CALL ME

Author: Meridian TrinityVixen@aol.com 
Rating: PG-13
Main Characters: Scott, Jean, Logan
Continuity/Series: A part of the "Brotherly Love" series; takes place just after "Brotherly Love: Conclusions." If you haven't read the "Brotherly Love" series, this might be a might confusing, especially since I turned the comic history on end to create my own background for certain characters being used here.
Disclaimer: I don't own any character you recognize. The folks who do own them would be Marvel, Inc., 20th Century Fox, um, Stan "the Man" Lee, and I think that's it. I can't possibly profit off of this, so I'm not even trying. Suing would be pointless as I have no money, so let's not try, okay?
Notes: No, the title is not taken from the Blondie song of the same name. This song was actually inspired by the song "Call Me, Call Me" by a group called the Seatbelts. This story is not a songfic, but the lyrics are posted at the end for your enjoyment, regardless. I *highly* recommend listening to this song. If anyone would like me to send it to them, I'd be glad to e-mail it.
 
RINNNNNGGGGG
"Is somebody going to get that?" Scott had no idea who would hear him out in the garage, but he assumed someone inside was already reaching for the phone. Shouting was simply a means to vent some frustration. Whoever was on the line was persistent; he had counted the rings the second time they had called. Had he not been on his back with his hands deep in the guts of his motorcycle, he would have answered it before it rang for the third time. Scott sighed, wiping his hands on a rag and slid himself out from under the bike to glare at the phone.
*No one would miss it if I just zapped it.*
The thought was entirely too enticing, so he shrugged and turned back to fiddle with his motorcycle. The telephone stopped its repeated rings for a full minute before the caller tried yet again to reach the mansion. Frustrated beyond expression, Scott stood and reached up and over the workbench to pull the receiver to his ear.
"Hello, Xavier Institute, can I help you?" He spoke into the mouthpiece, hiding his sighs under the official-sounding greeting. A woman on the other line cleared her throat before speaking.
"Hello? I'm looking for my son, Alex?"
Scott dropped the phone. The clatter of plastic against the concrete floor of the garage momentarily deafened him. His actions had not been intentional; true shock had caused him to drop the phone and recoil slightly. A full ten seconds later, he reached for the receiver. The voice on the other end was still spouting off frantic questions.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
"No, I'm sorry, you have the wrong number," Scott mumbled and promptly hung up.
 
If it rang one more time, Jean was going to use her telekinesis to put the phone into orbit. What was everyone else doing that they could not stop and answer the damn thing? She racked her brain for excuses. Ororo, she knew, had taken the kids out for a picnic and then to the mall. Logan could be any number of places and none of them, she assumed, would be in the house if he intended to smoke. The Professor could be using Cerebro to upload his weekly logs, but where was Scott? Her work demanded too much concentration for her to even search him out psychically.
*Merciful God,* Jean thought, relieved as the phone was halted mid-ring. Without the distraction, she managed to concentrate more fully on the tests she was running on the blood she had taken from their newest student. It would take at least another hour for her to be sure all the child's vaccinations were up to date. Children abandoned or driven out of their homes rarely had the luxury of routine medical care, so she was doubly careful with analysis.
RINNNNNGGGGG
"Good God, am I the only one who answers the phone any more?" She threw her hands up in defeat, pushed away from her lab table and peeled off one latex glove to reach for the phone.
"Xavier Institute, how may I help you?" Jean listened to the caller suck in a quick breath. She sighed inwardly at the hesitation. It was bad enough she had to be interrupted, but the caller need not take his time about it.
"Yes, hello, I'm looking for Alex Summers."
"And you are?" Jean held all suspicion from her voice.
"His father. My wife tried to call a minute ago, and someone said she had a wrong number."
[[   Scott...   ]]
Jean frowned as she sent a telepathic chiding to her lover. Despite herself, she had to smile as he shrugged in response and returned to his work in the garage.
[[   You need to grow up.   ]]
His response to that was a telepathic raspberry. On the edge of the playful, mischievous answer was a note of hurt. Instead of berating him any further, Jean merely returned to the phone.
"There is no Alex Summers here."
She placed the phone back on the wall while the voice on the other end sputtered protests.
*If Scott wants to play games, he can take the responsibility.*
 
RINNNNNGGGGG
His ears hurt after the first ten rings, and by the last set, Logan was ready to chop them off for the sake of peace. No one seemed to understand that his sensitive hearing still applied over long distances. The irritatingly high setting on the ringer was such that he was not even safe outside on the porch.
*It's getting to be so's a guy can't even get a smoke peacefully.*
Extinguishing the butt of his cigar, Logan prowled inside the mansion. Just as he reached for the phone, it stopped ringing. Blissfully free from torture, Logan debated returning to his perch outside for another one of his few remaining Cubans. He had half-decided on doing just that when the phone picked up its dreadful, plaintive cry. Stalking back over to the phone, he grabbed up the receiver.
"What d'ya want?" His gruff barking obviously startled the person on the other end.
"Is this Xavier's school?"
"Yeah."
"My wife and I are looking to speak with our son, and no one will talk to us. We know he's there. The woman last time said his last name. I didn't tell her my last name, so she obviously must know him. I demand to speak with him at once," the voice droned on indignantly. Logan rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the whiney attempt at fury in the other man's voice.
"What's the kid's name, bub?"
"Alex, Alex Summers. I know he's there, she said..."
Logan knew that the man had more to say; fact of the matter was he just did not care. Carelessly, he tossed the phone back against its hook and turned on his heel, thinking only of the cigars under his bed. When the phone once more took up its wailing cry, he about-faced and in one movement slashed downwards until his claws severed the thing into two pieces.
*Chuck's gonna be mad, but I'll be damned if I'm getting my dogs into that one.*
Logan shrugged. If that was how Jean wanted to play things, he would let her face the Professor.
 
 
*I cannot believe this.*
For the nth time, Scott found himself reaching to tilt his glasses down far enough on his nose so he could take out the phone. After a minute of serious debate, he reached for the phone with unsteady hands.
"Hello, Xavier Institute."
"Listen to me. I am looking for Alex Summers. You are going to put my son on the line this instant or I will alert the authorities!" The anger in the voice was tangible. Scott felt resistant fury grow in his heart, a hot, thick anger that scabbed over the hurt. It was, after all, his father, too, but the relation had long since been diluted by time and distance. Ten years and three thousand miles had a way of severing all close ties, especially when the parties involved had separated under strained circumstances.
"Alex isn't here right now, Mr. Summers," Scott stammered. If Jean could feel his fluttery turmoil, she was being quiet about it. "I'm sorry, I don't know when he'll be back."
Scott listened to his father sigh on the other end. In the background, he could faintly hear his mother asking a question. The words were blurred, but he heard real concern in them.
"Young man, I demand to know where my son is. My wife and I did not send him to your school to have you keep him from us. We were assured that we could call and contact him whenever we wanted. I demand an explanation."
"Your son is out at the moment, sir. He's at the mall, I believe. I can't give you any more details, I'm afraid." Scott might have been proud of his restraint had he not felt that such reserve was grossly unfair. Here was his own father, in what was their first conversation in more than a decade, yelling at him. Countless times, the desire to snap at his father, to lash out with the hurt of being forgotten, had to be quelled.
"Excuse me, sir?" Scott's breath caught in his throat at the plaintive tone in his mother's voice. He had managed to hang up on her polite call earlier, but now he knew he would not be so successful.
"Yes?"
"Can we leave a message for him, please?"
"Sure." *Idiot. Why'd you have to go and say that!?!* Scott mentally kicked himself.
"Tell him we love him."
"I...of course, Mrs. Summers," his tongue betrayed him. Each word warmed his blood with pain until it was scalding his heart. She was so honest, so direct that he could not refuse. All the while his mind was screaming about the injustice of life, asking the millions of 'why' and 'how come' questions.
*You never called for me. You never wrote to me. Why don't you care? Why is he so special? Why? How come you never visited? How come I was to blame for all the problems? Why?*
"Is he okay?"
"Huh?" Scott shook himself from the self-pity cycle when he realized his mother was still talking.
"Alex, I mean. Is he doing well? Can he come home soon?"
"I don't think so. It may take several years for him to control his gifts. Professor Xavier is the one to ask, ma'am," he said hurriedly, his mind trying to rush the words to give him a chance to interrogate his parents.
*So many questions to ask them.*
[[   Then ask, love. What's the worst that can happen?   ]]
Scott smiled at Jean's straightforwardness. She never avoided confrontations, not even the emotional kind. If it meant the difference between being rude or giving someone a false impression, Jean would usually opt to be rude. Though she disguised it well when in the political arena, Jean was essentially too thoroughly truthful.
[[   I don't know. Maybe they'll tell my why, that's what.   ]]
[[   Which is worse? Having a bad answer or _imagining_ one?   ]]
The telepathic buzz in his mind ended as Jean left him to ponder the question on his own.
"Hello, hello?"
"Yes?"
"I asked if Mr. Xavier was available."
"Oh, sorry. No, he's busy at the moment. Shall I have him call you back?"
"No," she answered hesitantly. Scott listened to her breathing on the other end of the line. Three time zones away, his mother was worried about one of her sons, worried enough to talk to the other in order to learn information about the favorite. The sound of her inhalations was distantly comforting; he recalled the sound from years ago, as his last memories of her had been entirely devoid of visual elements.
"Can...can you tell me about him? Please? I wouldn't ask, except...we miss him."
*Of course you do. Everyone misses the better child.* Scott felt Jean give him a telepathic kick and a scolding.
[[   You'll always be _my_ favorite Summers.   ]]
"Alex is...adjusting well. He's overcome some of his difficulties, but, as I said, he has a long way to go."
"Does he have friends? My son was always popular," his mother's pride cut deeper than her concern.
"At this point, no, not really." Scott took an undue amount of joy in telling her as much. Alex's history was a secret to most of the school, but his age and his lingering bigoted notions ostracized him from most of the other students.
"Well, do they know he's a hero? Do they? Hello?"
The phone rested a full two meters away from the base, the full length of its cord. In disgust, Scott had chucked it away. The incident with Rogue had only just exposed Alex's false heroism to the teachers and Xavier; while the students were none the wiser, at least some people were aware of the truth. A fortnight after the fact and he had almost forgotten that there were people who _didn't_ know.
*What about me? I helped save the world. Isn't that heroic?*
Reluctantly, Scott dragged the phone back by tugging on the cord. To his surprise, even without his response, his mother had begun to tell the whole story.
"He saved his big brother, and then this had to go and happen to him. His heart's in the right place, but we knew he needed help. And we thought that maybe Xavier could fix him better than our older boy. I guess there just wasn't much he could do for him." A full minute of weepy sniffles followed. Scott swallowed against a lump in his throat. Closing his eyes, he jammed his hands against them to stop them from tearing up.
"You can't fix mutants, Mrs. Summers. It's not a disease, it's not a broken bone. Mutations are as much a part of the mutant as the rest of their mind and body. We teach people how to control or, if control is not possible, to restrain their powers so they won't hurt anyone."
"But Alex can learn to stop it, right?"
"And if he doesn't want to? Perhaps he'll want to use his gifts to help others."
"My boy will have a normal life. That's why we sent him to you people."
"As opposed to my life?" Five seconds before he said it, Scott knew he would regret his words.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you saying mutants who use their gifts aren't normal? Are you saying that _I'm_ not normal?"
"No, no, I," she hesitated, stuttering as she tried to back out of her words. "That wasn't what I meant. Please, I didn't mean to imply..."
"Of course not. I will tell Alex you called. Goodbye, Mrs. Summers," Scott moved to drop the receiver back on the hook when it squawked horribly.
"Please! Please! Don't hang up!"
"What do you want?" The gruffness of his tone obviously scared her.
"Just tell me you'll tell him we love him. He's our _son_."
Finally, unrestrained tears spilled over Scott's long eyelashes. No amount of bandaging could prevent the salty droplets from falling. Hurt upon hurt upon hurt drove them down in a stream.
*It's not fair. It's not fair.*
"I'll tell him, Mom," Scott whispered. He dropped the receiver on the workbench near the base of the phone and started for the house. Jean, sensing and monitoring his distress, sent out psychic assurances and drew him onward. Halfway to her lab, Scott realized what he had called his mother.
 
"Catherine, for God's sake, what is it?" Christopher Summers stared at his wife with a deep frown forming on his lips. Part of his mind worried for her while the other part was fed up with her weepy behavior. She would not look at him as she gently cradled the phone in her hands. A minute later, she managed to place it gently back on the hook.
"Well? What did they say? Who were you talking to?" Chris broke off his frustrated attack when she finally turned red eyes in his direction. Despite the puffy eyes and the tracks from tears, Catherine Summers smiled.
"Our son."
"You talked to him? How is he doing?" Sadly, she turned away, aware of the misunderstanding but unwilling to correct it.
"He's doing good, honey," she murmured. Nodding, Christopher turned on his heels and strolled out of the room. Catherine sniffled, smiling as she stared out the window at the sky.
"I'm so very proud of him."
 
RINNNNNGGGGG
*God, as if we didn't have enough of this today,* Jean's thoughts were streaked with exhaustion. Beside her, Scott slept like the proverbial log. The day had been tough, she had to admit, and he deserved his rest Relaying the message he had received to Alex had taken some finagling. However, as he promised to make it up to her, Jean had cheerfully delivered it. She had just settled down to recover from Scott's 'reimbursement' for her trouble when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Who is this?"
"Who is this?" Jean listened to the female voice with some reserve. *If it's another one of Logan's girlfriends, I'm going to have him neutered.*
"Catherine Summers." Jean paused to glance down at Scott. He stirred in his sleep but did not waken.
"Mrs. Summers, it's late. Alex got your message. Can he call you back tomorrow?"
"I didn't call to speak to him."
"I don't think Professor Xavier is awake right now. It's," Jean glanced at the alarm clock over Scott's shoulder. "It's three am."
"I know, I'm sorry, but this couldn't wait. Could you please do me a favor?"
"I suppose," Jean trailed off. At this point, she would be willing to face the entire Brotherhood alone and in her underwear if it meant she would be able to get to sleep.
"Could you tell Scott I love him, please? Thank you"
The line went dead before Jean could say another word. Slowly, she placed the phone back and slid back under the bedspread next to her fiancé. As she nuzzled into his warmth, Jean opened wide their telepathic bond to forward him the message.
Even in his sleep, Scott smiled.
The End
 
"Call Me, Call Me" by The Seatbelts
    I close my eyes and I keep seeing things
    Rainbow waterfalls, sunny liquid dreams
    Confusion creeps inside me, raining down
    Got to get to you,
    But I don't know how
    Call me, call me
    Let me know it's all right
    Call me, call me
    Don't you think it's 'bout time?
    Please won't you call
    And ease my mind?
    Reasons...for me to find you
    Peace of mind
    What can I do
    To get me to you?
    I had your number quite some time ago
    Back when we were young, but I had to go
    Ten thousand years, it seems
    I've searched, and now
    Got to get to you
    Won't you tell me how?
    Call me, call me
    Let me know you are there
    Call me, call me
    I wanna know you still care
    Come on, now won't you
    Ease my mind?
    Reasons...for me to find you
    Peace of mind
    What can I do
    To get me to you?