Scott POV. Kinda pointless ficlet, taking place in between X-men and X2. I guess there are some minor movie one spoilers, but nothing big. Dunno where this idea came from, but once I had written it out, I liked it, so here you go. Hope I haven't made Scott too OOC. Though I don't think I really could've, since he wasn't given much of a chance to show off his personality in either of the X-Men movies. No fair. James Marsden is gorgeous. Er, I mean, he really captured the essence of Cyclops. Yeah, that's it. Now if I could just capture the essence of James Marsden... Just enough to make my own Jimmy-clone anyway.
Anyhoo, I don't own any of the X-Men characters or the really hot actors who played them in the movies, nor have I cloned any of them. Wishful thinking... One to cook, one to clean, and several to um... Well, you get the idea.
I stood next to the professor, and maybe a half-step behind him, as he activated Cerebro. It was a short while after Liberty Island, and the first time he'd let me stay in the room with him. I felt... honored. I'd always sort of thought of Cerebro as something sacred. Something I was never meant to have anything to do with.
The door closed behind us and he told me to stay still. He told me he was tracking Logan. I told him to let me out. Suddenly, I didn't feel so honored anymore. He just smiled that crooked, knowing smile of his and continued with his work.
First I saw a map of the world, transparent red. There were points of light everywhere. Clusters of light near major cities--densely populated areas.
"The white lights are the humans." The professor paused. "And the red lights are the mutants."
I cleared my throat. "They all look the same to me."
"Of course." He chuckled a little. "What can I say? Not everyone sees things as you do, Scott."
"That's an understatement," I muttered, definitely less amused about the irony than he was.
"You have a very clear view of the world for a man who sees everything through rose-colored lenses."
Bite me, old man, I thought. Clear view, my ass. I just know what I'm missing.
I heard the professor's words in my mind. Yes. Exactly. You understand that there is much more out there than what you can see. It's a lesson many people have yet to learn. And I'd prefer not to "bite you" if you don't mind.
I frowned. Some people might say it was a pout. I don't think so. Grown men don't pout. It was a frown.
"Well, as the old saying goes, 'The grass is always greener on the other side," the professor said, out loud this time, with a wry smile.
I sort of scoffed at the remark. Green. Hah. I almost remember what green looks like... Suddenly I wondered if the others pitied themselves, cursed their gifts like I sometimes do.
The professor had zeroed in on someone, and a point of light grew to be a man, walking alone. Strong and commanding, but he seemed lost at the same time. Logan. Of course. A guy who could probably survive being put through a wood chipper, and who could be four hundred years old for all we know, but hardly has fifteen years worth of memories.
Soon as the professor was satisfied with what he had seen, he focused on another person. A woman, this time. I thought of Rogue, who can't touch anyone for more than a second or so without sucking the life out of them. You know, I think I relate to her better than she realizes.
Then there was another woman. I knew it was Jean. Without a doubt I knew it was her. She's so strong, but struggles with her power. She doesn't show it. I think she's ashamed that she can hide her mutation so easily. Must be hard for her to be around people who can't.
You know, I could go for being telekinetic. Just the idea of being able to whack Logan a good one from across the room has sold me on telekinesis. Assuming he ever shows his face here again. (Don't try to tell me shooting a beam at him is just as good. That's like missing the ice cream truck and having someone tell you it's okay because there's ice cream in the freezer.)
Before I could devote any more time to plotting petty telekinetic Logan torture, the professor had moved on to yet another woman. Storm. I think she may be the only mutant I've ever met who doesn't seem resentful, or ashamed about her powers. She's calm and accepting when it comes to her mutation. Her feelings regarding anti-mutant sentiment on the other hand... Let's just say that PMS-Storm is a force to be reckoned with.
Then there's the professor himself, who can waltz right into your mind, but can't take a single step out of his wheelchair. And when he's using Cerebro, he can waltz into damn near anyone's mind. He had just done so right before my eyes. My damn stupid eyes.
The grass is greener on the other side, huh? I may not be able to see green, but I sure can feel it.
Sometimes I lay awake wondering when I'm gonna forget what it all looks like. I worry that one day, I'll just wake up and not care. I wonder how long I'll be able to hold onto the memory.
I remember the last time I saw anything other than red. Really saw anything other than red. Storm and I had been sent out to retrieve a mutant. It was the sky I saw that night. Such a beautiful night. Not a cloud in sight. There were so many stars. Stars, stone, plaster, glass, maybe some brick--whatever the roof of the train station was made of. Because I saw the ceiling first, and after I blew a giant hole in it, I saw the sky. For the first time in years, I really saw the sky.
I tell myself it was the shock of having my visor ripped away that kept my eyes open those few seconds. I closed them as soon as I possibly could. Soon enough that I hadn't hurt anybody, but not soon enough to shut out what I had seen.
"The grass is always greener on the other side?" I asked, skeptically, and rightfully so, as far as I was concerned. Then I bitterly muttered, "I wouldn't know."
The professor pulled the helmet off his head, and wheeled around to face me. "That's right, Scott. Very good."
Then he wheeled out the door, his lopsided smile teasing me until he was far enough ahead that I couldn't see his face.
I shook my head, chuckled, and followed behind the professor, thinking, When he's right, he's right. How would I know if the grass is really greener on the other side?