quixotism | [fanfic] [X-Men] Faulting

Scott knew his routine. He knows everyone's routines, even if they accused him of being too much of a prude, of not caring about their personal time. Sometimes it hurt (sometimes he would sit in the Danger Room thinking "it hurts"), but it's easier to remember that being a "prude", being too much in their lives could save them. He could save them. And that knowledge is enough to keep him going (even though it hurts). The Professor looks at him long and hard during those times and Scott was glad no one noticed him looking away.

Right now, he can't. Right now, he was facing the Professor directly and he knew it would be insulting (it could be heartbreaking too, but Scott doesn't get his hopes high. The Professor's heart was breakable and fixable. Scott's seen the work). So he looked straight at him, hands placed politely on his thighs, not the slightest bit of discomfort ("I chose you for your leadership")

"Scott, relax," The Professor smiles warmly, "I'm not discussing your imminent funeral."

Scott's posture tightens but he nods.

The Professor slides a document across to him and Scott picks it up. They were his discharge papers from the orphanage (he ran away from so many, but he could never remember which one had his papers and after a while, it didn't matter). Scott's heart clenches (I knew it, they're tired of me, I'm no leader, I'm just the kid who can't control his powers, obsolete). Still, he loves the Professor too much (not enough), so he carefully flips over the pages...

... to find a photo of his parents.

Scott is flummoxed.

"It took me a while to procure these," The Professor continued on calmly, "But you didn't remember what they looked like and I said I wouldn't pry it from your mind because of the trauma... this will have to do."

His father had brown hair. Scott never knew that.

"Professor, I..." his voice is dry, he's not sure of anything, he doesn't know who these people are, but he swallows and says what's appropriate, "Thank you."

He slides it back, numb. And the Professor calmly lays his hand on top of Scott's, cool and feather-light.

"I am not replacing you. You may not have my name or blood, but you are very dear to me, as much as any son would be."

Scott isn't very good with words. More often, he tends to piss everyone off, with his contingencies and plans, his need to have some kind of order where there is none in his power. And he loves the Professor too much, so he says very simply, "You're my father too."

The Professor's eyes are very warm.