Title: At First Glance
Author: Trah (just_trah@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Pairing/main characters: Cyclops/Wolverine
Series/Sequel: complete
Summary: Slash. Scott's in love and it ain't Jean...
Disclaimer: The X-Men don’t belong to me, don’t sue.
Archive/distribution: Oy... Lots of places... If you wanna archive it, email me first.
Warning: This is just a teensy bit slashy. Nothing rowdy, just thoughts.
Notes: I’m sorry if Scott seems out of character but remember: he’s a very versatile boy!
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At First Glance
By Trah
Scott was sitting uncomfortably in the silent rec room, not watching the movie that was playing at the moment. It was a stupid movie anyway. He shifted in his seat, slightly turning sideways to get a better look at the leather chair at the other side of the room. Why did he have to look? He knew who was sitting there. Why did he look? He couldn’t help it, that’s why. He had already turned; he might as well steal a look. He saw deep brown eyes scanning the page of some stupid book and dark hair, looking like it hasn’t been washed in a while. Logan looked up from his book and Scott turned away abruptly, his heart beating fast. He looked at Jean. She was beautiful too. Red hair, green eyes. Beautiful. When he was sure that Logan turned away he looked again. No one would notice if he just stared like that. No one did. Logan looked up again and this time, instead of panicking Scott simply pretended that he was looking at something else and then inched closer to Jean, just for effect, putting his arm on her shoulder.
Logan couldn’t believe what the little bastard was doing. Fine, he had Jean, that he could live with but Cyclops was really letting him know that tonight. He wouldn’t take it so he got up and walked out of the room, giving the boy an evil stare just for the hell of it.
Scott saw the look on Logan’s face when he left and winced slightly at the sight. He looked like any second he might reach out and gut him, right there in the rec room. Scott Summers sighed deeply, which got him a concerned look from Jean but he said nothing. He simply gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her he was going to sleep. It was only 10:00 pm but he felt extremely tired. He felt more exhausted than he ever had in his life.
The past few months have been hell. He didn’t know what was wrong but he was in pain. Maybe it was the fact that he was afraid of Logan, afraid of what might happen if he told him and afraid of what is bound to happen if he didn’t. He almost fell down as he made his way up the stairs, steadying his starved and sleep deprived body on the rail and pausing to get rid of the sudden disorienting pain in his head. He hadn’t eaten anything today. Or yesterday. He couldn’t remember whether he had eaten before that but he didn’t care. He was starving but he didn’t want to eat and the pain he felt soothed him and kept him awake. At first he slept too much and in an attempt to stop doing that he found himself sleeping gradually less and less until he would just lie there for the whole night with his arm habitually wrapped around Jean and his eyes moist with tears. Kind of like they were now.
Logan was sitting on his bed, fuming, thinking what he’s do to Scott if only he could get away with it. He hated him. He hated himself for hating him. It was petty hatred that got him nothing but pain. Why did he use the word hatred when he knew full well that it was jealousy? Scott had Jean and Logan had no one. That was why he hated him. He hated him so much.
A sob and then quiet. Logan heard the cry in the dark and listened for another. There it was! Where was it coming from? Logan stepped out of his room and walked down the hall until he reached Jean’s door. Damn!
Scott sat on the floor in his room, quietly studying his wrists through the ruby sunglasses. What should have been a dark red liquid was instead seen as a black and warm trickle coming from two deep gashes on each arm. It covered his hands and stained his clothes, causing him greater pain than he felt in a while but having a strange soothing effect as well. Why did he do it? How? All he remembered was a knife. He saw it on the floor. A Swiss Army knife, complete with all the little trinkets you never use. There was the one thing he did use. The sharp and shiny bloodstained blade that was folded in just a tiny bit. He remembered coming into his room and feeling restless. He tried to remember what had happened to him lately and times that were long gone played in his head.
He remembered being in pain and decided to take his mind off of it. How many times has his depression manifested itself physically? He was sick almost once a week for the past few months and even though the professor inquired him about it he refused to talk. To anyone. He told Jean that one of his childhood friends died recently but that was such a blatant half-assed lie that she didn’t even bother asking him which one or offering her consolations. She should have. She really should have, he could have used it. But she didn’t. She just didn’t.
He wasn’t confused or scared, just lonely and depressed. It was ironic that Logan was always the one wanting something he couldn’t have because of him. It was the best revenge of all, Scott mused and his gaze fell on the small knife lying on the desk – a Christmas present from Jean. He opened it and watched it steel blade spring to life and glimmer in the soft moonlight pouring in through the window. Logan would kill him if he ever said anything. He would kill him, plain and simple. Scott ran a finger over the blade and shuddered at how cold it was, how sharp. He pressed it to the skin on the back of his hand and slid it across, creating a long surface cut. He cringed in pain but the small and perfect droplets of dark liquid fascinated him. What about him and Logan? That wasn’t love. What he had with Jean was love. What he had with Jean was what he wanted with Logan, was what he could never have with him for any number of reasons. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go on like this, sitting in the darkness night after night, unable to think or feel and waiting for Jean. He couldn’t go on hoping that one day something would happen and Logan would... That was stupid. He would never. Never.
Scott cut deeper, cut lower, cut with rage and pain. He cut subconsciously but was very aware of what he was doing. He thought to stop but couldn’t. He wanted to know what it was like. Peace, that is. Logan had his revenge. Perhaps he knew nothing of what Scott felt, perhaps he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He didn’t. Scott couldn’t hate him, not now. The blade was bloody. How did it get so dark? He was only playing but the pain was real. He was only thinking and trying to figure things out, so how did this happen? It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.
There he was. Alone. Dead. His soul was gone but his body was determined to keep on living. Not anymore. He chuckled and smiled cruelly. You never know what you might do in a moment of desperation and this was working out quite well for him. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he should stop. Scott flung the knife across the room and closed his eyes, too tired to get up or even crawl so he just cried.
That was all he could remember and that was what he was doing now. Crying for himself and for the others. How many of them felt this way?
There was a knock on the door but Scott didn’t hear it. He was too busy. Too damn busy.
“Jean, are you ok? Where are y...” Logan turned on the light “Shit!”
There was Cyclops, curled up on the floor in a small pool of blood and dark red hands. Countless fresh cuts glowed on his wrists.
“What the hell did you do?” Logan growled but all Scott did was smile in response. This was unexpected but it was all the same. “Fuck! I’m gonna take you to the medlab. Come on.” Logan said and scooped the mess that was Scott off the floor. Scott smiled again.
“Why the hell didja do it?” Logan asked more to criticize Summers than anything else. What an idiot! What the hell?
Scott lifted his hand and rested it on Logan cheek, stroking it with his thumb. The standing man jerked away and looked at him with surprise and strange fear.
“That’s why.”
Logan almost dropped him. He almost wanted to. He didn’t understand... Scott’s head fell back and his sunglasses rolled to the floor, leaving his wide-open eyes exposed. Logan braced himself for the explosion but nothing happened. Nothing. Not a breath. Looking at the face of the very dead Scott Summers, Logan was the first to get a glimpse of the beautiful brown eyes.
END