Title: When Worlds Collide
Author: Chris (teufelce@aol.co)
Website: none
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When Worlds Collide 2
By Chris
Apparently Xavier had thought of everything, Scott mused from the passenger seat as the nondescript car slowed to a stop in front of a rundown building on Mercer Street. The car looked like it came from the typical car service fleet - the paint chipped in places, part of the fender rusted and the side panel dented - and the driver wouldn't have looked at all out of place with one of Wolverine's loathsome cigars clenched between his yellowed teeth. Despite being impressed with the professor's thoroughness, Scott had voiced his curiosity at the need for such subterfuge. The exhaustion of the previous night no longer apparent, Xavier had responded with his usual aplomb.
"In the event that someone may be watching, I thought it wise, Scott," the cultured voice echoed in the quiet of the office, before a slight smile crossed his face. "Besides, there's no harm in you starting out on the right foot with your new neighbours - a limousine would hardly be in character, now would it?" Chuckling softly, the professor had escorted him to the car in question and waited with him as his bags were casually tossed in the trunk, shaking his hand briefly and informing him that he would check in periodically via telepathy.
Shaking himself out of his internal musing, Scott Summers climbed from the car to stand on the cracked sidewalk, rolling his neck to ease tense muscles even as the knot in his stomach tightened. Professor Xavier had left unspoken the other reason he had chosen Scott for this particular reason - after the plane crash that had left him orphaned, Scott had spent the earlier part of his youth growing up in buildings just like the one before him. Buildings full of splintered, lower class families barely scratching out enough to afford rent, hookers who couldn't afford any better, and dealers who wanted to stay close to the source of their income. Places where muggings and robberies were common enough occurrences, and where the occasional murder barely raised an eyebrow. Places Scott had run from at the first opportunity, only to find himself prey of a different sort for the pimps who lurked on the unforgiving streets, just waiting for another disillusioned, desperate teenager they could lure in with promises of easy money. Luring them in until they were so far removed from any remnant of their previous life that there was no where and no one left for them to turn to....
Shivering despite the warm spring afternoon, the tall young man clenched his fists inside the pockets of his worn leather jacket, feeling the hated masks he'd thought long behind him settle back into place as if they'd never been gone. He could feel his stance shifting from cautious politeness, to understated warning - 'Don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you'. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he turned to the driver, digging into the front pocket of his jeans and slipping the driver a few bills, before bending to retrieve his bags. Throwing them over his shoulder, he trudged up the front steps and, fishing the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the front door and began the long walk up the stairs to his new home.
*********
Scott sat inside the apartment, staring at the cracked paint on the wall. Professor Xavier had seen to it that the apartment was suitably furnished - the furniture clean but clearly second, even third generation, the appliances old but functional, the very couch he sat on looking as if it had clearly seen far better days. The professor's only obvious concession to Scott's comfort had been a new mattress and clean sheets. Scott's lips quirked into a small grin at the thought.
"I don't even want to know what the previous one looked like," he laughed, the sound of his own voice sounding startingly loud in the hushed atmosphere of the living room. Glancing down at his watch, Scott's face twisted with irritation at the realization that he'd already spent well over an hour sitting there. Hiding.
"I am not afraid, damn it!" Rising abruptly from his seat, the lean young man grabbed his jacket from where it lay on the back of the couch and shoved his arms jerkily through the sleeves. Grabbing his keys from the side table, he walked stiff-legged towards the door.
"It's too early to try the club, but I might as well go out and get a cup of coffee. Maybe a newspaper..." Blinking, the usually collected young mutant bared his teeth in a silent snarl as he realized that he was still standing inside the apartment, staring at the closed door inches from his face. Slamming the deadbolts free with the edge of his hand, he opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, yanking the door shut behind him. Engaging the locks once more, he strode for the stairwell that led from the fourth floor to ground level without once looking back. He'd spent the past several years breaking free from the fear that had ruled most of his younger years, he wasn't about to let it grab hold of him again without a fight.
*********
Dusk had started to fall by the time Scott made it back to the apartment. Several blocks of walking, one bagel, two cups of black coffee, one newspaper, and three offers to pay whatever he charged for a little private time, and he was slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. Dropping the paper on the end table and letting the jacket slip from his broad shoulders to fall unnoticed to the floor, Scott stalked to the small bathroom off the main room and spent several long moments staring at his expression in the mirror above the sink. Finally raising sweating hands, he clenched his eyes shut and carefully removed his glasses, placing them on the narrow ledge below the mirror before turning on the cold water and splashing it liberally over his face. A wry internal voice informing him that ice cold water wasn't about to wash away the sick fear in the pit of his stomach brought a choked laugh to his lips and he turned the water off abruptly, reaching out with a blind hand for the small towel that hung against the wall. Wiping the excess water from angular features, he slipped his glasses on and once more regarded himself in the mirror. A slow, grim smile split otherwise emotionless features and he shook his head.
"A nervous breakdown isn't exactly going to help Warren, Summers, so deal with it. Yeah, it sucks. Yeah, you'd rather be anywhere else but back here. So fucking what. You survived your little test walk, even if you are freaking out now. So what, there's no one here to see that. You survived and you'll continue to survive. There is no other option." Pausing for a moment in his rambling, his expression softened into a genuine smile and he chuckled under his breath.
"Just remember to stop talking to yourself out loud once you get back to the school and you'll be fine. If Bobby ever caught you at it, you'd never live it down..." Close on the heels of that thought came another and the smile abruptly fell from his face. Jean. Not once during the entire day had he thought of Jean. Finding that realization vaguely unsettling in a way he couldn't quite identify, Scott shook his head and stripped down, removing his glasses and climbing into the shower to get ready for the evening's recognizance of the 'new' Warren.*********
The club was packed to capacity, each table filled with anything from the obviously slumming corporate type to the more common working class, the music loud enough to send a thudding pulse through Scott's chest with each beat. Regarding the room warily from where he sat at a small table to the side of the stage with his back to the wall, the field leader of the X-Men forced himself to view the other patrons with dispassionate interest while his skin crawled and screamed at him to get out. Just. Get. Out. Having already discarded the waif-like and malnourished youth currently gyrating on stage as *not* Warren, he lifted his beer to his lips and awarded himself a small smile of satisfaction at the way his hand did *not* shake. /Small battles make the war.../ he snorted internally, feeling his muscles begin to relax slightly beneath the slow crawl of the alcohol through his blood stream. Much as he'd wanted to order something stronger from the bar, he knew that getting smashed wouldn't be appropriate. No matter how much he wanted to...
The fade out of music signaling an end to the current act brought Scott back to himself with a start and he shifted in his seat to face the stage, one hand rising to readjust the glasses that had brought only cursory glances of speculation when he'd entered the strip club. No, those glances had been more interested in what lay below eye level... Shoving those thoughts back with ruthless efficiency, the lean young man returned his attention to the work at hand as the music began anew. A dark, pulsing beat that slithered beneath Scott's skin, rubbing along his spine in ways that immediately brought to mind sex and darkened rooms, thick, humid air and roughened, gasping voices. The muscle in his jaw twitching as the pit of his stomach seemed to drop out, Scott once again brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed desperately. Freezing with the glass resting against his mouth as the club went dark...
Only an act of supreme willpower kept him from choking around the suddenly nauseating liquid trickling down his throat, kept him from slamming the bottle down on the table in panic as the stage began to glow beneath soft, red lights.
/I can do this... I can do this.../ was the litany running through Scott's mind when something (no, someone) shifted in the darkness veiling the back of the stage. Then that shadowy figure stepped into the light and the litany came to an abrupt, stuttering halt as Scott's mouth dropped open in shock. Stalking forward was Warren... but Warren as Scott had never seen him before. Gone was the semi-curly naturally blond hair, replaced by bleached white hair that was cropped and stuck up from his scalp in short, gelled spikes. Gone was the carefully tailored business suit he wore when not in uniform, replaced by a leather vest that hinted at the well-defined pectoral muscles beneath and leather pants that seemed to cling to Warren's body in a way that should have been obscene. Should have been... but wasn't. Scott's mouth was dry as he trailed his eyes back up those legs to focus with a start on Warren's wings. Which were... no longer white. Black. Black and glistening beneath the muted red lighting. As if someone had massaged oil into them. Making each feather stand out in sharp contrast to the other...
Snapping back to himself with a start, Scott lifted his eyes to find them suddenly trapped by ice blue orbs that were staring right back at him. Eyes that seemed far too jaded for such a beautiful face...
/Beautiful?!/ Scott's internal voice shouted at him in rising hysteria. /Since when did Warren go from 'teammate' to 'beautiful'?!/ A voice which was answered by a deeper, darker one, even as that icy gaze focusing on him shifted into something else, a predatory smile curling upwards on thin lips.
/Since he fell from 'untouchable millionaire' to 'wet dream'..../ The thought had barely completed itself when Scott found himself scrambling to his feet and shoving people aside as he stumbled for the door. Found himself standing outside, eyes clenched shut and mouth open, gasping for air, with his back to the brick wall. With his mind a screaming turmoil and his carefully constructed walls cracking around him...
TBC in Part 3