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There were two hundred and four tiles in the ceiling of the med bay’s first recovery room. Two of them had a set of cracks running through them from the last time that Jubilee had been stuck in here. Twenty of them weren’t tiles at all, but instead places for the fluorescent overhead lights. They had the same square footage as the tiles though, so they still counted.
If he were to take out the light tiles, there were one hundred and eighty four tiles in the ceiling. Seventeen rows from the door to the back wall, twelve rows from the left side to the right side. It bothered him that the front to the back was an uneven number, but it never changed. He’d lost count of how many times he’s counted those tiles, and it never changed.
Maybe that was why he always counted the ceiling tiles, even though he’d memorized the number that was in every recovery room almost eight years ago. There was something comforting about the number, even if it itched at his brain with the unevenness. Seventeen rows. Twelve rows. Two hundred and four tiles. One hundred and eighty four without the light tiles. In this particular room, two tiles were cracked.
In the room next door, there was a scorch mark on the ceiling. The Professor said he couldn’t see it any more, but Scott could. It was nearly eleven years old, but Scott could still see the slight concave in the tiles any time that he sat in there, waiting by the bedside of an injured student or teammate, counting tiles as he waited for them to wake up.
Logan was in that other room. Logan was the one waiting for that patient to wake up. Ororo said that he slipped in there just a few minutes ago, and Scott… Maybe he should have stepped in there. Maybe he should be waiting at the kid’s side, counting tiles while the boy rode out the effects of Jean’s psychic blast. It would be his duty as a professor, after all. His job was to take care of the students. His job was to keep them secure, taught, and safe.
He had failed that job today. He’d failed it in so many ways, he couldn’t count them.
Ceiling tiles. He needed to count the ceiling tiles. If he didn’t count the ceiling tiles, then he’d count his failures. The Professor had told him that was unhealthy, back when Scott was younger and weaker and didn’t understand how to handle the burden of leadership that was handed to him.
Count the tiles, he reminded himself. Count the rows; seventeen, twelve. Then count the cracks; two. Then the lights; twenty. Then the tiles without the lights; one hundred and eighty four.
He repeated the count again, then again. He knew the numbers by heart, but the rhythm of the counting was familiar. It was a process, a habit built over years of wearing the X symbol on his belt and greeting students in the mornings. It was a way to balance the pressure of being a leader with the duty of being a teacher.
Somehow, they both landed him here; counting tiles, waiting to the side while a student or a teammate lay in pain because of something he couldn’t prevent.
Scott.
The voice made his head shoot up, and he was on his feet before he even registered he was moving. Years of instinct had his body tensing, his mind jumping out of its stagnant state of counting tiles into immediate awareness of his surroundings.
The heart monitor was still beeping, and it was still steady. The door was still closed; he was sitting directly across the room, close to the cot but with a perfect view of the door. There were no other entries, besides the vent over to his left that was still humming with the low buzz of the air conditioning.
No threats. No reason for his hand to move to his visor. Nothing for him to fight. Nothing for him to do but look back down at the face of the woman he loved, and watch her breathe.
I’m not dying, Scott.
I know you’re not, he thought back, and he wished the words felt more confident than they were. He knew Jean would be able to feel that; she was a telepath, not an empath, but she still always seemed to be able to know his feelings.
That’s because I know you, Scott. Her eyes cracked open just enough for him to make out the green of her eyes. And I know where your thoughts are leading you.
Jean, don’t try to read my mind right now. He reached out, resting his hand on the side of her cot. He nearly went to lay it on her arm, but the sight of the bandages made him reconsider. Just rest. Don’t strain yourself.
He could feel a warm, familiar chuckle press into his mind. I never have to try when I’m reading your mind, Scott.
He wanted to laugh back. He wanted to say some sort of joke, to throw out some of the banter that the kids always tossed at each other when one of them was hurt. He’d never been as good at banter as he’d like. It was always too hard to think of the right thing to say.
You don’t have to say anything, Scott. There was a small smile playing across her lips. I promise, I’m being careful.
You still need to rest, Scott insisted, because that was all he was able to do. He hadn’t been able to help her, so all he could do was try to help her feel better.
Useless, his own mind hissed. It was a familiar sound, one that settled deep in his bones and—
Scott.
Her voice was warm, and her presence pressed into his mind. He could feel himself leaning into it, his chest emptying in a long sigh as he tried to force his thoughts to quiet.
I’m supposed to be comforting you, Jean. Not the other way around.
Then stop blaming yourself for things that were out of your control. Her eyes slid toward him again. You wouldn’t have had time to get there. I only knew because I felt Bobby scream.
Scott winced. Jean—
Sorry. You’re right, that’s not helping. He could hear her let out a sigh in his mind, and he watched as her chest rose and fell with the weight of it. And they…?
They’re okay, Scott relayed, nodding along. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jean already knew that, but it helped him feel useful to be able to relay the information. Kitty’s arm was twisted in the explosion, but it’s just a sprain. A few first-degree burns, a handful of scrapes and bruises, but nothing that will hold her down for long. She’s more shaken than anything else.
Jean hummed. It was hard to tell if it was out loud, or in their minds. And the explosion…?
Yeah. She triggered it. Scott let out a breath, shaking his head. I’m going to have to mark that down for her. We’ve got three years before she’ll be taking any Danger Room classes, but if her powers have the chance of reacting that poorly with tech, then we need to be thinking ahead. Any other student could have a similar trait, and if the paneling for the Danger Room can’t stand up to internal mutant interference, then this is bound to come up again before Kitty turns eighteen. I’m thinking about reaching out to Forge, maybe coming up with a plan for—
Later. Jean’s voice cut into his thoughts. That can be a problem for later, Scott. You don’t have to deal with it right now.
That was half of the problem. He wished he could deal with it right now. He wanted to know that the problem was fixed and done, that everything had been solved and he could move on to the next thing. But there were too many moving pieces at the moment, too many people to worry about, too much to think through.
What about Bobby?
Scott took the redirect that Jean was offering him. He’s shaken up too. Nightcrawler scored against him before the panel meltdown, and…
And Scott didn’t know how to feel about that.
That was a lie; he knew how he felt. He felt angry. He felt a hot, burning sort of anger that welled up from deep in his gut, strong as the force of his optic blasts. It boiled inside, as hot as the feeling of Jean’s powers on a bad day.
He should have been there. It was his duty to protect those within the walls of the Institute; that had been his job for years, ever since Xavier handed him his visor and called him “Cyclops”. From the moment that his fingers ran over the red and gold symbol, he knew the kind of weight that title would carry. He’d shouldered the burden of being a leader, of being a professor, of being an X-Man, and he knew what those titles meant.
He should have been there to tell Kitty and Bobby to go back to class. He should have been there to keep Nightcrawler from gouging his claws into Bobby’s arm. He should have been there to keep the Danger Room from blasting Logan to pieces. He should have been there for—
Scott.
He knew that tone. He knew she meant well. He found himself wincing all the same.
It’s not your fault.
I know that. He was lying.
You’re lying.
I should have been there, Jean. His hand shifted, his fingertips brushing her bandaged arm. I should have protected you.
I should have been more careful.
No, Jean—
Yes, Scott. Her mind pressed against his, a familiar pressure that tinged on warmth. I should have contacted you before I rushed in. I should have kept an eye on Nightcrawler. I should have planned better.
You were trying to help, Jean. You didn’t have time to do anything but jump in.
And you were in class, Scott. You didn’t have the chance to do anything at all.
Exactly, he thought, the word twisting in his chest. I didn’t—
You didn’t have the chance. Her fingers twitched, and Scott shifted his hand towards hers before she could move too much. Their fingers intertwined, and Scott let out a breath. You can’t be everywhere, Scott.
He wished he could. He wished he could be in every hall of the Institute at every hour of the day. He wished he could see exactly what decisions needed to be made and how they should be made. He wished he could take the place of every member of his team, that way they could all be safe and secure in the Institute while he worked to keep protecting them all.
That doesn’t sound like much of a team.
Which is why it won’t happen. Scott let out a sigh. I need you. All of you, but…
He needed Jean. He needed Jean beside him in classes, in lessons, in battles. He needed her for her red-hot psychic abilities, for the neural link that kept him sane more often than not, for her steady presence and burning personality and… everything, He needed her for everything.
Scott, that’s sweet, but—
It’s true. There was no hesitation in his thoughts. Jean, I need you with me.
I’m not dying, Scott.
I know that.
But for a moment, he hadn’t. For a moment he’d heard nothing but Jean’s psychic scream in his head, and he’d run in to see nothing but blood splattering his love’s clothes. That was the sort of image that had haunted his nightmares for years. He thought that he’d finally beaten that one, and then it became a reality.
Scott, you need to stop thinking.
He wished he could.
Seriously, Scott. There was a gentle squeeze, and he tried to focus on that. Focus. You can feel me, can’t you?
He could feel her. He could feel her fingers intertwined with his, one by one. He could feel her mind pressing against his, warm and familiar. She was right there, and she was speaking to him just like she had that morning, before they’d gone to their classes.
Only that morning, half of her words had been out loud. Now, he wasn’t sure if she even could speak out loud.
“I could, if I wanted to.” Her voice was raspy, but it made Scott’s head shoot up. “I just—”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Not if it hurts. Don’t—” Don’t make it worse.
He got my shoulder, Scott. She slipped back into their minds. Not my throat.
That was an exaggeration. Some of the damage was on her shoulder, but most of it was on the side of her neck. He tried.
He… Jean trailed off, and Scott could feel the wave of doubt that rolled off of her. It slipped through their mental link in a flicker of half-whispered thoughts that Scott couldn’t quite make out, but could still understand the meaning of. He probably wasn’t meant to hear any of that, but recently… well. Recently he’d been able to hear everything that Jean thought.
I’m sorry. The small smile that had played across her lips had turned into a wince. I’m… I’m sorry, I just—
You’re okay, Jean. He gave her a small smile. I promise. It’s not…
He wanted to say it wasn’t a problem, because it wasn’t. He loved hearing Jean’s thoughts. He didn’t mind her hearing his. But… recently it hadn’t just been them. Recently Jean had been able to hear the entire school, and beyond. Ever since she’d used Cerebro…
I know.
It’s been different. Scott let out a breath. It’s not necessarily bad, but…
But it leads to situations like this.
I’m not—
I know you’re not blaming me, Scott, she added before the thought could even cross his mind. But still; if I hadn’t heard the panic from the Danger Room…
If you hadn’t heard it, then Nightcrawler could have hurt Kitty and Bobby.
He could tell that Jean didn’t want to agree with him. He could tell she wanted to think something else, that she wanted to tell him that it was all okay… but with their minds linked and with Jean’s thoughts as loud as they were, he could read her mind almost as clearly as she could read his.
He thought I was a threat, she started.
Yeah, he continued. And he could have thought they were threats too.
He… she trailed off, but there was no way for her to hide her thoughts from him. Yes. He might have.
Did he?
I—
You read his mind, didn’t you? She was quiet for a moment, but Scott gave her a knowing look. I know you wouldn’t on purpose, but…
His thoughts are so loud, Scott. There was a note of defeat in Jean’s thoughts, and her mind seemed to press closer to his. They’re so loud, and I couldn’t… I haven’t been able to block them out. It’s been harder and harder, and I…
Jean. He squeezed her hand. It’s okay.
It was just… ever since Cerebro…
There’s a reason the Professor told you not to use it. He brushed his thumb across his features. He said you might be able to one day, but…
But neither of us thought it would be soon. It probably shouldn’t have been. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. There were too many, and now I can’t…
Jean. He let her name linger in his mind for a moment. Jean, you were connected to every person on the planet. Mutant, human, anything in between… you were connected to them all. The fact that you had the ability to do that at all… it’s astounding.
And yet, look at all the problems it’s caused. The frown was still on her face, her eyes closed. If I hadn’t, then…
Then we might not have found Magneto. He might have gotten his war. You can’t blame yourself for that.
At that, her eyes cracked open. And you can’t blame yourself either, Scott.
A frown slipped onto his face. Wait, no—
Yes. This is a bad situation, Scott. We know that. She squeezed his hand. But do you regret us taking Nightcrawler in?
The question shot through his mind like a punch to the gut. Scott found himself averting his eyes, and he hoped that the glasses on his face would make it difficult to tell that he was staring at the floor.
I know you’re not looking at me, Scott.
He couldn’t hide anything from Jean. He knew that. He knew that meant that she could hear all of his thoughts right now, as his mind slipped through the various feelings and thoughts that had filled his head the past few hours.
He had felt regret. The moment that he’d burst through the Danger Room doors, Jean’s scream still echoing in his mind, his heart pounding as he saw the blood on the floor… yes. He’d felt regret. The moment that Ororo had told him what had happened, he’d thought about what might have happened if he’d never opened that door and found the blue boy on the doorstep.
He had felt fear too, when he saw the blood on the floor. His lungs had ached, his head throbbed, and he couldn’t help but remember that first day, when Nightcrawler had come at him with fangs and claws and had nearly managed to take a chunk out of his own arm. He remembered Logan’s insistence that the boy was dangerous, and now… well, now, he saw it.
For a brief, brief moment, he had felt anger. Hot, burning anger that boiled through his blood and nearly made him raise a hand to his visor. A few more moments, and he might have acted like Logan in those early days; harsh, rash, almost willing to hurt the kid to keep him under control.
However, all of those thoughts had been temporary. They’d been momentary, instinctual responses. As soon as he’d taken account of the situation, as soon as he’d assessed and realized exactly what had happened…
All he felt was guilt. It was a fitting emotion. People had gotten hurt in the Institute, which meant that they’d been hurt under his watch. He should have done better. He should have been monitoring the sessions. He should have done anything, but…
That’s not your fault, Scott.
It’s not yours either, he thought back. You were trying to help.
Then who do you blame? Kitty and Bobby?
They made a stupid decision. He nodded a bit. It wasn’t their fault, not entirely. They had no idea the Danger Room would malfunction, or that Nightcrawler would react in that way. They shouldn’t have been there, but they’re just kids—
Logan, then?
He shouldn’t have run off. He should have stayed and helped get the situation under control.
But?
He let out a heavy sigh. A couple months ago, I would have blamed him more, but… but Jean, I can’t get the look on his face from a few days ago out of my head.
The moment that Hank had said that Weapon X had their location, something had changed in Logan’s face. Scott had seen Logan uncertain before. He’d seen him scared once, maybe twice. But this… this was different. There had been pure, utter terror in Logan’s eyes, and then when Scott had told the man to look at him… for a moment, his eyes had gone blank.
Scott genuinely couldn’t decide which was worse.
We’ve been asking a lot from Logan in this, Jean pressed into his mind. Scott found himself nodding.
I can’t blame him. He came back as soon as Ororo talked to him. A few months ago, I’d have doubted that he’d come back at all, but…
This is Logan. We know him better now. A tiny smile slipped over Jean’s lips. He doesn’t keep his distance as easily as he pretends to.
Bobby said he took the brunt of the explosion, Scott added. I… I can’t blame him, not after that. It’s not his fault.
And… Jean’s voice in his head trailed off, and he could almost sense the hesitance from her. It was like she didn’t want to ask the last question. And… and Nightcrawler?
A heavy breath slipped out of Scott’s mouth. There it was; the question of the hour.
For a moment there, when he opened the door and saw the blood and saw the blue boy with stains on his hands and teeth… yes. For a moment, he blamed the kid. For a moment, he wanted to throw the boy across the room just to get him away from Jean — if Nightcrawler had still been moving, he might have.
But he had been knocked out. He was unconscious, his spindly limbs splayed out, twitching every few moments as he was trapped in whatever thought bubble Jean had thrown him into. There was pain on his face even as red blood dripped from his fangs, and Scott…
Scott had taken him in. Months ago, before he’d truly known what sort of risk it would be, he’d made the decision to welcome Nightcrawler into his home. Really, what other choice could he have made? This was a kid, despite the blood and the fangs and the claws. This was a child, a boy that had been dealt a terrible hand in life and needed help to find a reprieve.
That was his job, wasn’t it? That was all that Xavier had trained him for. He was Scott Summers, Professor Summers, Cyclops — he had been built into a testament of their species, a testament to the fact that a dangerous power didn’t have to equate to a dangerous person. He was meant to help others, to protect young mutants, to make this school a place where people could heal. That was what Xavier had trained him for. That was what his purpose was.
It wasn’t Nightcrawler’s fault that he’d attacked Jean. Scott had seen the sort of shell that the kid had started out as, and it scared him. To see a person so hollowed out, so shattered, that they couldn’t even seem to recognize friendly conversation… it was heartbreaking. It was horrifying. It wasn’t Nightcrawler’s fault.
Scott knew something of what it meant to be designed for a specific purpose. Not to the extent that Logan or Nightcrawler were, but he still had an idea. He was grateful that he had been designed for a good, noble purpose. If he hadn’t, well… he’d experienced his fair share of manipulation before Xavier had found him. He knew he could have ended up in a far different position than he was today.
Nightcrawler had experienced more than his fair share of manipulation. That wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame.
There is no one to blame. Jean’s hand was warm against his, and he tried to focus on that. This was a bad situation, Scott. No one person could have prevented it.
I—
Even you, Scott. She gave him a small, knowing smile. You can’t be everywhere, as much as you would like to.
And that was the crux of it. He could have prevented this, if he could have been in more places. If he’d been in the Danger Room, if he’d been more involved with Nightcrawler’s rehabilitation, if he’d just put more effort in; he could have done it. If he’d just pushed a bit more, if he’d gotten just a bit less sleep at night, he could have been there. Maybe then it would be him here, covered in bandages, and Jean would be—
Worse off for it, she cut in. Scott, I’m glad that it’s me, and not you.
But—
This school needs you, Scott. You can’t be everywhere, but we do need you somewhere. We need you to help calm the students down. We need you to talk to Stryker.
Immediately, Scott balked. He nearly pulled his hand out of Jean’s grasp. What?
The smile on her face turned to a frown. The plan, Scott.
No. He was shaking his head before she even finished her thought. No. I can’t go, Jean.
Of course you can. She squeezed his hand. The Professor needs you, Scott.
You need me, Scott thought right back, squeezing harder. Jean, you’re hurt. I can’t… I can’t just leave you.
I’m hurt, yes, but I’m not dying. Remember?
But—
This is important, Scott. Her thumb ran over the side of his hand, soft and gentle against the roughness of his palm. This could save lives.
But I need to be here. He stared at the spot where her thumb moved across his hand. I need to be here for you. For the students. For Logan. For—
You need to be there. You need to be there, fighting for every child that could end up like Nightcrawler.
But—
Scott. I’ve seen inside his mind. There was a shudder that ran through Jean’s body, and Scott could see her wince. It’s… it’s so much like Logan’s, and yet just a bit more intact. There are more memories on the surface, even with all he’s had buried. He… it was a horrible place, Scott, even just from passing glimpses I’ve seen—
Jean. He tightened his grip on her hand. Don’t think about that right now.
How can I not, Scott? That is exactly why he attacked me. I could hear it. The moment he realized I was a mutant his thoughts were so loud, I just…
Jean.
I couldn’t help but hear it. There was so much fear, Scott, and he was remembering something… something like this had happened before, and he… he seemed so sure of what he had to do. He saw me as a mutant, and he saw me as dangerous, and he—
Jean. Her thoughts petered out, and Scott let out a small breath. He wasn’t sure if she had even noticed the fact that the glass of water next to her cot had started to shake.
Her abilities… he still wasn’t sure what to make of this new power surge. He wasn’t sure she knew what to make of it either.
No one should ever hate their own species like that. She was so focused that she didn’t even seem to pick up on his other thoughts. No one should ever try to kill one of their own kind in that way. No one should be made to kill their own kind at all, but he…
He was?
He was. I know he was.
Scott knew it too. He’d seen the file. He knew what Nightcrawler was capable of; he knew what he’d been made to be capable of. A weapon crafted for a single purpose, never any choice in the matter.
You have to go, Jean said, pressing her mind against his. There are more mutants under their control, Scott. You have to put a stop to this.
I know. He did. He did know. It was part of his duty as a leader, part of his role in the team.
The Professor can’t go alone.
I know. He did. It was part of his duty as Xavier’s protegee to go with him. It was an honor to go with him.
I’ll be alright.
I… he didn’t know. He didn’t know for sure that Jean would be alright. He didn’t know for sure that her injuries would heal without any setbacks.
You can’t be everywhere at once, Scott. Her eyes were open again, piercing through him as a smile played on her lips. I know you want to.
I want to be here, he thought back, the words heavy on his mind. I want to be here with you.
But we need you to be there. For them. For all of them. I think you know that.
A low breath slipped between his lips. I can’t let them do this to anyone else. Nightcrawler…
Kurt.
He frowned. Logan told us not to call him that.
I know. And I know why he told us not to. She hesitated for a moment. But… I hope we’re getting to the place where we can.
He just almost tore your throat out, Jean.
Yes. That was Nightcrawler. But the little boy in the room next to us?
She inclined her head just slightly, just enough to gesture to their left. Scott didn’t need her to. He knew what room she was talking about; two hundred and four tiles, one dented from the force of his own optic blasts. Two people were in there right now. Maybe Scott should be there too. He didn’t know if he could be.
I can feel his thoughts, Scott. That’s not Nightcrawler. She tilted her head back towards him. You’ve made it possible for Kurt to find a place here.
Scott shook his head. Logan has.
And who made it possible for Logan to find a place here? You two didn’t get along at first—
I wouldn’t say we ‘get along’ now.
But you still welcomed him in. She nudged his hand. That’s what you were meant to do, Scott. You’re not meant to be everywhere at once.
But—
You’re meant to help bring people in. You’re meant to help others so that they can help others. She gave him a piercing, knowing look. You’ve done that, love. You’ve done that time and time again.
He tried to avoid her eyes. He knew that she knew that he was looking away. It doesn’t feel like it helps. Not when… not when this sort of thing happens.
It was the same when Logan stabbed Rogue, wasn’t it? He winced as she pressed on. You thought you’d made a mistake. But think about it; if you hadn’t let Logan stay, how would we have handled Nightcrawler?
Terribly. Scott shook his head. I couldn’t handle this, Jean—
You’ve known that for a while.
Yeah.
So trust that. She squeezed his hand. Trust Logan. Trust your team. That’s why we’re the X-men, not an X-man.
He snorted. Even in my head, that sounds cheesy.
She hummed, half out loud and half in his mind. Sometimes that’s what we need.
Yeah. He let out a breath. Yeah. I guess so.
Everyone’s going to be fine. Alright? You’re the best one of us for a mission like this. Go try and be diplomatic.
He raised an eyebrow. You said ‘try’.
You were thinking it.
He couldn’t deny that.
You’ve seen in their heads, right? He asked hesitantly. Have you… have you seen—
Stryker?
He nodded. I know Xavier knows him, but…
But he knows him on a human level, Jean finished for him. Not like they know him.
Logan’s been so convinced that there’s no communicating with this man. There was hesitation on his heart. I… I want to trust the Professor. I want to think we can take care of this his way.
But you’re not sure. It wasn’t a question. Scott knew he didn’t need to answer. You still want to try though?
Yes. There was no hesitation there. If there’s even a chance we can solve this peacefully, we should take it.
But you don’t think it can be, do you?
I’m willing to try. I’m always willing to try.
And if it can’t?
Then I’m willing to fight. He was always willing to do that too.
See? And that’s why we need you there. Don’t worry about me.
I—
I’m serious, Scott. I’ve suffered worse before. She squeezed his hand one more them. I’ll be alright. Everyone will be alright.
Scott… had a hard time believing it. He knew he should believe it. He knew he should trust his team, his friends, his family. He knew they would take care of each other. He knew Jean was stronger than most of them. He knew everyone would be okay.
That didn’t stop him from wishing he could do more.
But, try as he might, he could only be in one place at a time. And right now, this was the only place he wanted to be: by Jean’s side, watching for danger as she started toward recovery.
For now, everything else could wait.