Title: Father Figure No More

Author: Jemisard

 

 Professor Charles Xavier, more commonly known as Professor X, sat behind his desk, a glazed look over his face.

He was thinking. What about, he wasn't sure, or rather, he couldn't admit. He would rather die than admit what he was thinking, to himself or to others.

Charles Xavier was thinking about his son.

His son, Scott Summers, who he was watching out of the window. Not his real son, not even his adopted or foster son.

Just the boy that he had brought up from the age of fifteen, raised as a mutant, held at night when he had woken from nightmares so horrible he was yet to speak of them. The boy he had tutored, protected, and made his heir.

His son in so many ways.

That was why, what he was thinking now, was wrong, and he couldn't let himself think that way. Not now, not ever.

He forced his gaze from the window and turned back to his work. The last report from Jean sat on his desk, the updated medical files of everyone who lived in the mansion. Who had what, who needed what treatments.

As always, he sorted through them, approving treatment, signing for medical costs, supporting suggestions of upgrades that were needed.

Finally, he opened the last folder, the thickest. 'S. Summers' was written neatly on the side, dated and marked as entry on the tenth day of October, 1990. Born on the seventeenth of January in 1975, mutation manifested sometime in May of 1988.

Brain damaged on the 12 of November, in 1985.

Charles opened the folder and checked the report. Life signs, normal, slightly elevated blood pressure, probably caused by stress. Brain damage, still at twelve percent of brain capacity.

Charles closed the folder and looked outside again. So, the treatment hadn't worked. They's been assaulting his body with specially manufactured drugs in the hope it may help repair the damage. It caused illness, nausea, weight loss, temporary loss of sight and extreme cramping, but Scott had happy to try it when Charles had told him that it might help him.

How could was he going to tell him that, three months, there were still no signs of change?

He watched his boy, his Scott, playing basketball with some of the students. He was taller, but it seemed that they had increased the size of the team he was playing against to 'even things up'.

He smiled sadly as Bobby Drake tried to grab the ball and fell over as he crashed head first into Jubilation Lee and then through Kitty Pryde.

Scott threw the ball over them to Johnny Storm, who slammed it through the ring.

He focused on the gentle mind of his almost son. Scott? I need to speak with you.

Scott stiffened and nodded, handing the ball to Bobby, before heading inside.

Charles sighed. It seemed so unfair, that some people got the short end of life. He knew many people, but none of them had suffered the same pain as Scott, for so long.

A quiet knock drew him out of his reverie. "Come in, Scott."

Scott came and waited at the desk for Charles to speak. His apprehension flowed over Charles' sensitive mind, despite the barriers that were up on both sides. Scott coughed. "It hasn't worked, has it."

There was no questioning tone, no sadness, no tone. Just a simple statement of the facts.

Charles nodded. "I'm so sorry, Scott. There's no change in the damage. All the suffering was for nothing."

Scott shook his head. "Not for nothing. We have eliminated another possibility, that might take us a bit closer to the actual cure."

Charles closed his eyes, the anger and pain that weren't in the voice were in the thoughts. No, it wasn't fair, he hadn't done anything to deserve what he got.

"It's okay to be angry, Scott. You have suffered a lot lately, and no you find out it was for nothing."

"It can't be for nothing. There was some good in it. The medical evidence can be used to help others." There was a slightly anguished tone in his voice now.

Charles guided his chair over to the couch and patted the soft material. Scott sat down, back still straight, and Charles could feel the ghost of cramping along his protege's spine. "Lay down, Scott. You're in pain."

Scott smiled, small and tight, but it was a smile. He didn't smile often, but each time he did, it made all the difference to Charles. He stretched out on his stomach on the couch, head cushioned on his arms.

Charles slowly worked his hands into the seizing muscles, easing out the pain with his mind as well as his hands.

The thoughts were back, the ones that his treacherous mind and body refused to forget. He ran his hands along the muscled back, feeling the curves that were so strong and so masculine now, compared to the boy he had been when he had first done this, to try and ease away the pain of too long in the training room against instructions to leave an hour earlier.

"Why do you drive yourself so hard, Scott? You don't need to prove yourself, not to the students, not to me."

"I feel like I need to prove myself. I'm so aware of the brain damage, of the burning in my eyes, the headaches, the danger, that I can't not prove myself to you."

Charles shook his head and stroked the brown hair. "Scott, I love you, you know that. Your disability doesn't matter to me."

"I know. You're the only person who knows what it's like. Weren't you the same though? Trying to prove that though you were disabled, you weren't any different?"

Charles thought about it. "Yes, I suppose I was. You can't understand if you haven't been there."

Scott nodded his agreement. "Has it really been for nothing? Everything that we do, will we ever make a real difference? Can we know if we'll ever make a difference?"

Charles paused. "What do you want me to tell you?"

Scott turned and looked up at him with those shaded eyes. "I don't know."

"We are making a difference, though we might not all live to see it. We can't know it, except when we manage to make one more person stop and think about the way the see themselves."

"I hate everyone telling me how to cope with my feelings of, helplessness, inadequacy. I never feel like I'm enough of a person to make anyone happy. Least of all someone like Jean, or you."

"Me?" Charles slipped his hand under the angular jaw. "Why me, Scott?"

"Because, you have all these amazing talents, that more than make up for the fact that you can't walk. I have crappy optic blasts that I can't control, a severe calculation problem because of the brain damage and a body that is just on this side of normal, though usually quite normal."

"Oh, Scott, don't say things like that." He opened the link they shared, had shared since Scott was a child, and let his love flood over it. "I know that you and Jean didn't work out, and that you must be so disappointed that the treatment hasn't helped. I know, I've been there. They tried to give me back my legs once, all they did was destroy most of the feeling I had left. My relationship ended shortly after that, it was the final straw."

"You and Magneto."

"Yes, me and Erik Magnus Lensherr." He resumed stroking the soft hair back from Scott's taut face. "But you must never, never feel like you aren't enough for us. For me. You might not be perfect, but none of us are. You're kind, decent, honest, loving and loyal, rare qualities now a days. You have an amazing will to fight and keep going even though the world did give you a bad start." He sent another wave of love to his protege, while repressing his other feelings.

Scott rolled over onto his back and looked up at his mentor's face. "What are thinking about, Charles? I can feel your distress."

Charles mentally kicked himself for worrying Scott with his own problems. "It's nothing, Scott. Don't worry about my thoughts."

Scott sat up. "Charles, I do worry about you. I love you, you know that."

Charles smiled sadly again. He'd love to hear those words with the meaning he wanted behind them. "I love you as well, Scott."

"You've been the only person who was always there for me. You looked after me when no one else would, listened to what I had to say, tried to keep away my demons. I can't ever thank you enough for that, let alone everything you've done for me since I turned eighteen."

"Scott, think nothing of it. How could I not help you?"

"How could you? I was a dangerous, feral mutant with no control, a bad temper and too much attitude. I've seen you let go of students before, why not me?"

"I couldn't. You had come to mean too much in that time. You'll always be special to me."

Scott leant forwards and wrapped his arms around Charles in an unexpected display of affection. Scott never hugged anyone, it was rare enough for him to smile, let alone be openly loving. You needed to be a telepath to understand the withdrawn young man, who was scared of the world that had hurt him. "Thank you, Charles. For everything."

"No need to thank me."

"I want to. I don't say it enough. I have troubles, expressing what I feel. Thank you for being so patient, for forcing me to come out of my shell sometimes."

Charles gave in to the temptation of brushing his lips across Scott's temple. "I am more than happy that I did."

He leant forwards to kiss the other temple, but Scott twisted at the last moment, so their mouths met instead. It was relatively chaste, but a spark flew between them. Charles pulled back. Why did you do that?

I, I'm sorry. I thought you wanted, never mind. Scott leapt off the couch and headed for the door.

Scott! I'm not upset, I, you took me by surprise, that's all.

Scott turned back. That's all?

Yes, I promise. Come back over here.

Scott sat down, hands tightly clenched in his lap. Charles took them and prised them apart. Stop gritting your teeth so hard, you'll hurt your jaw.

A small chuckle. Always worrying about me, aren't you, Charles?

Someone has to be. It was an old joke between them, when Charles stopped Scott from cutting his wrists the first time. It was only the fact that he hadn't eaten for two days, consequently slowing his pulse, that saved his life. Charles took a deep breath at the memory. You worry me at times, Scott. Your repression is dangerous.

I know. I'm working on it, but I've only ever felt comfortable with you. Not even with Jean did I really feel safe and understood.

Charles wasn't sure on the angle this was taking, until Scott kissed him again, easing his tongue into the older man's mouth. Charles responded, until he remember who he was kissing. I'm sorry Scott, this is wrong.

"Why? Why is it wrong, Charles? I love you, do you know how hard it is for me to tell you that? I've been working up the courage for weeks, even months. You are the only person I feel loved with, understood by. You. Only you."

You're like my son. I raised you.

"And you didn't see me as a child to be raised, you treated me like a young man. You were a father figure to me Charles, but no more."

I'm old enough to be your father.

"Didn't you tell me that all that mattered was that you were loved? So what, you're older than me. I don't care, and if any one else does, that their problem, not ours. You taught me that? Don't you dare go back on it now."

Charles paused. "Scott, I don't know what to say."

"Do you love me? Do you want me with you, do you understand the pain I live through every day and the feelings that try to tear me apart? Do you get that I need you to keep me sane, and grounded, and stop me from retreating from the world again?"

Yes. I understand that. Do you understand that you mean more to me than anything else, than anyone else? That I would kill to protect you, that if anything happened to you, it would destroy me?

Scott nodded. "I understand all that." He leant forwards and kissed Charles, who responded this time.

I think I just leant a bit more about you, Scott.

How so? Scott was used to their telepathic link, and used it to his advantage, flooding it with the feelings he felt. Charles gasped slightly at the intensity of emotions flooding him.

I always thought that you still saw me as a father figure.

I thought I was just your son to you. And believe me, you are a father figure no more.

Charles smiled and leant in for another tender kiss. Maybe those thoughts he'd been entertaining weren't so bad after all.

The End