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FF "Emergence" (1/1) PG-13

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  • Elizabeth Wilde
    I apologize in advance to the ScottJean people... Jean isn t in it. *G* Author: Elizabeth Wilde Title: Emergence Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone
    Message 1 of 1 , May 2, 2001
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      I apologize in advance to the ScottJean people... Jean
      isn't in it. *G*

      Author: Elizabeth Wilde
      Title: Emergence
      Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone who asks
      for it, http://www.geocities.com/aloysiusj/xfic.html
      [my site]
      Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Don't sue!!!
      'Ship: none
      Classification: general
      Summary: The story of how Scott came to Xavier's
      school. Set a week after the prom incident in the
      movie novelization.
      Rating: PG-13
      Spoilers: the novelization of the movie
      Feedback: to wilde_moon@...
      Notes: The graphic for this story is at

      "Hey... Scotty... you're back." The coach sounded
      less than thrilled, though he had a nice, fake smile
      plastered across his pasty, sweaty face.

      "Yep, I'm back. Just... needed time to rest," the boy
      said, forcing a smile and shifting nervously from foot
      to foot, barely looking at the coach or at the ten
      other boys gathered on the field waiting for track
      practice to begin. "I'm fine now. Really." He
      looked up hopefully.

      The coach nodded, though his expression was far from
      one of certainty. "Sure... sure, kid. Good to hear."
      The stocky man cleared his throat. "Listen up, guys.
      Summers is back with us. He's, uh, feelin' better."

      A couple of the guys offered comments to the effect
      that they were pleased, but most just stared at Scott
      as if he were a bomb about to explode. //In all
      fairness,// Scott reminded himself, //I just might
      be.// His parents hadn't wanted him to go back to
      school. They said they felt it was "premature".

      "After all, Scott, you've only just... just gotten
      better," his mother stammered, fingers of her right
      hand toying absently with her necklace as she spoke.
      "M-maybe you should wait another week and-"

      "I've already missed a week of school. I don't want
      to get more behind," the boy had protested with a
      stubbornness reserved solely for teenagers who had
      their minds set on something. "I'm going back. I'm
      fine. It... it was a fluke," he mumbled, looking down
      at the carpet, studying the places were it had been
      trampled down and worn over the tears. "It won't
      happen again."

      What else could he say? "Aw, heck, mom, they had a
      few gym walls to spare anyway. No big deal." He knew
      better and so did they. They knew what the incident
      at prom meant. He was a mutant.

      But that didn't mean he had to admit it. "We're gonna
      have a great season next year," one of the boys
      commented to Scott, feigning nonchalance.

      "Yeah, should be a good one. Lots of people coming
      back," Scott agreed, basking in the normalcy of the
      inane conversation. "You're gonna be back, right?"

      "Yeah. Sure. I mean, why not, right?"

      "Right." Scott tried to remember the guy's name and
      finally recalled that it was something like Josh or

      The guy-Jimmy? Jamie?-stood idly by for a moment,
      glancing around at the others while they stretched
      out. Finally, he asked, "So... what happened? I mean,
      with the gym? Y'know?"

      "I know. I mean, I don't know. It... just... It's
      fine now," Scott finally offered, playing the incident
      off with a smile and a shrug.

      "That's cool, I guess."

      "Yeah. It's good. Hey, you... you haven't seen
      Selena around, have you? I kinda wanted to, y'know,
      tell her I'm sorry about... whatever." Scott seemed
      suddenly fascinated by the grass growing around the
      soles of his running shoes.

      "Sorry, man. Can't help ya there. I don't know if
      anybody's seen her. She hasn't been around since, uh,
      since prom."

      Scott masked his disappointment with another shrug.
      "Oh. Yeah. Okay. No big deal. I mean, I'm sure
      I'll catch up with her later."

      "Sure." The whistle blew and the kid, whatever his
      name was, bounded off to join the others, Scott
      trailing behind, feeling the vaguest beginnings of a
      headache building behind his eyes.

      * * * * *

      "Hey, mom, we got any aspirin?" Scott called out, eyes
      scanning the room for any sign of his mother as he
      threw his backpack down beside the couch. He raised
      his voice a notch. "Mom?"

      "In the kitchen, honey!"

      When Scott entered the kitchen, he smiled. His mother
      held a tray of freshly-baked cookies in front of her.
      "This dinner?"

      She gave him a gentle swat on the arm after setting
      the cookies down on the top of the stove. "I don't
      think so. But I also don't think a couple now would

      Scott kissed his mother on the cheek and grabbed a
      cookie. "Have I mentioned lately that you're the best
      mom ever?"

      "Sure have, but it's always good to hear. What were
      you yelling about when you came in?" she asked, moving
      the cookies from the baking sheet to a plate.

      "Oh, yeah. We have any aspirin?"

      Her smile immediately shifted to a worried frown.
      "Are you feeling alright?" There was fear behind the
      concern in her voice.

      "I'm fine. Just a little headache. Too much sun and
      too little water. No big."

      The woman breathed a sigh of relief and smiled again,
      pushing her chin-length brown hair behind her ears,
      hoop earrings flashing in the sun coming through the
      spotless kitchen windows. "Of course. Let me see...
      oh! In the medicine cabinet. Top shelf. In our
      bathroom, that is. Your father's been getting those
      migraines again and-"

      "Thanks, mom!" Scott was already halfway out of the
      room. He bounded up the stairs, moving into his
      parents' bedroom. Their blue flowered bedspread was
      smooth across the mattress and pillows, no dust
      revealed on anything in the harsh light coming into
      the room from outside. In the bathroom, he pulled
      open the cabinet, briefly searching the bottles there
      until he found a family size bottle of aspirin.
      Popping a couple of pills into his mouth, Scott poured
      a glass of water from the tap and swallowed them. The
      faintly bitter taste lingered on his tongue as he left
      the room. //Just a headache.//

      * * * * *

      It was three days before the headache became a
      migraine, constant, grinding slowly away at Scott's
      mind. He tried to concentrate in class, reminding
      himself that the semester was almost over. It was
      stress. He needed more rest. Four more days and his
      parents rushed him to the hospital in the middle of
      the night because the pain had grown so intense Scott
      could no longer eat or sleep or speak without the
      greatest effort. "Everything is going to be just
      fine, honey," his mother assured him as they sat in
      the waiting room filling out forms.

      Scott merely grunted and pressed his hand tighter
      against the throbbing in his temples. It felt like
      pressure was building there. He squeezed his eyes
      shut and willed the pain away with every ounce of
      strength he possessed, though that was precious little
      after so long fighting the same pain. He felt himself
      being ushered to a room by one of the nurses. It was
      another fifteen minutes-an eternity-until the doctor
      finally arrived.

      "I hear you've got a severe headache?" the man asked,
      smiling pleasantly, as if it weren't nearly three in
      the morning and the young man in front of him wasn't
      doubled over in the chair, hands pressed to his head.
      Scott managed to press the pain back long enough to
      give the man a sufficiently homicidal glare. The
      doctor merely grinned in response before frowning down
      at his file folder of special information. The frown
      deepened as he actually read the words on the page.
      "You were brought here a week ago after an... incident
      at the school?"

      Scott nodded, the slight motion making him want to
      throw up. His head swam for a moment, the pressure
      building, and he forced it back. //Just a headache,//
      he chanted over and over silently. //Just a

      "I see. Do you think this is related?"

      Disgusted with the entire situation and, in all
      honesty, with himself, Scott snapped, "You're the
      fucking doctor!"

      The man's expression darkened. "Yes. I am. You,
      however, are more familiar with how you feel than I
      am. Is what you're feeling now similar to how you
      felt that night?"

      "No." The pain encroached on his concentration again,
      and Scott had to struggle just to keep his eyes
      focused on the doctor. "Maybe." He closed his eyes
      and rubbed them with his palms. "I dunno."

      "I see. Scott, we're going to give you some
      medication that should help with the pain and keep you
      here overnight for observation. How does that sound?"

      //Like I don't have a choice.// "Fine." Scott let
      the pain take over again when the doctor left to make
      the proper arrangements. //Just a headache.//

      * * * * *

      Scott heard whispers, harsh in the quiet cocoon the
      medication had created for him. He wanted to open his
      mouth and tell the people talking to shut up and leave
      him alone, but he couldn't convince the muscles of his
      jaw to move, couldn't coax his eyes into opening. Or
      were they open? Maybe it was dark. The whispers
      continued, but they grew louder as he focused on them.

      "...brought here last night."

      "You're sure he's one of them?"

      "Pretty damn sure. Look at this chart! You can't
      tell me you consider that normal, doctor." The voice
      sounded casually derisive.

      "I... well, no." It was the doctor's slightly nasal
      voice, but not as commanding, as certain as before.
      "No, it isn't. That's why I called you."

      "Of course. We appreciate that, doctor. Without
      concerned citizens like yourself, this problem would
      be far greater than it is."

      "Yes. Thank you." The doctor didn't sound
      particularly grateful.

      "You've done your duty. Why don't you slip out and
      we'll take care of this. It'll all be over before
      anyone notices." Scott's sluggish, narcotic-laced
      brain began to function a bit then. //What'll be
      over? What are they talking about? Who is he talking
      to?// "We've done this before."

      "Yes. I'm sure you have. Just be quick about it."
      Footsteps retreated from the room and Scott tried to
      open his eyes. They remained closed. He tried to
      scream, but no sound passed his lips. Panic flooded
      his brain, slowly edging out the calming apathy of the
      drugs. //What is happening?//

      "Chart says he's due for meds. Give him a shot of
      something. We don't want him waking up. That could
      prove... annoying."

      No voice responded, but Scott felt the sting of a
      needle in his arm and the panic receded, edged out by

      * * * * *

      Consciousness returned in a manner Scott deemed
      painfully quick. In an instant, he was fully aware of
      the itchy rope holding his hands behind his back and
      his feet to the wooden chair he sat in, the material
      tied tightly around his eyes, the familiar pain
      whirling in his brain, the musty smell of the room.
      He groaned, wondering if it was a good idea to call
      attention to himself at all. //Too late now.//

      "Looks like you've finally decided to wake up." The
      voice from the hospital.

      "Where am I?" Scott asked, figuring his situation
      couldn't really get much worse.

      "That would be telling," the voice taunted, almost
      sing-song in its mocking. "We just figured you should
      know why you're here before we finish this."

      "Finish... finish what?" The panic was returning
      full-force, and it did nothing to ease the throbbing
      behind his eyes. "What are you going to do with me?
      Who are you?"

      "So many questions! We are a concerned group of
      citizens. You see, this country of ours is currently
      being visited with a plague. Oh, it's other places
      too, but that really isn't all that important just
      yet." Scott could hear the voice moving closer and
      wished he had the leverage to scoot the chair back
      without throwing himself to the floor. "For now we
      need to take care of our own."

      "Own what?" Scott demanded, twisting his hands, the
      rope digging into his skin. He winced as he felt
      blood trickling across his palms.

      "The damn muties, of course! Not the brightest crayon
      in the box, are you, boy?" the voice demanded with a
      snort. "Damn muties like you."

      "I-I'm not! I... That thing at the gym, it... it
      just... It wasn't... I'm not!" A meaty hand connected
      with Scott's jaw and his head snapped sideways. He
      let out a moan as the throbbing behind his eyes
      upgraded to a more piercing level of attack.

      "Don't you argue with me, boy! Don't you-" There
      were shouts coming from another part of the building,
      loud and frantic. "Shit!" the voice hissed. "Don't
      move a fucking muscle. I'm gonna be back and we're
      gonna finish this!"

      Scott waited until the footsteps ran out of range. He
      twisted his hips, the chair shifting to the right.
      //Yeah, that did a lot of good. Now you're facing a
      different direction. Very helpful.// Deciding that
      his only chance would be to break the chair, Scott
      took a deep breath and threw his weight backwards,
      knowing there was a greater chance of breaking his
      hands. Something snapped. Not the chair. A finger.
      Scott bit back a howl of pain and tried jerking his
      legs against the chair, tried leaning forward enough
      to lift his hands over the back of the seat. A red
      haze of pain settled over everything as he worked.

      The shouts were fewer, then gone. Scott cursed,
      assuming the man would be back to "finish," a word
      whose meaning was all too clear to Scott. He heard
      footsteps approaching and froze. He was dead anyway.
      No sense in struggling more, in making it worse.
      Maybe they'd just shoot him and be done with it.
      Instead he felt the chair being lifted upright again,
      hands brushing against his as the rope was untied.

      "You okay?" a new voice asked calmly. It was a
      cultured voice, so polished it almost sounded English.
      The hands were untying his feet.

      "My head-"

      "Yeah, I know. We're going to take care of that in
      just a minute. There we go," the voice said as the
      last rope fell to the floor. "I'm going to take off
      this blindfold, but don't open your eyes until I say
      so, alright?"

      Scott nodded, feeling nauseous again. The pain and
      overdose of medication were threatening to take his
      focus away again. The blindfold was tugged away
      gently and Scott felt something slide onto his face.
      Glasses. //Why the hell do I need glasses?// "I
      don't wear glasses," he pointed out, voice sounding
      sluggish, words slurring slightly.

      "Do now," the voice replied. "You can open them now."

      Scott complied, blinking a few times. Everything
      looked red. The shades ranged from pink to a
      near-black blood color, but it was all red. He felt
      the pressure behind his eyes ebbing and rolled his
      head from side to side before looking up at the man
      standing in front of him. He looked clean-cut,
      all-American. Pale hair that Scott assumed was blond,
      pale eyes. He wore a strange, tight uniform type
      thing that Scott would have doubled over laughing at
      if he hadn't been so doped up. //I'm having a
      hallucination.// Then it struck him what the white
      things peeking up over the man's shoulders were. "Am
      I dead?"

      The man smiled and laughed quietly. "No, you're not
      dead. My name's Angel-well, Warren. It's good to
      meet you, Cyclops."

      "Cy-My name's Scott!" he protested, standing on legs
      that obviously weren't ready for it. The index finger
      of his left hand screamed in protest at the motion.

      The man reached out, taking Scott's hand and looking
      at it. "Broken. But we can fix that up no problem.
      Scott, this is Charles Xavier," he said, gesturing to
      an older man in a wheel chair who Scott hadn't even
      noticed before.

      "Who are you? What the hell is going on?" Scott
      demanded, swaying slightly until Angel's hand landed
      on his shoulder.

      "As Angel said, I am Charles Xavier. Professor
      Charles Xavier. I run a school for people with...
      special abilities. Like yours, Scott," the man said,
      smiling benevolently. "Those glasses should keep your
      optic blasts in check until we come up with something
      that will allow you to control them."

      "Control...? Optic blasts? You mean-"

      "Yes, Scott. Those men were right about one thing.
      You are a mutant."

      Scott sank back into the chair. "I know," he said,
      shoulders sagging.

      "It isn't a curse. It is a gift. A gift you will
      learn to use, hopefully to help others as Angel has
      just helped you." Xavier smiled again, wheeling
      closer and reaching out to pat Scott's hand. "You
      have a grand adventure ahead of you, Scott."

      Scott looked up, meeting the man's gaze. There was
      something there, something that whispered, "I know
      you." He took a deep breath and nodded, finally
      returning the smile. "Where do I sign up?"

      Xavier nodded his approval. "You already have."

      THE END

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