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Fic : Opera & Ice Cream (part 3 of 'Beginnings' series)

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  • s.riley@southampton.gov.uk
    Title:Opera and Ice Cream Author: Sarita EMail: s.riley@s... Rating: PG - occasional mild swear word Disclaimers : I don t own anything - everybody should know
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 7, 2001
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      Title:Opera and Ice Cream
      Author: Sarita
      EMail: s.riley@s...
      Rating: 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 !

      *************************************************************

      Opera and Ice Cream.

      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?"


      **********************************************************

      Part 4 to come soon.
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