Zero Point

[summers]

The Milbury House for Orphaned Children

Omaha, Nebraska

Sometime in the early 80's

He was awake. In the huge, damp, pitch black dormitory where fourteen boys lay in their beds, one teenage youngster was lying wide awake. He just couldn't get the images out of his head. Images of things that had happened to him, in the basement of the grand old building that housed over fifty orphaned children. The images, they were intense, yet the young lad couldn't quite remember what had happened to him. Had anything even happened to him, or had he maybe just thought the whole thing up? Was he going crazy?

Lying there, staring straight up at the ceiling above him, the dark shadow of a damp patch was playing tricks on the child's tired eyes. The room was quiet, save for the sounds of his fellow orphans breathing and snoring and occasionally moving in their sleep. The time was around 3am and for the boy lying wide awake, the horror of his experiences had pushed him over the edge. Lying there, his young body filled with the stress, fear and intense trepidation of what else might happen to him, something clicked in his brain. A button or device of some kind had been pressed, for the events of the previous evening, whether the young mutant could remember clearly enough, had resonated somewhere in his psyche that told him that he had to get out of this place. Tomorrow. He would do it tomorrow.

----------

On a Tuesday afternoon, on the small sports field behind the orphanage, the sound of children could be heard, playing sports and performing other physical activities, as instructed by the staff of the Milbury. The orphanage was named after Mr Milbury, a well-off and seemingly friendly gentleman who was very interested in youngsters with 'special' abilities. After Scott and several others had been rescued from The Island, a few of them had been taken in by Mr Milbury, whose orphanage in Omaha had been recently set up. That had been a few years ago, and Scott Summers was now a teenager. And his very own 'special ability' had begun to creep into the youngster's already complicated life.

Scott was playing football with the other older kids, although he wasn't really being involved in the game. Not that he minded, of course. Today was the day when he would make his escape. It had been planned for weeks; straight after football, around 4pm, the staff would all head into the staff kitchen for coffee and cigarettes whilst the kids showered and got changed and ready for dinner at 5pm. The fence at the top end of the field backed on to a wooded area. Scott's plan depended on the staff ensuring all the children were inside before the last of them went for their break. Time would tell.

The whistle for the end of the session pierced the air, and Scott's heart started to beat faster. And faster. 

"Hey Summers, you sucked ass, as usual!" One of the other boys, Tommy, the token bully-boy of the orphanage, always targeted Scott, and the other boys always went along with Tommy. 

"Yeah, Summers," squealed another of the boys. "You should go play with the girls, you freak!" Scott, holding a ball, simply looked down at the ground and didn't say a word, hoping that the bullies weren't going to ruin his plans.

Suddenly, a shout came from across the field, it was one of the staff members, Chili.

"Do you guys want to go to bed without your dinner tonight? Get you asses in there and shower, right now!" Chili shouted, standing waiting for the group of teenagers to start making their move inside. Scott froze. He tried to look as conspicuous as possible. The other boys walked past Scott, still standing there, eyes to the ground. Tommy, stood on Scott's foot as he walked past, and knocked the ball out of Scott's hands, smiling as he did so. The ball bounced off Scott's foot and rolled away, in the direction of the far fence. Still Scott stood there, unmoving. Watching the ball come to a stand still a few metres away.

"Get movin' Summers! Jesus!!" shouted Chili.

"Just gotta get the ball," the youngster shouted back, pointing to the white ball. "Okay, go get it, then get in there and get ready for dinner." With that, Chili, the last staff member to be outside, headed in towards the staff kitchen. Scott managed a thin smile and looked across to the 10ft fence over 100 metres awy.

----------

He was running as fast he could. His heart felt as if it would come right out of his mouth. He was petrified, the sound of dogs barking behind him as Scott was chased by guards from the orphanage. Through the trees and the underbrush of the woods, branches snapping underfoot, heavy breathing accompanying the hurried sprint to freedom for the teenage runaway. Tripping on a loose branch, Scott fell down, knees first, then hands, followed by face. Into the leaves, he lay for a split second. Breathing heavily and eyes beginning to glow ruby-red, Scott looked ahead of him and saw the faint dark grey colour of buildings, lights emanating dimly in the distance. Turning to look behind him, Scott focused his eyes to try to make out the shape of one of his pursuers in the evening twilight. Nothing. And the dogs, their barks. They seemed to be fading. As if they'd taken a bad turn, lost his scent. Maybe he'd gotten away? Maybe he was finally free?

----------

The following morning, in the early hours around 5am, the young mutant awoke in an alleyway to the sound of a couple of tramps arguing over a pile of what looked like cardboard boxes. Lifting his head slowly, the tramps noticed the youngster and started to make their way over to him. Realising he might be in danger, Scott quickly awoke and sat up, before getting to his feet and backing up into a wall.

"Leave me alone," Scott tried to sound authoritative, older than he was, deepening his voice in an effort to sound like he wasn't the innocent, teenage boy that he was.

"What you doin' here, kid. Don't you think it's a little dangerous for someone of your age to be out here on their own? Huh?" The tramp, an older man with a stained yellow beard from years of smoking and shaggy brown, smelly hair, teeth missing in all corners of his mouth. "Bad things can happen..." the man's voice sounded more threatening, and a devious smile came across his face.

"No, you don't understand, you've got to leave me alone!" Scott exclaimed, beginning to sound hysterical. He was frightened, in fear for his life, and his fight or flight natural instincts began to take over his body in a psycho-somatic reaction.

"No, sonny, you don't understand..." the man, a wild look in his eyes, suddenly made a move towards the young mutant, and that's when Scott lost control.

Eyes glowing red, energy building up, anger and fear and adrenaline all combining in one intense moment, a burst of ruby-red energy suddenly emanated at an incredibly rapid speed from Scott's eyes.

"Noooooooo!" screamed the youngster, as the beam of energy pulverised the man backwards and into the air, his screech of pain fading as his body flew away from the young mutant. Closing his eyes and kneeling down on the ground, Scott moved his hand up, directing the other tramp, who had simply watched in silence at the unbelievable thing he had just seen, to leave the scene.

"Just go, run away!" shouted Scott to the man, who realised this was his cue to leave. Scott, sat there, eyes wide closed, shaking with fear and wondering how he was going to be able to live his life like this, let alone get to somewhere safe. Sitting there, all alone in the world, the frightened teenage mutant began to weep, tears forcing their way out from his tightly squeezed eyelids and down his pale cheeks. Not daring to open his eyes, he just sat there and cried in the dark, dirty alleyway. Alone.

Tag; Professor

[x]

Charles had always had a habit of keeping track of the world around him. It was an unconscious one, a habit formed before he was even able to speak or walk. His mutation, which had manifested in small increments in his infancy, had made it simple for him to keep attuned to the emotional states of his parents and the staff. By the time he was nine and his telepathy fully manifested, Charles had become so accustomed to unconsciously brushing against the minds of those around them that he barely noticed it anymore. In the past several decades, he’d been forced to become far more aware of how his mutation affected his interactions with the rest of the world—now, he purposely extended and increased his outreach with the aid of Cerebro.

This was all for the sake of locating other mutants in the hopes that he could recruit them for his school as either teachers or students—or at the very least, inform them of the school’s existence and offer them a safe haven if they ever required it. Now that the school was finally fully operational, with a full teaching staff and more students than was probably advisable, Charles limited his usage of Cerebro from daily for hours on end to every other day, for no more than a couple of hours at Hank’s insistence. Rather than trying to reach as many as he could, Charles instead focused on a number in precarious situations—ones who were in no immediate danger, but whose situation balanced on a fine line between safety and danger.

One such mutant was a young man from Nebraska, by the name of Scott, who was living in an orphanage. The boy was planning on running away, had been planning it for weeks, and between the two of them, Charles and Hank had planned to head out and see if they couldn’t find him before he landed himself in too much trouble. And so, they found themselves set up in Omaha, Nebraska, waiting for Scott to make his move.

------------

Charles jolted awake at five in the morning, a sense of secondhand danger pulling at him. In the moment it took him to orient himself and figured out why exactly his instincts were shouting at him to do something, he hefted himself up into a sitting position.

“Hank,” he said once he realized whose danger he was currently sensing. “Hank, we need to go. It seems Scott’s gotten himself into a bit of possible danger.”

Over a decade’s worth of practice made getting ready and getting out of the hotel room as quick a process as it could be, all things considered. Locating Scott was something that took a bit of skill—it was one thing to sense a mind, after all, and quite enough to pin a location to it—but they found him curled up in an alleyway, radiating fear and crying.

Charles made his way into the alley, bidding Hank to remain at the mouth of it in order to keep watch. While he would have plenty of warning relying on his telepathy alone, it was always a good idea to have another person focused primarily on keeping watch instead of multitasking.

“Scott Summers?” He brushed against the boy’s mind, making sure he was relatively unharmed and sending a small tendril of calm to him.  One step at a time, after all.

[summers]

Eyes wide shut, trembling like an orange-coloured autumn leaf, Scott was whispering to himself, praying almost, wishing this curse of his away. Although his unique power had rescued the naive and innocent-minded young mutant on this occasion, Scott knew that his inability to control his power made him a dangerous weapon, something that the Summers kid couldn't handle. He didn't want to hurt people, he wasn't an aggressive person, for Scott was just a frightened boy with nobody in the world to help him. He was alone.

A couple of times Scott had tried opening his eyes, relinquishing the tension between his eyelids just a tiny amount to be able to look at where he was. But as soon as the smallest gap appeared between his eyelids, as soon as the ruby-red energy had the tiniest of holes to expel itself from Scott's eyes, it would make a dash to the outside world. Scott instantly squeezed his eyes shut again the moment he realised the energy was still there, lurking behind his eyelids, waiting to demolish, destroy, devastate...

Scott had been kneeling there in the same place, head bowed, eyes closed, arms at his side, for a quarter of an hour, when he heard the voice of a man saying his name. The voice was calming, soothing, relaxing, and it instantaneously put Scott at some kind of ease. Wanting to open his eyes, but knowing he couldn't, Scott slowly opened his lips to reply to the voice in the early morning quiet.

“Scott Summers?”

"Hello, who's there?" he whispered, the crackled voice of a nervous teenager who'd just been through one of the most traumatic experiences of his young life. "How do you know my name?"

Scott lifted his head up, his eyes still squeezed tight. "I... I can't open my eyes. If I do, I might hurt you, I might, do something terrible..." The youngster was still in a state of panic, and his trembling voice spoke with a very real sense of worry and fear.

"Can you help me? Please?"

[x]

“Hello, who’s there?” Scott’s voice was soft, cracking, and Charles sighed softly in sympathy; the boy’s mind was in absolute chaos. “How do you know my name?”

Scott lifted up his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut—if he opened them, twin beams of powerful red-colored energy would escape—and Charles could feel the boy’s subconscious scrambling to keep hold of the calm he was projecting.

“My name is Charles Xavier; I’m like you, Scott, a mutant,” Charles said, sending a smidgen more calm in Scott’s direction; the boy’s mind was still in a panic.

“I...I can’t open my eyes,” Scott admitted. “If I do, I might hurt you. I might, do something terrible...”

“I know, Scott. I’m aware of what you can do,” he assured. “That’s why I’m here. It will be alright, I promise you. However, I need you to try to calm down a bit more.”

“Can you help me? Please?” Scott’s voice shook, trembling with fear and panic.

“I will most certainly do my utmost,” Charles promised. “If you’re willing to come with me, I’m certain we can figure out a way for you to see again, to control your powers.”

Charles signaled for Hank to join them as he pushed himself a bit closer to Scott. He wasn’t sure what exactly could be done for Scott; surely there had to be some way of control the energy. But there wasn’t much that could be done until Scott calmed down and they had made it back to Westchester safely.

"Now, you aren't hurt, are you? Any injuries that my friend and I should see to? After all, it seems you’ve had quite the eventful night.”

[summers]

Scott's breathing was getting slower, and his temperature was starting to calm down a little too. But he was still terrified to open his eyes. He could feel the energy, dancing around behind his eyelids, waiting for any kind of chance to surge out from their dark hiding place. The man spoke again, his voice soothing the youngster with each spoken syllable.

“My name is Charles Xavier; I’m like you, Scott, a mutant.”

A mutant? Is that what he really was? Scott was aware of the new race of human kind, the world was beginning to become a really weird place recently, but he hadn't considered that he himself might be a mutant, that these episodes were the result of his own DNA. The more he thought about it, the more Scott realised that this man, this Charles Xavier, this mutant, he was telling the truth. Scott was a mutant.

As the two spoke, the youngster's condition returned to normal, Scott feeling more and more at ease. This man had a very calming effect on Scott, and he felt comfortable instantly with him, like he could trust him. Scott motioned his head upwards, to hear better the words of Charles Xavier, but he kept his hands over his closed eyes. 

"Now, you aren't hurt, are you? Any injuries that my friend and I should see to? After all, it seems you’ve had quite the eventful night.”

Scott managed a tiny smile, before he responded to Charles' questions.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." Moving to get to his feet, Scott took his hands down from his face, revealing his tightly-squeezed eyelids. "I can feel it, I can still feel it inside my eye sockets. It's like, it's like I can't stop it. If I open my eyes, I just know it's going to all fire out!" He sighed as he bowed his head down to the ground again. "And so this is my mutation, I guess. My 'power'? Well, some good it's going to do when I can't even stop it from coming out of my eyes. Some power."

[x]

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Scott said as he picked himself up off the ground, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. The boy was smiling a bit, and his mind had calmed tremendously, so Charles scaled back the calming influence a bit.

“I can feel it,” the boy continued as Hank arrived. “I can still feel it inside my eye sockets. It’s like...it’s like I can’t stop it. If I open my eyes, I just know it’s going to all fire out!” He sighed and lowered his head. “And so this is my mutation, I guess. My ‘power’? Well, some good it’s going to do when I can’t even stop it from coming out of my eyes. Some power.”

Hank’s mind was full of a thousand different ways a mutation like Scott’s could be useful—primarily he was focused on engineering and medical science—and was about to point it out until Charles warned him off. There would be a time and a place to make Scott aware of what he could do with his mutation. For now, their focus had to be getting him safely home to Westchester.

“There must be a way to control it, Scott,” Charles assured. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“If nothing else,” Hank offered, “I’m sure there’s a substance out there that could serve as a barrier of some kind. After all, there’s really no such thing as a completely unstoppable force.”

“We’ll think of something,” Charles confirmed with a nod. “Now, if you’re willing to come with us, we’ll need to stop back at our hotel before heading to the airport.”

Scott was the reason they were here, and if the boy was amicable to coming along, then their work here was done. Next would come getting home and getting Scott settled in.

[summers]

“There must be a way to control it, Scott,” Charles' voice was reassuring and deliberately determined. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He seemed so intelligent, so friendly and caring. He was very well-spoken, which suggested he came from a distinguished background. He was educated, and Scott reasoned in his mind that a man such as this may well have the necessary tools and abilities to help the confused young mutant. Charles, and Hank, clearly wanted to help the teenager, and clearly believed they could. Scott had nothing left to lose. He was at zero point, and the desperation he felt urged him to trust and believe in the two gentlemen who had so diligently tracked the boy down.

Scott moved his head left, as he heard the second man speak for the first time. Again, a well-spoken, educated voice resonated with Scott, these men were definitely intellectuals. 

“If nothing else,” Hank offered, “I’m sure there’s a substance out there that could serve as a barrier of some kind. After all, there’s really no such thing as a completely unstoppable force.”

Scott nodded along as Hank spoke. Deep in his mind, he had wondered if there was such a material he could use to block out the tremendously powerful beams of energy that blasted out from his young eyes. These men, these educated, intelligent individuals, who themselves were mutants, these men could be the ones to find a way to allow Scott to control, or at the least guard his powers.

“We’ll think of something,” Charles confirmed with a nod. “Now, if you’re willing to come with us, we’ll need to stop back at our hotel before heading to the airport.”

Scott nodded. "Okay," he murmured, a little nervous tension in his voice. He'd always been told, as most children are, not to trust strangers. But compared to what he had experienced back at Milbury's, the youngster decided that he would indeed trust, in his own instincts.

"I'm ready to go with you," Scott spoke as he lifted his head toward Charles. "You mentioned an airport... where exactly is it that we're headed?"

[x]

“Okay,” Scott murmured.

He was still a bit nervous, but Charles would be more concerned if he weren’t. The poor boy had been put through the wringer in the last few hours; they were lucky he hadn’t slipped into full-on shock.

“I’m ready to go with you,” he said. “You mentioned an airport. Where exactly is it that we’re headed?”

Hank gave the lad a bit of warning before draping a blanket over Scott’s shoulders. Early morning always carried a chill with it; Scott must be freezing, whether he realized it or not.

“Westchester, New York,” Charles answered as they exited the alley and made for the rental. “I operate a school there for gifted youngsters such as yourself. It’s a safe place for mutants of all ages—at least, I strive to make it such. Not much I can do about standard childhood horseplay, I’m afraid.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and even Hank gave him a strange look. Charles exhaled and pulled up to the car. He opened the back seat door and went to get himself out of the chair and into the front passenger seat as Hank helped the boy into the car. A moment to fold the chair and get into the trunk—Hank was a godsend—and then they were off.

“Would you prefer to wait in the car while Hank and I collect our things,” Charles offered as they drove along, “or would you rather come in with us?”

[summers]

Feeling the warmth of the blanket now draped over Scott's shoulders, his shivering began to slow down, his mind now at ease and his tension relieved. Scott hadn't felt this comfortable with anyone since he had been a boy; his time at the orphanage had only managed to further displace the youngster from any meaningful relationship with anybody. His 'friends' back at the home were no more than bullies, the teenager had always been rejected by most of the others due to his weird eye condition, it seemed maybe the bullies had known that Scott was a mutant even before he realised it himself.

The three were now heading out of the alleyway and towards a rental car, as their conversation continued. "Westchester, huh?" the teenage mutant spoke softly, his eyes still kept tightly shut. He listened intently as Charles explained his school to the youngster, who was very much intrigued by the sound of the place. 

"It sounds like a haven, for people like us. You're some kind of protector, some kind of helper to other mutants?" asked Scott, as he was assisted into the car by the rather large and furry blue mutant known as Beast. "Thank you, Hank," Scott offered his gratitude to the man who he hadn't yet seen. 

The car had now pulled away from the scene of Scott's accidental display of destruction, the youngster keeping his head down and his eyes as firmly squeezed shut as he possibly could. He didn't want to cause another accident, not on the open roads.

“Would you prefer to wait in the car while Hank and I collect our things,” Scott turned his head to hear Charles' words better. “Or would you rather come in with us?”

"Well, I guess if we're heading off straight away, I'll be okay here in the car." Scott's lips shaped into a feint smile, as he realised he now needed caring for like any other disabled youngster. "I just hope we can turn me off, this eye thing, y'know? I don't wanna live like this..."

[x]

“It sounds like a haven, for people like us,” Scott said, taking in Charles’s explanation of the school. “You’re some of protector, some kind of helper to other mutants?”

“Well, I certainly do my best to help others can control of their abilities,” Charles replied. “And maintaining a safe, secure environment for mutantkind is one of our top priorities.”

It could be a bit exhausting, keeping an eye on the government and all of its branches, but it was something that absolutely had to be done. He had a number of contacts in both the government and its various bureaucracies—the result of a solid and old family name and no small amount of money—but he more than anyone else was constantly aware of how easily politicians could be bought and sold.

Not to mention the recent events occurring in both Washington and the world at a large. Cold War politics were utterly distasteful, even if the country had managed to leave the Communist witch-hunts behind, for the most part. For better or for worse, the events taking place on the global stage had more or less taken a great deal of the focus off of mutants—for the moment, at least. Soon enough, though, something (or someone) would force the spotlight back onto mutantkind. Charles could only hope that they’d be in a more advantageous position when that time came.

“Well, I guess if we’re heading off straight away, I’ll be okay here in the car,” Scott replied, offering a faint smile. “I just hope we can turn me off—this eye thing, y’know? I don’t wanna live like this...”

Charles understood completely. He’d had a similar thought several times in his life. He debated the pros and cons of possibly using a diluted version of the serum in order to give Scott a form of temporary control until they could discover a more permanent and feasible solution. It was something he and Hank would have to discuss at some point.

“I understand, Scott,” Charles assured, working himself into his chair. “We will find a way for you to control it.”

Once he’d gotten himself situated, Charles unlocked the wheels.

“Hank and I will return shortly. If you need anything, you can reach me with your thoughts,” he told the boy, before reaching out and projecting: Like this.

[summers]

Charles Xavier's assurances washed over the young Scott Summers like rain on a hot day. Scott had found it really tough to speak to people, trust issues were always there for the orphan, and after what he'd been through at Milbury's, trusting wasn't something that Scott found easy to do. But in the presence of Charles, he felt able to calm his mind and body down, the tension and fear he'd been feeling for so long was almost pushed completely away. And Scott hadn't even seen his face yet.

“I understand, Scott..." That was exactly it. The Professor did understand, Scott knew that he did. The youngster felt that he'd been found at his lowest ebb, when all else had gone to pot, when everything looked like the end of the world, in ruby-scope. Salvation can come to some at distinct moments in their lives, pockets of time that are filled with hope, the hope that the future could only bring. And now Scott felt, for the first time in a long time, that hope was back at his side again.

As the Professor and his cohort Hank left the car, Charles reached out into Scott's mind. 'Like this...' Charles had whispered in the teenager's mind. Scott could feel his lips motioning into a smile, as he realised not only the great power that Charles had, but also the extent to which Charles was able to utilise his abilities. For Scott, having a mentor of immense strength and power could be the best thing that could happen to the boy at this stage in his troubled life. Smiling, with eyes still closed tight, Scott whispered back in his mind, hoping that Charles could hear as the Professor and Hank headed off into the building.

'You mean like this?' 

[x]

There was a bit of wonder from the boy, and Charles smiled a bit. It was always nice to be able to show off just a little, especially when the reaction was that pleasant. Which wasn’t always a guarantee, but that it happened at all was wonderful.

You mean like this? Scott projected, and Charles’s smile grew.

Yes, exactly like that. Well done, Scott, he returned, he and Hank heading back to their room to collect their things. If you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me, yes?

“It’ll be nice to get back to Westchester,” Hank said as he collected the various items they’d utilized in their brief stay. “I’d like to get as much of a head start on something for Scott as I can. Though...I’m not sure what we’ll do in the meantime.”

Charles hummed in agreement, packing up his own overnight bag. There was also the serum to consider, though there would be implications for introducing it to Scott. The last thing either of them wanted was for Scott to be so enamored with a way to negate his ability that he refused to consider any other alternative.

“Did you destroy your notes on the serum?”

Hank shrugged. “Not exactly. Just bits and pieces—enough so that it couldn’t be replicated by anyone else but me. You’re thinking for Scott...?”

“Simply an option to consider; a temporary one,” he assured. “You yourself said that there was a happy medium for your mutation. How difficult would it be to discover the same for Scott?”

“Well, first I’d have to take a look at what exactly his mutation does. If it’s purely physical, then finding the middle ground shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Then, by all means, we should propose the idea, shouldn’t we?”

Hank nodded, and after a quick check to ensure that they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two left the room behind and went to check out.  They settled the bill with Charles's card before returning to the car.