Archive of Our Own

The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.
-"The Solitary Reaper," William Wordsworth

Age 17: Hotel California
They stab it with their steely knives / but they just can't kill the beast

"Nice music."

Scott can't see Warren, as he is elbow deep in the engine of one of Dr. Lehnsherr's cars, but that doesn't mean he can't hear the smirk in his friend's voice. "It's the radio, not a mix-tape."

"And your station of choice is 'soft rock for all your listening pleasures'?"

"You can't possibly be trying to insult the Eagles, Warren."

Warren grunts and kicks a tire. "You know this song is about the—"

"If you say 'the devil,' I'll tell Hank so he can tell you all the ways you're wrong. There will probably be flow-charts involved."

"Jerk." Scott can hear Warren fidget. "She likes you, you know."

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes—barely. "Thank you, Warren. I worried."

Warren waves a wrench in front of Scott's face and leans against the side of the car. "Shut up, you know what I mean."

Scott snatches the wrench from Warren's grasp. "I'm so glad I have you to tell me that; I never would have known otherwise, as Jean's my best friend."

Warren completely ignores the dripping sarcasm and kicks Scott's ankle. "Hey, I thought I was your best friend."

"Are we in second grade?"

"Possibly. Every so often you do act seven instead of seventeen."

Scott pulls out from under the hood and places a hand over his heart, wincing. "Ow. That is why you're not my best friend."

Warren scoffs, and he crosses his arms to look seriously at Scott. "Look…"

"Warren, just ask her out. Let her decide."

Age 19: Hazy Shade of Winter
But look around, the leaves are brown / and the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Seasons change with the scenery / weaving time in a tapestry / won't you stop and remember me / at any convenient time?

"Should we call Erik?"

Scott runs a hand through his hair, doing his best to quell the urge to just… scream, or find a place to rip the glasses off his face and pour everything out. This is… Jean shouldn't sound so young, so uncertain. She's looking to him for answers, and he doesn't have any. He says, "He won't come."

Jean makes a small noise beside him. "He… might."

Jean is scared, and Scott doesn't need telepathy to know that. This isn't the time to lose his temper. He stands abruptly and stalks to the window. Outside, the sky is gray and threatening snow. He feels… confined. Scott's fingers tap against his leg, and he wants his bike, but the idea of leaving… He won't.

Jean's voice is a little steadier when she speaks again. "Warren and Hank should be here soon."

Scott nods sharply. Maybe when they're all together it will be… not okay—Scott's not sure how anything's ever going to be okay again—but marginally better. Better except that they'll all still look at Scott like he has answers they don't, like he's some expert on handling a crisis, and maybe he can keep his head under pressure, but this isn't pressure, this is… waiting. It's fucking limbo and there's nothing he can do.

Abruptly, Jean is behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Stop it," she mutters, pressing her face against his shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself, Scott. We're not looking for answers, not from you. We just… we need to be together for this."

Scott covers her hands with his, and doesn't say that even together, they won't be together, because Erik's gone and Charles… Charles is lying on a table in an operating room and Scott just knows that nothing is going to be the same.

Age 23: Blinded by the Light
Young Scott with a slingshot / finally found a tender spot

Scott and Jean are on the dock, letting the air dry them off after spending the better part of the afternoon in the lake. Scott's fingers are wrinkled and his shoulders are sunburned. The wood beneath them scratches his back, but he can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.

In a week he will start making use of his teaching certificate. He should really be planning his curriculum, but Jean is returning to medical school in a few days and algebra is the last thing on his mind. Right now he can't think of anything but the breeze, the sun and the fact that this is the first day he and Jean have had to themselves all summer.

Jean is singing—loudly and off-key—as the radio blares Springsteen from somewhere behind their heads. She gets louder with every chorus until she's not so much singing as yelling at the top of her lungs. Strands of lake-damp hair escape her ponytail and are plastered to her neck. Scott tries not to think about pushing those strands away while kissing her neck.

Somewhere in the last stanza Jean loses track of the lyrics and mumbles while she waves an arm lazily over her head. She rolls onto an elbow to grin down at him. He starts singing because she expects him to. He waits for her to join in, but she just grins wider and leans in.

Scott smells her sunscreen—coconut and beach sand—and sings until Jean kisses him.

Age 26: Blackbird
All your life / you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Scott's not sure that Jean would appreciate the comparison, but flying the jet is like having sex.

It's like a lot of things, and nothing like them, all at once.

It's like sex, and not just sex for his libido's sake—it's like sex with Jean. That rush of adrenaline and emotion, of safety and excitement and a whole dictionary of other oxymorons, all at once. He's happy—in the jet and with Jean. Being happy… it seems to be happening more often these days, and he's not about to complain about that, even while it sets him slightly on edge.

It makes him want to fight like hell to keep things this way.

Flying the Blackbird is also like teaching. He's not one of those people who has always wanted to teach—it was more that he didn't know what else to do, and besides, Charles needed him. Scott never expected to love it.

And he does—like he loves Jean and the jet. He doesn't love everything about it—lesson plans, standardized tests, state mandates and the increasing focus on "teacher accountability" coming to mind—but unlike the math he teaches the kids, when it comes to teaching the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It's spending half an hour out of his lunch break explaining the order of operations again to Jubilee, and watching when she gets it. When her eyes widen, and she breathes in a long, drawn-out "oh." It's wandering into the rec room to find a group of four teenagers arguing over the best way to reassemble a carburetor on a Saturday afternoon. It's spending hours with Charles and Ororo, discussing policies and curriculum and planning field trips. It's his life, a slice of normal beside the leather and the jet and the visor.

Jean wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, drawing his mind back to the present. And the present is a very good place.

If flying the Blackbird is like having sex, then having sex in the Blackbird is something like nirvana.

Age 30: Time Warp
It's just a jump to the left / Then a step to the right

Every so often a staff member remembers that Mutant High is a high school and tries something like this—a dance. Except it's not so much a dance as a Saturday night in the gardens with a stereo set up on a table blaring songs like "Love Shack."

The girls are trying to drag Mr. Summers out to dance "Cotton Eye Joe" because Jubilee swears up and down that once upon a time he taught her the steps, but no one believes her. Mr. Summers just does that eyebrow thing and crosses his arms. He is clearly in full Guard The Punch mode and the idea of Mr. Summers dancing—especially to "Cotton Eye Joe" or the Electric Slide or whatever—is so funny that John can't help making a comment about it to Bobby. Bobby just smiles a little and bets him twenty bucks that Mr. Summers will be out on that dance floor before the night is done.

Easy money, John thinks—after all, even Dr. Grey is laughing at the idea.

An hour later, Mr. Summers marches over to the girls because they're doing the Time Warp "all wrong."

Dr. Grey slips a twenty into John's hand with a wink, which almost makes it less embarrassing, except for how Bobby is laughing so hard that he knocks over the punch.

Bobby is covered in pink punch, but it's the image of Mr. Summers doing the pelvic thrust that makes John rethink his opinion on high school dances.

Age 33: My Hero
There goes my hero / he's ordinary

Rogue can't sleep.

It's not unusual, these days. After everything that happened, with Magneto and Liberty Island and Logan's departure, Rogue feels more unbalanced and out-of-place than before. She has memories now of this place that she shouldn't, and it makes wandering the halls at night both easier and harder. It's taken enough time for Rogue to begin feeling like herself again, but she isn't sure who she is—she doesn't even look the same now, thanks to Magneto's machine.

It's probably not that crazy to have a little insomnia after a supervillain invades your brain. To say nothing of having Logan in there.

Rogue slips out of her room easily; Kitty and Jubilee are sleeping soundly. She doesn't know where she's going, but she wanders the halls for a while before heading downstairs.

This is the third night she's done this, so Rogue is surprised when she sees the faint blue light emitting from the rec room. She is as quiet as she knows how to be, leaning against the wall and peeking around the doorframe to see.

"You can come in, you know."

Rogue isn't sure what's more surprising—finding Mr. Summers awake in the rec room at two in the morning, or the fact that he knew she was there without even turning around. She debates returning to her room, but Mr. Summers turns on the couch and raises an eyebrow. "I don't mind the company," he says, and she can't help a small smile.

This is how Rogue winds up watching a Jimmy Stewart movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn with Mr. Summers on a Saturday night. Thirty minutes later, Kitty wanders sleepily into the room, plopping next to her on the couch with a grunt.

Mr. Summers doesn't say anything, but passes the popcorn.

Kitty says, "Pay attention, Rogue. Mr. Summers likes to use movie trivia as bonus questions on tests, and nine out of ten of them can be answered with Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

Rogue looks at Mr. Summers, who smiles blandly. "It's a classic."

Rogue spends the rest of the movie sitting between Kitty and Mr. Summers on the couch, falling asleep in the flickering light from the television screen.

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.
—Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, 5.1.91-7.