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Fic: "That´s Not Me" R (1/ 1) [Scott, (Logan)]

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  • neh@post10.tele.dk
    Hi all, Okay, I tried to make this story look more readable since my mail loves to ruin my stories. Hope it worked. You can also read this story on my webpage
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 6, 2001
      Hi all,

      Okay, I tried to make this story look more readable since my mail loves to ruin my stories. Hope it worked.

      You can also read this story on my webpage here:

      This story is based on the movie.
      Warnings: Mention of drugs, violence etc
      Note: As noted below this story futures a light Scott/Logan pairing ( in other words; slash). Don’t read any further if that’s not your thing.
      [ for comic fans: I know Corsair isn’t like this. Bear with me, please. This isn’t comic!]

      Thanks to Mo for everything.

      Feedback is welcome and loved at


      That’s Not Me By Nadja Lee 4/8-01

      English is not my native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.

      Disclaimer: “X-men” and all the characters here belong to Marvel , 20 Century Fox and I intend no infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I make no money of it.

      Only the original idea contained within this work is the property of the author. Please do not copy this story to any website or archive without permission of the author.

      Timeline: Set in the movie universe. By the end of the movie.

      Universe: Set in movie universe.

      Romance: Scott/Logan implied

      Summary: Scott thinks about his life and his attraction to Logan

      Archiving: Want, ASK, take, have.

      Feedback: Yes, please. My e-mail address is neh@....

      Rating: R

      Thanks to Mo for the Beta. You’re the best!

      Sequel/series: Probably not.

      *mmmm * is telepathically thoughts spoken in the mind. “ mmmmm ” is spoken out loud.

      Part 1:

      There he goes, right past where I sit and out the door.

      The angry thought;
      “ He didn’t even say goodbye,”

      enters my mind before I can stop it.

      I shake my head. Why would he say farewell to me?

      I watch as Rogue stops him and they talk.

      My eyes are fixed on him though I try to turn away;
      admire his long legs, a wonderful ass, great chest...Stop!

      What the fuck am I doing? My face blushes almost as red as my shades.

      Have I lost my mind? I can’t sit here and...want a man like that!

      I just can’t.
      That’s not me!

      My eyes find Jean’s but she looks at the TV.

      She is my girlfriend, I...I try to love her. I want to
      love her. I...do not love her. Why? I don’t know. Well, maybe I do. I’m
      rarely this honest with myself, it only brings me a lot of grief and
      questions I can’t and won’t go find the answers to. I don’t look back for
      there is nothing to look back at. I don’t want to remember, I push it
      away, I try to forget. But I can’t. I can’t forget.

      I remember a morning when I was 10. Mom was making
      breakfast and Dad was half reading his paper. Then suddenly he said;

      “ They want me to fly with Richardson. Can you
      believe that?! How in the world they ever let him join the Air Force is
      beyond me.”

      His tone was angry.

      Mom looked over at me as if it is something I
      shouldn’t know.
      “ Chris, I don’t think...” she began in her soft voice
      but he interrupted her.

      “ How can they even let him fly? I mean, what should I
      call him? Him....her? It? I tell you, it is not natural for two
      men to be together. Hell, they aren’t even men,” he was warming up to a
      full blown speech on what was to be only one of many on the subject.
      “ It is against the will of God,” Mom agreed, crossing
      herself as if from a great evil. “ They’ll go straight
      to Hell, they will!

      “ Having them in the Military is more of a disgrace
      than letting women in,” Dad said when his eyes suddenly caught the clock
      and he had to run off.

      I didn’t have a bad childhood, not at all. Dad could
      be well, he was often away and when he was home he was determined
      to “make a man” out of me. I remember lying in my bed at night after I
      had been sent to my room after punishment for something or another. Mom
      would sneak up with food to me if I had been sent away before dinner.

      She´d then proceed to tell me about how important it was that I did as Dad said, that
      God wanted all children to be obedient. Mom was very into religion,
      going to church with me for all the years I lived at home. I worked hard in school, I so
      wanted to make father proud. Though no matter how hard I worked he never
      seemed quite satisfied.

      It was in High School it started. I began to take more
      notice of the boys in my class than the girls. I began to have
      dreams and fantasies I even now don’t dare to say out loud. I began to feel
      isolated and alone, wrong and...guilty. I was sure God would punish me for
      my thoughts. I
      tried to forget what I thought, what I dreamt. I
      joined the Football team, became Captain, I dated girls, I put a lot of
      energy into my school work. I did all the “normal” things yet no matter what
      I did, at night my thoughts always returned to the same thing, to the
      same place and I wanted to scream to make those thoughts go away.

      Not long after I began to have great headaches and I was relieved
      to have something to concentrate on other than thoughts which I was sure
      would earn me a place in Hell as my mother had said. Then it happened; my prom
      dance turned into a nightmare even worse than the girl I had dragged with

      My headache went from a great pain to pure agony and I ran to the
      bathroom. I fell to the floor from the pain and when I opened my eyes
      again red energy escaped them. It took a few seconds for me to close my
      eyes again; it was as if everything was happening in a haze. Suddenly
      there were cops and ambulances all over the school. 5 people, cops, found
      me on the floor of the bathroom, my eyes tightly closed, tears forcing
      their way out though the closed lids. They began to hit and kick me,
      I tried to roll away from them. They yelled insults at me I didn’t
      understand, all happening in a haze of confusion and pain.

      What exactly happened that fateful night is still unclear to me. The next I knew I woke
      up on a small bed. My body hurt all over and I felt a wetness, probably
      blood, on my lip as I ran my hand over it. Before I had time to think I
      instinctually tried to open my eyes but couldn’t. Some kind of tape
      was put on them and as I felt my way I felt a metal ring over my eyes all
      the way around my head.

      Fear ran through me and I curled up in the corner of
      the bed, hugging my legs under me. I tried to listen for sounds I knew, Mom or
      Dad’s voice but only strange sounds of doors and locks
      met me. I felt my way around the bed and felt metal bars next to it; I
      had to be in a prison cell.

      I tried to contain my tears, my father’s “boys don’t cry”
      running through my head but I couldn’t. Tears forced
      their way through the metal band and down my cheeks. Maybe this is my
      punishment, I thought.
      For my dreams, my thoughts...

      It felt like I have been sitting there, feeling all
      alone and very miserable in the cell for days when finally I heard my
      parents´ voices. What happened next I’ll never forget no matter how hard I

      “ Mom?” I ask softly, quickly wiping away my tears so
      Dad shall not see them.

      “ Is this your son?” a stranger’s voice asks.

      “ He destroyed the School?” Dad’s voice, cold and hard.

      “ My darling boy,” Mom’s soft, whispered voice.

      “ I’m so sorry,” I try to contain my tears but they’re
      clear in my voice anyway.

      “ He destroyed the school, 34 were wounded and 4
      killed,” the stranger’s voice again, probably a cop.

      “ Killed?” I ask shocked. Had I killed someone? Good
      God...what had I done? What kind of monster was I?

      “ So, is he your son?” the stranger again but I barely
      notice. Suddenly I feel a hand touch me and I flick away.

      “ It is I,” Mom whispers, soft and sad. I take her
      hand and hold it, sitting myself as close to the bars as I can. She hugs
      me through the bars.
      “ Oh, my dear son. May God have mercy on your soul,”
      she must be crying, I can hear it in her voice.

      “ No. He isn’t my son. Not anymore,” Dad’s cold voice
      say and I feel like I have died. What is he saying? What is he

      “ Chris,” Mom’s voice, pleading.

      “ Come on, Ann,” Dad again. Suddenly Mom’s warm arms
      are pulled back and never have I felt so cold and alone.

      “ Mom! Mom, come back,” I yell, tears running down my

      “ I love you, son. Be strong. And may God be with you.
      Always,” Mom’s last words as she disappears. The words;

      “ May God be with you because I can’t” hangs unspoken in the air between us.

      “ MOM!” I scream. I hear a door close and only silence
      answers me.

      “ Mom,” I whisper and cry. Never have I cried
      so much.

      I must have fallen asleep for next I wake I hear new voices.

      “ Is this him?” someone asks.

      “ Yes.” Another voice. The sound of a key being turned
      in the lock. I pull back into the corner.

      “ Who are you? What do you want?” I ask, trying to
      make my voice sound tough but it sounds like I’m about to break down which
      I also am. Someone takes my arms and forces me off the bed and
      onto the floor.
      “ No. Let me go,” I try to kick out after them but as
      I can’t see them I don’t have much success. My hands are forced behind
      my back and cuffed together. Only now do I realise that
      the people around me must be cops which would make me...a criminal?!

      I’m led to a car and put into the back. They left me! Mom and Dad abandoned me.
      It is all I can think off. Sure, I had heard Mom and Dad talk about
      mutants. Mutants were the others, something which might happen to the
      neighbor´s children but never yours. Mutants; freak of nature, the Devil’s
      children. All Dad and Mom’s words come rushing back as I finally know; I
      am a mutant; a freak. My punishment I think. For my impure thoughts
      on the inside; I am now as impure on the outside.

      In my misery I don’t feel the energy from
      my eyes which I instinctively try to open all the time having finally
      become so great that it overcomes the tape and the metal. The red energy
      leaves my eyes and cuts the car right in two. The car
      stops at once and I quickly close my eyes. Oh, no. I did it again. I’m
      cursed. For what feels like forever I just sit still hoping it’ll all
      go away until I force myself to move. As I move the rest of the metal
      band falls off my head.

      “ Are...are you alright?” I ask. When my eyes were open I had seen 2 men:
      one chauffeur and one passenger. No answer. Keeping my
      eyes tightly closed I finally find my way out of the car. I feel my
      way to the front seat.

      “ Are you alright?” I ask again as I try to feel on the man.
      My hands finds his face and I quickly withdraw
      my hand but when he says nothing I feel his face again.

      His cheek, his nose, his cheek...God! Wetness on my fingers...Shaking I pull back.

      Half a face. He has only half a face. My beam must have been so wide that it cut even
      the two men in half; half a face. God. I turn around and promptly
      throws up what little I have left in my stomach. After what feels like a
      long time I get myself pulled so much together that I wonder what to
      do. Run, just run. On shaky legs I begin to leave the car behind. I walk
      slowly and go to the side of the road so I can feel the grass that
      grows next to the road so I know I’m not walking in the middle of the road. I
      don’t know which way I’m walking, I just walk. My thoughts are confused
      and conflicted. I cry with no thoughts in my head. Every time I think
      about what happened I want to scream, to hit something, to
      cry...it all gets so confusing so I clear my head of all thoughts,
      forbidding them to enter.

      I walk what feels like forever; traffic gets heavier and I
      must be nearing a town. I have no idea if it’s night or day but finally
      I must be in town. I smell food and I realise that I haven’t eaten since
      the prom...last night. Two days ago I was Football captain, getting
      high scores in tests, going towards University and now...Now,
      I’m homeless, alone, abandoned...lost. I remember I had some cash in
      my pocket in these pants and I search for it but do not find
      it. The cops must have taken it.

      My ribs really begin to hurt after the long walk due
      to the cops´ mistreatment and I need to sit down. I must look very
      funny as I sit next to a wall in my tuxedo borrowed for the prom. I
      sit and try to catch my breath as I hear the sound of coins falling. I
      eagerly search the ground in front of me and find some 6 coins. I try to
      figure out how much it is by their size but it is hard. Maybe a dollar, max.

      Someone must have thought I was begging. The thought leaves me
      cold. I need to eat, I want somewhere to sleep...I have to beg for food.
      I can’t seek help; I must be wanted for what happened at the prom....just
      the thought of the prom and I feel like crying. I can’t cope with
      that now so again I force myself not to think about my past. Instead I
      stretch out my hands.

      “ Please? Money for a blind boy?” I force out, need
      suppressing pride.
      After a while I realise that it isn’t so hard to
      beg when you can’t look people in the eyes. I must have been sitting
      there for quite a while until someone blocks the light I feel on my face
      from a streetlamp.

      “ What are you doing here, punk?” someone asks and I
      quickly hide my money in my pocket and turn my head in the direction
      of the sound, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

      “ I...I,” I don’t know what to do or say. Suddenly I
      realise just how helpless I am.

      “ Leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s blind?” A strong
      voice breaks through and I feel relieved.

      That was how I came to live with the Warriors, a band
      of 10 ,including me: young boys and girls living on the streets.
      The others looked after me; they helped me to and from the place where I
      begged and helped me buy food for my money, they made sure I wasn’t
      conned and for 3 years they were all I had.

      I tried my luck at stealing but it didn’t go very
      well and Mario Lopez, our leader, had to get me out of
      a tight spot. Some of the others did drugs, but we had to get money for
      our own stuff and I never had a lot of money so I never could afford
      more than a little pot now and then. I did try sniffing glue a couple of
      times; it was cheaper and it killed the ever-present hunger.

      Some of the others told me
      that they made big money just by giving a blowjob or
      having sex with someone. I resented it for a long time; it went
      against everything I thought about myself and had been raised to think was
      right. But in the end I gave it a try.

      Michael, a boy in our group who did it often, set me
      up with some guy. It should be quick and easy; just a
      blowjob; how hard could it be? Real hard because I couldn’t get myself
      to do it. Earned myself one of the worst beatings in my life which gave
      me no sympathy from the gang. Not even from Marie who nursed me
      back to health for the some 3 weeks it took for me to be able to take care of
      myself again for just the most basic things. The others
      called me a fool for saying no to the job but I felt proud; a beating was...well, manly.
      It wasn’t as humiliating as selling sex.

      I remember talking with Marie about it and
      she got mad at me; asking if I thought it wasn’t just as
      humiliating for her to sell herself as it was for a man? I said it
      wasn’t the same and she almost took my head off with her knife. Now I know
      she was right, then I didn’t dare analyze myself or my actions. Mostly I still
      don’t but now...I know I was afraid that somehow, somewhere
      deep in my mind I’ll like being with a man and I felt disgusted and

      I went back to begging and one day a man passed me I
      was sure was my father; I recognised his voice. It wasn’t unlikely as
      I knew I was just in the next town. I reached out for
      him and called to him but he walked on, not even a coin did he leave behind. I
      remember his words as if it was yesterday it happened;

      “ Dad? Dad, is it you? It’s me…………Scott,” I said and reached out my hands in his direction.

      “ Do you know him?” a stranger’s voice asked.

      “ No. I have no children. My son is dead,” my father’s voice, cold and
      hard but maybe with a hint of sadness as he walked
      away. I was so sad when Brian helped me back that I drank all my money I had
      saved away up in one night; cursing Dad, cursing the world to Hell and
      crying. But life went on and I was back to begging.

      That was how I met Charles. He
      offered me food and I went with him though I knew the
      dangers but I was too hungry to care. I went with Charles to his home, got
      fed, washed and cleaned up. He offered to let me stay; I quickly agreed as I
      had nowhere else to go. He gave me my red shades and for the first time
      in over 3 years I could see again even if just shades of red.

      The first thing I did was to drive out to see my old gang again and invite them
      back with me. I
      got them all to come with me to Xavier’s. Now, 8 years
      after I went to live with Xavier only three of my old gang members
      are still alive. As Jean says when I have a difficult student;

      “ You can force a horse to water but can´t make him drink.”

      Two accidentally took an overdose, three killed
      themselves and one disappeared, and though I searched for her I never
      found her again. The life we lived on the streets had marked us all and them
      more than me for I lived there for some 3 years; some of the other
      Warriors had lived on the streets almost all their lives.

      I tried to fit into Xavier’s fine school. I finished
      my High School, I took classes at college and tried
      to get used to not feeling my way around
      now that I wasn’t blind anymore and not hiding food
      from the table as I did for a long time after I went to Xavier’s in fear
      there wouldn’t be any food the next day.

      I became a teacher at the school and began to
      date Jean, more out of gratitude as she had been the one to help cure my
      addiction to drugs, mostly glue, that I hadn’t known I had,

      my anorexia, my anxiety attacks and held me when I
      awoke screaming in the night. I never told her about my past because I never thought
      about it but she always seemed to understand.

      I couldn’t promise her nearness, not even love; I had been through too much to be able to love
      or open up again and still she understood. She said she did not need
      all that anyway; just security and someone who’ll always be there. That I
      could give her. Till this day I still do not know herdemons nor she mine and frankly I
      prefer it like that.

      Then Logan showed up and destroyed everything. He made
      me remember, he made me feel again; he made me dream and think again.
      Logically I know there is nothing wrong with being gay; I know this. It
      isn’t something you can control...but I can’t be gay! I keep
      hearing my mother’s voice in my head that “people like that” are
      the Devil’s children and my Dad that it is unnatural and wrong; not even people
      but...its. Everything is suddenly so confusing and I feel like screaming in
      a desperate attempt to drown those damn voices in
      my head. I don’t want to think or feel. That is why I have Cyclops; he does none of
      those things and even better; he has NO past.

      I watch as Logan gives Rogue his dog tags and walk out
      the door. I wonder what he’ll think when he sees that I left the
      keys in my motorcycle and when he reads my letter for him. It is a short
      letter, it simply says;

      “ Good luck,

      I hear my motorcycle speed away and smile before I can
      help it. Maybe it means something that he took the motorcycle. The
      thought of pleasure is quickly crushed by the voices in my head;

      “ This is WRONG!”

      “ You are wrong.”

      “ Unnatural.”

      “ Freak.”

      “ Blasphemer."

      I put my hands over my ears and want to scream to stop the voices; to
      stop thinking.

      “ You alright?” Jean asks, light concern in her voice.

      “ Yes,” I say and run to the safety of the
      kitchen. I look out on the road leaving the Mansion.

      He is gone. Logan is gone. It is for the better. He doesn’t even like me. I can’t feel like
      this. It is better he is gone. It’ll make everything much easier. I can’t
      lust after another man, I can’t want to touch him, feel him like I do. It
      is just wrong.
      It is NOT me.

      It is not.

      An image of Logan fills my mind and a warmth spreads through my entire body.

      *Stop it!* I sternly tell myself.
      That is NOT me.

      It can’t be me. I’m not like that.

      I’m NOT gay.

      That’s not me.

      Is it?

      The End


      Scott ( thoughts): "Ronald Reagan once said that a great leader is simply an average man who surrounds himself with the best. That´s why I NEVER vote republican!" - from "Cyclops mini 1"
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