott sometimes sings to Jean, softly, the songs he sang to her as a teenager. “Oh, little Jeannie. You got so much love, little Jeannie,” he sings, playing with her hair. “And you take it where it strikes, and give it to the likes of me.” She snuggles closer, twining their fingers.
Scott doesn’t like to think of the future-or the past that should be his future. He doesn’t like to think of their bodies, left in the shallow waters off the shores of St. Bart’s without souls inside, doesn’t want to think about what will happen to those bodies if they lose the battle they’re here to fight. He hopes the X-Men can continue without them. The self-deprecating part of him scoffs and says they surely will; the overly responsible part of him panics that he’s failed them, and they’ll surely fall apart. He misses his friends, his brother, the Professor, his bed, warm food, working out in the Danger Room, relative security.
But when he looks at Jean and Nathan, playing a game of checkers with rocks on the dirt floor of their most recent shelter, he knows he’s where he needs to be. He knows he’s been given a second chance for a reason. He will raise his son to be strong and noble, a valiant knight to slay the dragon that is Apocalypse. He will love the woman he once lost, become the husband he previously failed to be. And he will lead this small team into battle, protecting a world that, after all these years, is still filled with hatred and fear. He will be Slym Dayspring, father. He will be Scott Summers, husband. He will be Cyclops, leader. And for the first time in his life, he will believe he is good enough to live up to all of those titles.