Title: Kinda I Want To
Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)
____________________________________________________
Kinda I Want To 7 - Through Kurt's Eyes
By Askani'daughter
It took me the entire two weeks I've been here, but I see now why Jean asked me to come, Herr Professor.
The X-Men are falling apart.
They all do it in their own way, of course. Most of them don't even realize why exactly they are falling apart. Most of them don't know it's even happening.
In many ways, Professor, Scott *is* the X-Men. He is the X-Men in a way you could never be, through no fault of your own. You dream, Scott makes the dream come true. Scott is a man of action, the man who gets the job done. He, with his singular vision of the dream, embodied what we all aspire to be. He was the rock on which we stood, the man who made it happen. To lose him, is to lose hope.
I am concerned about Jean. If she cannot manage to remain more than a few seconds in Scott's head, I don't think she will be able to convince him to awaken from his coma, despite all her effort. I cannot say what having your empathic powers awakened so abruptly would feel like, but it must be very traumatic, if Scott won't even wake for Jean.
At least Hank has something more productive to do, monitoring Scott's health, running tests on his new powers, worrying himself sick over one of his best friends. I wonder if perhaps he feels a little guilty that he and Scott have drifted farther apart over the years?
Poor Bobby is lost now. He can no longer turn to his big brother Scott for an ego booster. I'm afraid that none of the rest of us are as willing to listen to him whine about sex, women, and the lack of both in his life.
I was here when Ororo made her only appearance in the med lab. She came in with dignity and grace, her regal bearing covering her concern over Scott. He lay still as stone, as unresponsive as the rock we all believed he was. A single tear escaped her eyes before she left, her stately bearing shattered. It is as if she is in shock, and she closes herself off from everyone.
However, I have been very impressed by Rogue's conduct in the past weeks, especially her willingness to do the dirty work, changing bedpans or sheets, while Jean and Hank fret over Scott. I believe this crisis has brought out a strength I never knew she had. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she has become everyone's mother, offering comfort that normally Jean or Scott would offer.
I have tried desperately to convince Remy to rejoin the team, but it is no use. He stubbornly remains in the corners, lurking around, trying to take on all the blame. Despite what Remy believes, the revelation of his parentage has alleviated much of the previous distrust the team held for him. I wish he would accept the comfort we are willing to offer him, but none of us are who he truly wants.
I turned Betsy away for her own health last night, when she came to try her hand at rousing Scott. She likens it to carving through a stone wall with a rusty teaspoon. Most times, she leaves the medical lab, sweating and exhausted, muttering to herself nonsensically. Not even she can say why Scott put himself in this coma, or what he is so terrified of.
I was surprised to see how shaken Logan is, especially considering his relationship with Scott was not a close one. But I think I did not realize how much Scott commanded Logan's respect and loyalty. Logan's lurking outside the door is beginning to annoy me, as if we would refuse him entry. However, for all his gruff talk, he is the pillar of support Jean needs right now.
And then there's Warren.
I always thought they were friends, so I expected Warren to be a frequent visitor.
Especially since he's the reason Scott died.
Was I surprised when Jean told me Scott gave his life for Warren? Not at all. Scott's just that type of person. He would willingly die for anyone he considered worthy. But what surprised me was that Warren didn't even come thank him.
Last night truly changed my perception of what is happening here. I thought since I was the only uninvolved witness, I should tell you everything.
I had sent Jean and Hank to bed, seeing they were both exhausted and frustrated. I was alone in the med lab, monitoring Scott's readouts, trying to puzzle them out, trying to understand why someone as strong as Scott would let his own powers overwhelm him to the point where he had to hide from his own life. Where was his un-abiding strength, his endless determination?
The door slid open and I instinctively withdrew into the shadows, wary of an enemy. But to my relief, it was only Warren. I almost came out, until I saw the look on his face.
He was crying.
Warren looked around, his electric blue eyes searching the entire med lab. Satisfied that no one was around, his eyes missing me hiding in the shadows, he stepped inside warily. He was as cautious as a rabbit, and if he was one, I do believe his ears would have been flattened along his skull. As it was, I caught the fluffing of his smaller feathers, giving him a rather ruffled appearance.
Warren sat down on the stool beside Scott's bedside, peering anxiously into Scott's slack face. I watched him reach out and gently stroke Scott's cheek, the way you would a child...or a lover.
I should have left. I know I should have left. But my curiosity got the best of me. I had seen the X-Man known as Angel in many different aspects. I knew him as the arrogant playboy, the over-confident superhero, the brooding Archangel, and even as a mere man who has suffered tragedy after tragedy.
I never expected to see him as the broken-hearted and unrequited lover. Especially with Scott.
"Scott..." Warren said gently, his voice almost breaking, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Scott...can you hear me?"
I stared at him, wondering to myself why the thought of Warren as Scott's lover would enter my brain. What an absurd idea.
"Scott...I'm so sorry, Scott. It's all my fault that you're like this. I shouldn't have been so stupid. I guess if I wanted to die, I should have done it the old-fashioned way. A razor to the wrist in the bathtub, or simply fly into the sky so high that I couldn't breathe anymore... That way you wouldn't have had to get involved," Warren confessed, his fingers continuing to brush Scott's cheek with a gentleness I never thought Warren Worthington III was capable of.
"Please, Scott. Please wake up. Don't you see how much everyone is hurting? It's like you died anyways. Everyone wants you to wake up... Don't you care how much you're making Jean hurt??" Warren demanded, his voice rising with the last sentence.
No answer.
Warren burst into tears, crying like a small child. He buried his face into Scott's chest, letting the clean white sheets soak up his salty tears. "Scott..." he moaned. Never had I heard anything so desperate, so needy. A tear sprung to my own eye, out of sympathy for Warren's obvious pain.
"Scott..." Warren moaned again. "Scott, don't you even care how much you're hurting *me*?"
I was watching them both intently from my shadowy corner, curious, fascinated, sympathetic.
"Scott, I love you so much... It doesn't matter if you don't love me back anymore. Just please, please, please wake up. Please. I just want to see you alive. I just want to know that you're okay," Warren begged.
The revelation of Warren's love for Scott should have startled me, but it didn't. Maybe, in a strange sort of way, I knew how Warren felt long ago. Perhaps not consciously, but all the same, I think I knew. Love is an emotion that refuses to remain as hidden as we'd like it to be.
I suppose his revelation should have offended my heterosexual sensibilities, but it didn't. I suppose it should have offended my religious sensibilities, but it didn't. Perhaps my time with you has opened my mind, because to me, love is something that God always sanctions. If God tries to teach us to love our neighbor, regardless of personal appearance, ethnicity, or anything else, then how much of a hypocrite would God be if he said you couldn't love this person just because they were the same gender as you? If you truly love a person's soul, and not their body, then any arguments you have against homosexuality fall flat and useless, Professor.
Warren raised his head after a while, his tears dried. He stared into Scott's face for a long time before standing up, his hand cupping the curves of Scott's cheek. Warren leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on Scott's lips, a kiss that could have meant anything, and nothing.
And then he left.
Scott stirred.
I emerged from the shadows, slipping beside Scott, staring into his monitors. He was waking up.
I turned to the first X-Man, grabbing his ruby quartz glasses, knowing he wouldn't open his eyes without them on. But to my surprise, as I neared Scott Summers, the X-Man known as Cyclops blinked at me. He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, uncovering his nudity beneath it.
And I found myself staring into warm brown eyes, eyes that held endless depths to them. Eyes that reminded me of Katya for some reason. Of innocence, naiveté, and the loss of both.
"Scott...?" I asked gently, wondering why his optic beams were not working.
He was panting and sweating, his eyes darting around anxiously. Scott finally looked straight at me, terror on his features. "Warren...?" he croaked, swallowing convulsively.
"Alive and well. He just left," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
A measure of relief washed across his features and he closed his eyes. As he swallowed, I noted that never had I seen Scott Summers filled with such fear, except perhaps, when his son's life was threatened.
"Remy?" he croaked again.
"Also alive and well. All the X-Men are. Except, until just now, you," I told him.
"My eyes?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't know what happened to your optic beams."
"What happened, Kurt?" Scott choked, finally able to utter more than a couple of words.
"You took a harpoon meant for Warren in the chest. You died," I said as calmly as I could, trying not to notice the look of panic on his face and how he convulsively grabbed his chest. "Sinister offered to resurrect you, in exchange for a blood sample from both you and Jean."
His eyes flew open, and a look of new terror flashed across his features, coupled with rage. "No!" he cried. "Not again! No more Rachels or Nathans!"
I put a calming hand on his naked shoulder but he shrugged me off. I told him what I knew of the story, which is most of it. "With luck, Sinister is dead, but I doubt it. You know how super villains are, Scott. They have more lives than a cat," I told him.
Scott stared at me, working his jaw. "Why aren't you with Excalibur?" he asked, apparently wanting to ignore the story I just told him. He was most likely trying to digest it all.
"Jean asked me to come. I am, after all, a medic. The X-Men have been falling apart since you 'died', Scott. Storm has distanced herself, and Jean's been too busy with you. The only glue that's holding them together at all is Rogue, I think," I shrugged.
"Storm had been...considering leaving again. It's probably...too much...for her," Scott said weakly, his features paling.
"How did you know that?" I asked him, surprised. As far as I knew, Professor, you and I were the only ones Storm had revealed that information to.
Scott stared at me. "She's overwhelmed, and feeling anxious. All the people around her are starting to suffocate her. I assumed that was why she wanted to leave, to have some private time," he said slowly, his eyes widening with the realization of what he was saying. He knew, without a doubt, how Ororo felt.
He clutched his head. "Kurt...what's happening to me?" he asked me plaintively, like a little boy.
"The resurrection process somehow activated your latent empathic powers. You've been in a coma for the past three weeks, Scott. Other than that, I'm the wrong man to ask, mein friend. Just a medic. Hank's the doctor," I replied.
"I think I'll ask him in the morning. I feel tired," he said.
"I would imagine so. Being in a coma is not the same as sleeping. Now get some rest," I smiled.
Scott gave me an indecipherable look. "Why are you embarrassed? You're considering something to do with me. What is it?" he pressed, his brown eyes narrowing.
"Get some rest, Scott," I answered, stepping away.
"Why do you feel sorry for me?"
"Scott, I understand you can't control your empathy, but that doesn't give you a right to go pry into my mind."
He fell silent and lay back on his cot, and I could understand his frustration. He rolled over and presented his back to me, almost the way a child would. I tried to clear my emotions from my head. It was not my secret to tell. Whether or not Scott was aware of Warren's love, it wasn't my business.
And I wasn't going to tell him.
Scott was still asleep when Hank and Jean returned. They were ecstatic to discover that Scott had awoken. I was careful to not tell either of them who had woken Scott. Even though I knew Jean and Scott had recently divorced, I didn't want to upset anyone. And again, it was not my secret to tell.
But, if there's one thing I've learned in all my years as an X-Man, it's that you can't keep a secret from a telepath.
Hank was busy studying the test readout on Scott, trying to puzzle out exactly why Scott's optic beams weren't working when Jean approached me. Scott lay still on the cot, deep asleep for the first time in weeks.
"Why are you guarding your thoughts, Kurt? Someone was in here before Scott woke up. Who?" Jean demanded, crossing her arms and directing a steady green gaze on me.
I sighed, putting down the tablet of information I was trying to decipher on Scott's optic nerves. "Warren," I told her.
Jean didn't look surprised, and I don't know *why* I thought she should have been. After all, she is a telepath. "What'd he say?" she pressed.
"The usual," I shrugged.
"The usual?" She raised a fiery eyebrow at me.
"You know. How much he misses Scott. How much he wants Scott to wake up. How much this coma thing is upsetting everyone," I said truthfully.
"How much he loves Scott?" she asked, almost nonchalantly.
I started to cough. "I think that was mentioned once or twice during his monologue," I admitted. Lying to her would be pointless.
She smiled, and it took me a moment to realize she was patronizing me. "It's alright, Kurt. I've known for a long time," she said.
"So this isn't a recent development?"
"Not unless you consider thirteen, almost fourteen years a recent development."
"That long?"
"Practically since the moment they first met. Before even I showed up."
"Well, it seemed to work. Scott's out of his coma."
"Of course he is."
This time, it was my turn to raise a blue eyebrow at her. Jean smiled at me. "The feeling is returned, however slightly," she confessed.
My eyebrows shot so high up, I'm almost positive they entered the stratosphere. My jaw banged against my knees and then rolled away. It took me a few moments to recover both eyebrows and jaw.
I started to cough violently, so Jean patted me on the back until I recovered. I blinked a few times and scratched my fur thoughtfully. "Is that why you left him?" I asked, since we were being honest.
"Not really. I suppose that finding out Scott isn't as straight as most might think is a bit of a shocker to you," she chuckled, noting the fact that my eyes were still abnormally large.
"Not at all. It's more the fact that he could love anyone but you," I shrugged.
"Which is why I had to leave him. You know that song by Bette Midler? *The Wind Beneath My Wings*? Well, Scott was getting cold in my shadow, but he refused to leave it. So I moved. I don't need his wind anymore. I can fly on my own."
"And after all, there are other birds who need his wind to fly, right?"
Jean was impressed with my deductions. "More like angels who have trouble staying aloft during the storm. You're very perceptive, Kurt," she smiled gently.
"When you're me, Jean, you have to be."
She nodded and patted my shoulder, returning to assisting Hank. Within a couple hours, Scott finally woke. By that time, all of you were anxiously assembled outside the med lab door, waiting for Scott to rejoin them.
Scott sat up blearily, his face once again holding that odd fear, and some measure of confusion. Jean and Hank surrounded him, but I kept my distance. Scott blinked at them, his brown eyes darting around. It was disconcerting to see Scott Summers looking around, and being able to see his eyes without getting blasted into the room across the mansion.
"Scott," Jean said, causing him to look at her. He instantly looked away.
"Scott, how are you feeling, old buddy?" Hank bubbled, happy to see Scott awake.
"Can't answer that. I can tell you how *you're* feeling, if you like," Scott quipped bitterly. Hank withdrew in surprise. Scott wasn't normally so testy. "Pleased I'm awake, concerned about my health, and surprised that I'm acting like an asshole."
Hank blinked. "So I assume your empathy is completely active?" he asked.
"Must be that genius intellect at work," Scott replied sarcastically.
"Scott. It's not his fault," Jean said gently, putting a hand on Scott's arm. He grabbed her hand and roughly removed it.
"Don't touch me, Jean. I don't want to see the inside of your head right now," he hissed. Jean's eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped her hand.
"Scott, mein freund. Please. We know that your powers must be rather overwhelming, but please do not take that anger out on us," I said, trying to send calming emotions, letting them ripple from my mind as you taught me, Professor.
It must have worked, because Scott relaxed slightly, the snarl of anger on his face fading. He hung his head. "I'm sorry," he said weakly, and to no one in particular.
"It's alright, Scott," Jean soothed. She gave him the lowdown on what had transpired while he was dead.
"What happened to my optic beams, Hank?" Scott asked quietly.
Hank straightened his white coat, recovering from Scott's insult quickly. "Well, from what I'm gathering, I think the re-energization process that Sinister used on you must have short-circuited your power somehow. Your optic nerves seem a little frayed, but I'm not sure if that was due to the energy surge, or because of the constant use of your powers. You're going to need glasses regardless," Hank offered with a smile.
"So I go from having one eye to four?" Scott asked weakly, a mild attempt at humor.
Hank's grin broadened. "I'm afraid so, fearless leader," Hank chuckled.
"So what exactly is blocking my optic powers?" Scott asked.
"You absorb solar energy and translate that into optic beams. Since it was on a cellular level, as was the re-energization process, I believe it basically blew out your ability to absorb sunlight. And whatever was left of your powers was obviously used when you were first resurrected, and reflected uselessly on the ruby quartz shielding Sinister had."
Scott worked his jaw. "Fine, now I'm useless. And how the fuck do we turn this empathy shit back off?" he growled, frustrated. I can understand why.
Jean and Hank exchanged a glance. "You can't, Scott. The only way to turn your empathy off would be to put a mutant inhibitor collar on you. Or make you brain dead," she said, almost apologetically.
Scott looked up at her in alarm. "Jean...all these emotions and feelings... I can't deal with this," he confessed.
Jean gave him a sympathetic look. "Scott. I went through this when I was a girl, you know that. You know what you have to do. You have to focus. You need to establish a mental link with someone, a deep bond. That way, you can filter out all the other emotions to the background," she told him.
Scott looked at her, his face looking mildly betrayed. "You severed our bond, Jean. What am I supposed to do now?" he spat.
"Forge a new one with someone else, Scott. Find someone you care about. Your powers will take care of the rest. All you have to do is focus," she said evenly.
I stared at Jean. She knew. I turned to Scott. He didn't know. I wanted to laugh, Professor, it was so ironic. There had to be so many people out there who had figured out that Scott loved Warren, if even only a little. But he didn't know. At least not consciously.
Scott looked away. He had hoped Jean would take him back, but she remained firm on her decision. She was setting Scott free, I realized. She was setting them both free. So both she and Scott could grow and learn, something they could not do together any longer. Perfection is stagnation. Stagnation leads to unhappiness. It is all part of the basic human urge to change and grow.
"I want to take a shower," Scott said gruffly.
"You're free to go, Scott. You're going to need a lot of training and practice with your new powers, but I-"
"Save it, McCoy. I don't want to hear it. And if you love Trish so much, just go fucking find her and tell her for fuck's sake," Scott interrupted, taking the clothes Jean offered him.
Hank reeled, stunned. Jean frowned at her ex-husband. Jean, at least, knew tact when dealing with people's emotions. Scott had yet to master that.
Scott threw on the clothes he was given, and stiffly headed out the door, only to be confronted by the entire X-Men and yourself, Professor. You saw how he came up short, his face going pale at the obvious clamor of all your different emotions.
You were there, Professor, with all the other X-Men, wanting to touch Scott, to hug him, to tell him how happy you were to see he was alive. We were all stung by how he cringed and backed away from us. From his family. You made them all stop, and back off. He made his excuses and fled, leaving all of you behind, gaping and hurt. As you requested, I followed him discreetly.
My breath caught when Warren stood in his way farther down the hall, away from you and the crowd. The blue-skinned angel had his arms crossed before him, and was giving Scott a very serious look. Scott looked back, both men utterly silent. Their eyes met, warm brown and cold blue.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Scott," Warren said evenly, and I saw him close his eyes, knowing that all his emotions could be read by Scott now.
"I liked the land of the dead better. It was more quiet," Scott said darkly and turned away from Warren without another word. I narrowed my eyes at such an obvious brush-off. There was no way Scott *couldn't* know how Warren felt now. With his empathy, he couldn't ignore it. And Warren made no effort to hide it.
How could he just walk away from someone who loved him?
You were still trying to talk to the other X-Men, trying to explain what was going and why Scott drew away like that. I stared after Scott, wondering if maybe Jean was wrong about Scott until I saw him pause down the hallway he was walking.
Warren was staring after him, unshed tears glittering in his eyes. Scott turned and met Warren's eyes again, and some indefinable emotion crossed Scott's face before he turned away again, and left. I saw something akin to hope cross Warren's features, and then he too, left to be alone.
As you asked, I followed Scott all day long, to ensure he did nothing rash. Courtesy of your psychic mask, he never sensed me. He spent most of his day in the shower, or lying on his bed, crying. It was as if he was suffering everyone else's sorrow. Which I think he was.
Scott put on a simple t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, and stared at Jean's picture for a long time. I frowned. Would Scott not recover from her loss? Did Jean perhaps make a mistake by leaving him?
Eventually, he turned the picture face down and took out a much older picture. His hands shook as he held the picture, and more tears escaped his eyes. I snuck around behind him, to catch a glimpse of it.
It was of Warren.
The picture must have been a good twelve, thirteen years old. Warren was a mere teenage boy in it. As beautiful as ever, his adolescence giving him a slightly feminine appearance. Beside him stood a shy-looking Scott, with a nervous smile. Still handsome, but I hadn't realized how thin and gawky Scott was as a teenager. It amazed me how much different Scott looks now. I couldn't get a very close look at the picture without Scott finding out I was there, so went back to the corners, wondering why he kept the picture.
Scott eventually got up and left the room. He let the picture flutter to the floor. I reached over and grabbed it before following Scott.
Warren had his arms around Scott, in a way that could never be mistaken for friendship. His smile was happy, pleased with himself, full of the teasing arrogance we all know Angel is capable of. Beside him was Scott, looking at Warren with an embarrassed smile. The smile a shy teenager with a crush would give the object of his affections. Warren had his body pressed against Scott's, his smile directed at whoever took the picture, most likely Hank. Warren knew he was treading thin ice, brazenly flirting with Scott in front of Hank, who most likely never got it. Scott just reacted, looking embarrassed, yet undeniably pleased to have Warren so close, so close he could put his hands on him...
A picture truly is worth a thousand words.
The picture was taken before Jean. Before Bobby. When it was just Scott, Warren, and Hank, three young men at a very special school. And two of those young men were attracted to each other, the other oblivious.
Scott stopped at Remy's door, and knocked on it sharply. Remy opened the door cautiously, peering out at Scott in surprise. It was already late evening.
"Scott. Nice t'see y'u up 'n about. Feelin' better, mon ami?" the Cajun asked carefully.
"She loves you. She's terrified of you, but she loves you. She knows now that Sinister is your father, and that makes you so much more understandable. Sympathetic. But she's not going to reach out to you. You need to reach out to her. So go take a shower, put on your nicest cologne, and go talk to Rogue," Scott said simply, leaving a gaping Remy at his doorway.
I quickly followed Scott, watching Remy slowly withdraw inside his room, no doubt to do just as Scott told him. Unlike you, Jean, and Betsy, apparently Scott has no qualms about getting involved in others' relationships.
Scott headed outside, walking through the grounds until he reached the boathouse. The fact that he was here put a smile on my face. This boathouse has seen a lot of action over the years. I'm surprised every time we walk by it we just don't stare at it funny. Walk inside and the place practically reeks of sex.
Luckily, the boathouse was not in use tonight. But then again, I don't think anyone was in the mood for that sort of thing tonight. Of course, Scott knew it was empty. Which is why he came here.
He sat down on the edge of the dock, dangling his legs over the water, looking for all the world like a little boy whose dog had just died. I wondered if he even knew how he felt, underneath all the swirling chaos of everyone else's emotions in his mind.
"Do you remember that promise you made me, Scotty?"
I jumped, nearly giving myself away. I turned and saw Warren framed in the doorway, his wings fluttering nervously. He stepped inside the boathouse, concentrating so hard on Scott that I could have popped out in a hula skirt singing "Oops, I Did It Again" in falsetto and he still wouldn't have noticed me.
Scott didn't even turn. He had known Warren was coming. Maybe he came here because he knew Warren would come. Who knows?
"Yes," was all he said.
Warren took the initiative to sit down beside Scott. "It was the morning before Jean came. I asked you to meet me here, at the boathouse, that night... You never came," he said quietly, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.
Scott said nothing, merely watched the gentle ripples of the water beneath his feet. Warren seemed over-dressed beside Scott. It was odd, to watch these two men act like they were teenagers again.
"And you promised me you would." This time there was no keeping the accusation out of his voice.
"I was tired. We had fought Magneto for the first time that day."
"Fucking liar. You were with Jean. I saw both of you, together, coming back from some burger joint. I waited for you for *hours*, Scott."
"I thought it would be better that way. Better for both of us."
Warren said nothing, turning his face away from the unnaturally calm Scott. He didn't cry, but he looked like he wanted to. "Do you want to know when I fell in love with you, Scott?" he asked, suddenly candid, bold because he could hide nothing from Scott anymore.
Scott said nothing.
"When I bought you that stereo system you wanted. You returned it the day after I gave it you, and gave the money to charity. It suddenly dawned on me that there was at least one person out there who didn't like me for my money. You never wanted any of it. Ever."
Scott turned and stared at him. "Then why did you keep trying to buy me things?" he asked.
Warren shrugged. "I guess I was trying to prove you weren't interested in the money at all..." he said softly.
"It made me uncomfortable. I'm an orphan, Warren. I was used to hand-me-downs and cheap thrift store items. You made me feel like I was supposed to owe you something for all that. Love? You love me? I don't get it Warren. I didn't come here for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that if I gave into temptation with you, how long would it take you before I became another conquest for you to boast and brag about, like all your others?"
Warren looked hurt at Scott's words. "You're the empath, Scott. Do you honestly believe I would do that to you?" he asked.
"Maybe not now. But you would have. Back then."
"Maybe in the beginning. But I wouldn't have if you had come to the boathouse as you promised."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
Their eyes met again, and they spent a long time considering each other. If Warren was a woman, I doubt it would have taken so long. But between them was not only their own personal fears, but thousands of layers of society's prejudice and condemnations. For Warren, it meant nothing anymore, but for Scott...for Scott it meant everything. Part of him was still the orphan, desperately trying to fit in, to be like everyone else.
Warren leaned over and kissed Scott. My eyes widened in surprise. Watching two men kiss is certainly not something I see every day. I probably should have left, Professor, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what was going to happen.
Scott closed his eyes and for a fraction of a second, he kissed Warren back, meeting the beautiful angel's lips with hungry earnest and pent-up desire. And then he roughly pushed Warren away and stood up.
"This is wrong, Warren. This is so *wrong*. I can't do this. I just can't..." he choked and left the boathouse, running in fear.
I'm no telepath, but I caught a undeniable look on Scott's face as he ran away.
He wanted to.
He so desperately wanted to, but he was so afraid.
Warren was not surprised, and to his credit, he did not cry. I think I would have, had I been him. But Warren just sat there, quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. The wings followed, cloaking his being from the world.
I left quietly, trailing Scott back to his room, watching the X-Men's supposedly fearless leader cry himself to sleep. Is this what it's like to love someone you think you're not supposed to love?
To feel that you're wrong in God's eyes? To feel wrong in man's eyes? To feel wrong in everyone's eyes? To feel dirty where you should feel joy?
God never intended love to be like that. Love is pure. Love ignores the body, because it is something meant for the heart and the soul. Love is not bound to gender or race. Gender shouldn't matter, and I think God knows that.
It's a shame that man doesn't know that yet.
And it broke my heart, to know that two of my friends suffered from man's prejudiced views on love. Fear comes between them. And as long as it remains, neither man will find peace.
But perhaps, as Live once said in a song, fear is not the end of this?