Title: A New Beginning

Author: N'kala99

Rating: G, AU big time

Disclaimer: They ain't mine. I think we all know that.

Summary: The first installment of my new series. How Scott came to live in New


Author's Notes: This was an idea floating around in my brain. I took some serious

liberties and decided it was going just be an AU series about X-Men: Evolution.

There are some definite discrepancies in the facts below, but since I'm new to the

whole X-Men concept, I just decided to make it up as I went.

A New Beginning

By: N'kala99

Bayville, New York


Charles Xavier sat at the large window in his bedroom, lost in

thought. Outside, the sky was an ominous gray, threatening an

explosive thunderstorm in the very near future. As several

raindrops began to tap on his window, Charles sighed and closed

his eyes. The face of a young man with dark hair lying in a coffin

greeted him.

Each year, on the same day, he withdrew from the world to

grieve in private over the loss of his son. Ten years ago on this very

day, his son had been ripped violently from his life in the same

vicious battle that had taken away the use of his legs, confining him

to the wheelchair he now sat in. Despite the promises from

sympathizers, the pain of losing his only child had grown stronger

with each passing year.

The door to his bedroom creaked open. The doorway framed a

tall, muscular figure in his late twenties. He wore a pair of jeans

that had seen better days and a plain black T-shirt; his face was

unshaven, but his brown eyes expertly scanned the room before

fixing on the solitary figure by the window.

"Hey, Chuck," he said. "Ororo wanted me to ask you if you

were planning on going to the symposium tonight, or if you were

just gonna sulk all night long."

Charles scowled out at the steadily increasing rainfall. "I

somehow don't believe that those were the exact words she used."

The man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Yeah, well, I never could put anything past you, now could I?"

Charles still didn't look away from the window. "I want to be

alone tonight, Logan. You know why."

"Yeah, I know," Logan admitted, sitting in an armchair next to

Charles. "That's why I'm here, actually. It's been ten years, Chuck.

It's time to move on."

Charles finally turned, leveling a strong glare on his friend.

"I've moved on as much as I will move on, Logan. I can't forget

about him. I won't."

"No one's asking you to, Charles," Logan stated plainly,

unaffected by the hostile tone Charles had taken. "But you never

finished grieving for him. You know I'm right."

Charles turned back to the window, fighting back his own

tears. "I can't. I don't know where to start. It just . . . seems so

quiet with him gone."

Instead of answering, Logan stood and went to the nightstand

by the bed. Picking up a remote control, he aimed it at the

television and turned it on to a news report. Curious, Charles

turned to the reporter on the screen.

". . . such a tragedy," the reporter was saying. "To recap

tonight's top story, a plane carrying a family of four went down over

Alaska tonight. The only survivor was a seven-year-old boy, who is

currently being hospitalized for injuries sustained upon

parachuting from the burning plane. Investigators are still

searching for clues as to why the plane went down, and a search is

being led to recover the bodies of the boy's family."

Logan clicked the television off and tossed the remote onto

Charles' bed. "Seems to me like that kid's going to be going through

some major problems when the shock wears off. He's got no one else

to turn to, and the orphanage isn't going to be much help."

With that, Logan turned and left Charles to think about what

he had just said.


Fairbanks, Alaska

1 week later

"I have to tell you, Mr. Xavier, this is highly unusual. We don't

usually process adoption requests quite so quickly; especially for

children who are such recent additions to our family."

Charles smiled faintly at the orphanage director sitting at her

desk across from him. "I heard about the young man's plight, and I

believe I can provide him with the home he needs right now."

The director glanced through the file before her one more

time, then closed it and smiled. "Well, Mr. Xavier, everything seems

to be in order. Shall I get him for you?"

"Actually, could I go with you?" Charles asked. "I'd like to be

the one to tell him."

"Certainly." The director held the door open for Charles, then

walked with him down the hallway. "There is something else you

should know, though. You see, ever since the accident, he hasn't


Charles looked up at her, not sure he heard her correctly.

"Not spoken? Not at all?"

"I'm afraid not," the director admitted. "The doctors assured

me that it wasn't permanent. He suffered a terrible loss, and he's so

young . . . they feel that, with time, he'll feel comfortable enough to

speak again. Until that time, however, we'll have to patient with


"Thank you for telling me," Charles said. "I'll have to make

arrangements for his schoolwork."

The director pushed another door open, this one revealing a

small bedroom with bunkbeds and two desks. Sitting on a chair,

knees hugged tightly to his chest, sat a small boy with brown hair.

His hazel eyes stared sightlessly at the wall in front him.

"Scott?" The director stepped forward and placed a gentle

hand on the child's shoulder. "Scott, this is Mr. Xavier."

Charles rolled forward, stopping in Scott's line of vision.

"Hello, Scott. It's nice to meet you."

Scott's eyes flickered ever so briefly, but it was enough. He

knew he had the boy's attention.

"Could you excuse us for a moment?" Charles asked of the


She nodded and quietly excused herself from the room, closing

the door tightly behind her.

Charles looked deeply into Scott's eyes. "Scott, I know that

you're hurting right now. Believe me, I know how you feel. I lost

my son a long time ago. I . . . I miss him everyday. It was hard for

me to go on without him, and I had no one to talk to or grieve with.

I don't want you to go through that, too. I won't push you until

you're ready to talk, but I want you to know that I will be there

anytime you need me to be.

"I pulled some strings, but they're going to let me adopt you,"

Charles continued. "I'd like for you to come live with me in New

York. It's a lot different than Alaska, but if you give it a chance, I'm

sure you'll like it. Would you like to come home with me?"

Scott stared at Charles for several long moments, but finally

jerked his head up and down. Charles smiled.

"Go ahead and pack your things," he said. "Take your time.

I'll be in the hall. Once you're ready to go, let me know. I have some

friends with me who would like to meet you."

Charles gently squeezed Scott's shoulder and wheeled himself

out of the room. The director was waiting for him just out in the

hall, accompanied by Logan.

"Well?" Logan prompted.

Charles smiled, feeling as though some unknown weight was

suddenly lifted. "He's packing."

The director held out her hand to Charles. "Then this is

where we part ways, Mr. Xavier. It was nice to meet you, and if you

ever need anything, just call me."

Charles shook her hand. "Thank you."

The director had just disappeared back into her office when

the door to Scott's room opened, revealing the boy toting a plain

blue duffel bag. He barely reached Charles' shoulder standing up.

He took a single step into the hall, then froze at the sight of Logan.

Wide eyes lifted up, up, up to meet Logan's penetrating gaze.

"Scott, this is one of the friends I told you about," Charles

said. "This is Logan. Logan, this is Scott Summers. He's a little

quiet, so don't mind if he doesn't answer you."

Logan lifted an eyebrow, curious at Charles' words, but

nodded at the boy. "Hiya, kid. Want me to carry that for ya?"

He held out a beefy hand. Scott stared at it for a minute, then

passed his bag over to Logan. Both of Logan's eyebrows shot up

this time at the lack of weight in the bag, but he didn't comment.

Shouldering the bag, he turned to Charles. "Shall we?"

The trio walked in silence through the halls of the orphanage

and into the parking lot. Charles and Scott climbed into the van,

with Scott watching in undisguised awe at the platform that lifted

Charles, wheelchair and all, into the vehicle. Logan let out a cough

of amusement and climbed into the driver's seat after stowing

Scott's bag into the back.

The drive to the airport was quick. Charles glanced over at

his newly adopted son and saw him shift, agitated, at the sight of

the planes, and it hit him. He had no idea if Scott would even board

his private jet for the return trip to New York. Especially with the

accident too recent a memory.

Logan guided the car through the airport and onto the strip

where he had left the XR-77 blackbird that was a recent addition to

Charles' possessions. Despite the fear rolling off of Scott in waves,

the boy couldn't help but to stare in awe at the sight of the jet.

A dark-skinned woman with blinding white hair waved to

them from the wheels of the jet. She stepped aside as Logan drove

the van up the ramp and onto the jet, and followed the vehicle on


Logan opened the door and started to exit the van when he

noticed Scott in the rearview mirror. The boy was incredibly pale,

his breaths coming in as short gasps. Realization struck, and he

turned to Charles.

"Maybe taking the jet wasn't such a great idea," he


"I have an idea," Charles assured him. He turned to Scott.

"Scott, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Do you want to get to New York

another way? Going by jet is the fastest, and Logan is an excellent

pilot, but if you're uncomfortable, we can try something else."

The woman opened Charles' door. "Is everything all right?"

Charles ignored the question. "Are you okay to fly, Scott? I

promise you, you'll be perfectly safe."

Scott turned wide, frightened eyes onto Charles, but nodded

his head. Charles smiled at Scott, then nodded at Logan.

"Scott, this is my other friend," Charles said. "Ororo. Ororo,

this is Scott Summers. He's agreed to come stay with us."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Scott," Ororo said, stepping aside

as Charles disembarked. "And I'm pleased to meet you. I think

you'll like it in New York. Have you ever been there before?"

Scott shook his head.

"Scott, ah, doesn't talk," Charles told Ororo, in a tone too low

for Scott to hear.

Ororo nodded and smiled brightly at Scott. "Would you like

something to eat, Scott? I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I

would certainly like some company, though."

Scott accepted the hand she offered and climbed out of the

van. He allowed himself to be led away from the van and to an area

of the jet Charles knew held more comfortable chairs and food.

Satisfied that Scott was in good hands for the time being, Charles

steered his chair to the cockpit.

Logan was just powering up the engines when Charles

arrived. "Quietest kid I think I ever saw," he commented to the

older man.

"The director said it was only temporary," Charles said. "I

don't want to push him too hard. He'll talk when he's ready."

"Didja get a load of the bag he had?" Logan asked him. "The

thing was barely half full. Felt like a couple changes of clothes;

where's the rest of his stuff?"

"Most of it went down in the plane with his family," Charles

told him. "They were moving their belongings. Besides; he didn't

want to go back to his house. The social workers reported that he

became entirely too agitated and refused anything from there that

would remind him of what happened. I couldn't do anything about

the house, but I had whatever was salvageable moved to a storage

unit in New York and placed under Scott's name. When he's older-

when he's ready- it'll be there for him."

"Sounds like you thought of just about everything," Logan

told him. "Except for one thing."

Charles didn't even have to ask what that one thing was.

"We'll tell him about that when he's older, too. No sense in turning

his world upside down too much in too short a span of time."

"He's bound to notice, Chuck," Logan warned him. "He'll be

living at the mansion full time."

"Then we'll have to be careful," Charles insisted. "He doesn't

have to know now, Logan. But later . . . we'll see."


Getting Scott settled into his new life in New York went a lot

more smoothly than Charles had anticipated. The boy seemed to

walk around in constant amazement of his new home. Charles had

given Scott his own room as well as an entirely new wardrobe.

Though Scott didn't talk, the subtle longing on his face for

something he would see in a store was like a neon sign to Charles,

and he couldn't help but spoil the child. Ororo finally called him on

it, telling him that while Scott was a good child now, too many

riches would eventually turn him into a greedy one.

Logan and Ororo helped to settle Scott into the mansion as

well. Ororo became his tutor when it became clear that he could not

function in a school setting without speaking. Scott didn't seem to

mind. He appeared to enjoy the time he and Ororo spent pouring

over math problems and creating science experiments in the


Logan decided to start training Scott in self-defense, claiming

that it was never too early to learn how to fight. He knew Scott's

confidence would build, and it presented an outlet for Scott's

emotions if they ever became too overwhelming.

Charles sat with Scott in the evenings, usually in the library.

Charles made it a nightly ritual to read to Scott from various books

in his vast collection, though he occasionally sat with Scott through

movies of the boy's choice. Slowly, the adults could see the scars in

Scott's pained eyes begin to heal.

Still, they kept their word and never once pushed the child

into speaking. They all knew that their progress was largely

dependent on trust; trust that Scott and Scott alone would decided

when he was ready to talk to them.

Three months had passed in what seemed like no time at all.

Charles finally felt at peace for the first time in a very long time as

he heard Scott laugh at Ororo in the middle of his lessons. Logan

walked up to him, and the two continued on down the hall so as not

to disturb them.

"I want to thank you, Logan," Charles said. "You were right.

This is exactly what we both needed."

"Don't mention it," Logan replied. "Hey, the runt's birthday is

next week. What did you have planned?"

Charles grinned slightly. "You know he hates it when you call

him that."

Logan smirked. "Well, if he hates it so much, then all he has to

do is tell me to stop it."

"I don't think you'd stop even then," Charles pointed out.

"Getting back to the question at hand, I've been doing some

thinking. He doesn't really know anybody, so it would probably be

just the three of us. Do you have any insight as to what he'd like to


Logan grunted. "A crowd would overwhelm him. Keep it

simple. Maybe take him to a ball game or something. Something

normal. We'll have plenty of time for noisy parties and dozens of

pipsqueaks running under our feet next year."

"I look forward to it," Charles said, grinning openly.

"You would," Logan shot back. "Hey, I'm taking off for a bit.

See if I can't find something for Runt's birthday. I'm hoping I might

get lucky and something'll just fall into my lap, though."

"Good luck, old friend," Charles said.


It had been five months since Scott had come to live with

Charles and his friends, and yet he still hadn't spoken a single word.

Ororo was beginning to get worried that he would ever speak again,

and Charles was beginning to have his own doubts. When he began

to consider sending Scott to a psychiatrist, Logan stepped in.

"Give it some time, Chuck," he said. "When he's ready, he'll

talk. Listen, I gotta run an errand. You mind if I take Runt with


Ororo rolled her eyes. "For heaven sakes, Logan, have you

ever called Scott by his given name?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Logan responded.

"Go ahead," Charles told him, stopping Ororo from snapping


Logan found Scott in front of the television, mindlessly

flipping through the channels without stopping to watch something.

Logan stepped in front of Scott's view and folded his arms. "Hey,

Runt. I'm going into town. Wanna come?"

Scott turned the television off and leaped to his feet. Logan

responded by seizing Scott around the waist, flipping him upside

down, and carrying him out the door to the garage by his ankle.

Scott's laughter filled the air, causing Logan to smile ever so faintly.

After carefully strapping a helmet to Scott's head and belting

him to the bike, Logan swung onto his motorcycle, kicked it into

gear, and sped through the gate and onto the open road.

Their first stop was a hardware store, where Logan had to

pick up some more spark plugs for their van. Scott followed Logan

around like an obedient little puppy, careful not to get lost or


After a quick stop at the post office, Logan and Scott stopped

at an ice cream parlor. Logan bought them each an ice cream cone,

and the two sat at a picnic table to eat. Scott had made it halfway

through his cone when a woman's shrill voice broke their

comfortable silence.

"Alex! Time to go!"

Scott's entire body went rigid, and before Logan could so

much as blink, he dropped the rest of his cone and tore into the

nearby park, where the woman's voice had been calling from.

"Runt! Scott!" Logan shouted. "Get back here!"

He took off after the boy, leaving his own ice cream cone on

the ground beside Scott's.

Scott raced down the path, hearing the woman call for Alex

again. He skidded to a halt when he saw a small, redheaded boy

being lifted into the arms of a portly woman with the same color

hair. A cold wind blew through Scott; he felt tears rise to his eyes as

the woman carried her son away. Suddenly overwhelmed with grief,

Scott ran off the path and into a grove of trees, eyes darting wildly

about. "Alex? ALEX! ALEX!"

Logan paused when he lost sight of the distraught child. He

sniffed the air, trying to catch Scott's scent, when he heard the

unfamiliar voice of a young boy all but scream for someone. Veering

sharply to his left, Logan trampled through the brush towards the

sound of the voice.

He skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over Scott. Scott was on

his knees, letting out gut-wrenching sobs, all the while still calling

for Alex.

Logan knelt down beside Scott and lightly touched his

shoulder. "Hey, Scott, what's the matter?"

Scott turned his tear-streaked face towards Logan. "I c-can't

find him!" he cried pitifully. "I w-was supposed to t-take c-care of

him, b-but I can't find him!"

"Who?" Logan asked.

"Alex!" Scott howled. He threw himself at Logan, sobbing

harshly into Logan's shoulder. Logan tensed up, not quite sure how

to handle the situation. "Eh- Alex?"

"M-My little b-brother!" Scott told him. "W-We . . . M-Mom

and, and Dad made us jump out of the p-plane, b-but I lost him. I l-

lost my brother, and now he . . . he . . ."

He couldn't finish, his words swallowed up in more sobs. More

than a little uncomfortable, Logan hefted Scott into his arms and

began to carry him back to the motorcycle. He wanted to get the

boy back to the mansion; Charles would know what to tell Scott.

Strapping Scott in, Logan kick-started his bike and sped back

to the mansion. By the time he had parked in the garage, Scott had

fallen asleep. Gently scooping the boy up into his arms, Logan

carried Scott into the house.

Ororo met him just inside the front door. "Oh my God, what

happened?" she asked when she saw the tears drying on Scott's face.

Charles wheeled to the top of the stairs. "Bring him here,


Logan obediently carried the slumbering child up the stairs

and placed him carefully on Charles' lap. Charles turned and

wheeled his chair to Scott's room, where he tucked the boy into bed

and swept back an unruly lock of brown hair from Scott's forehead.

"What happened?" Charles asked Logan quietly.

In a soft, stunned tone, Logan related that afternoon's events

to Charles and Ororo. They were both surprised to hear that he had

spoken, but showed mixed feelings of relief and sorrow on their


"You did just fine, my friend," Charles assured Logan. "I'm

glad you were there when it happened."

"Yeah, well, if it's just the same to you, I wish it was someone

else," Logan replied.

"He should sleep until dinnertime," Charles decided. "Let's let

him get some rest."

They walked together out of Scott's room. Logan excused

himself and disappeared down another hallway, leaving Charles

and Ororo walking back the way they had come.

"If he is talking, Charles, you know what this means?" Ororo


"I do," Charles agreed. "He's finally going to start to heal from

this. It'll take some time, so we shouldn't rush him. I think he'll

even be ready to start at the local school next month."

Ororo smiled ruefully. "It's a shame. I was getting to like

being a teacher."


One Month Later

"Have a good day, Scott. We'll be waiting right here for you

when school gets out, okay?"

"Okay, Charles." Scott scooped up his backpack, opened the

door, and jumped out. "By, Ororo. Will you help me with my

homework tonight?"

Ororo grinned at him from the driver's seat. "Of course, Scott.

Now go, or you'll be late for your first day."

Scott slammed the car door shut and ran up to the front steps

of Bayville Elementary school, his backpack bouncing with each

step. Charles and Ororo watched as another young boy, blonde with

blue eyes, stumbled and scattered his belongings all over the

ground. The other children laughed and pointed at him as they

passed, but Scott knelt down and helped him to gather up his


"Thanks," the blond boy said. "You're new here, aren't you?

My name's Paul."

"Scott," Scott replied, handing Paul his folders. "I'm in Mr.

Williams' class."

"Hey, me too!" Paul exclaimed. "Come on, I'll show you the

way. We can sit together."

Scott and Paul scrambled to their feet and ran into the school

before the bell could ring. Ororo turned to Charles and smiled.

"It looks like Scott's going to fit in just fine," she observed.

"I never doubted it for a minute," Charles told her, his smile

matching hers. "Let's go home, Ororo."

The End


email: nkala99@hotmail.com