Disclaimer: I wanted to bridge a few gaps... I've never written a movie-verse story -- never felt the need to... but I was left horribly unsatisfied (although I veryverymuch enjoy X3) with Scott's role. For obvious reasons, I think. Here's an attempt to flesh it out a BIT. Just a little nod to ol' Cyke. A few lines are borrowed from X3, though I wish I'd written them.

Hope you enjoy -- and if you do, lemme know:) (PS, buy the X3 soundtrack... it's good writing material!)


It won't stop. Day. Night.


It's her. I know it is. I can't focus. I can't breathe.

Scott … SCOTT.

I can feel her. Sometimes I swear I can see her.


If something doesn't—


"…oh. Ororo."

I didn't even hear her come in. Her eyes shift – she's worried. "I'm sorry… I was just… thinking."

"A million miles away," she says. Jean once told me that Ororo's eyes were stronger than her telepathy. I think I know why now.

I don't say anything for a moment. I don't have to.

"Scott," she begins, "you were supposed to prep the Danger Room a half an hour ago. That's the second time this week… I don't think you're thinking about—"

"Not right now, Ororo."


"I'm starting to think that—"

"Ororo. Please."


"What in the hell happened to you, Scott?"

"Please. Ororo. Don't."

"Do you think you're the only one who misses her?"

I lay back on my bed… so carelessly that I almost push my glasses off. I don't say anything else.

"If you're interested in being an X-Man, Cyclops, then I suggest you start acting like it. There are children that need teaching, friends that need your support, and those of us who miss Jean just as much as you do – in a different way or not – who understand that she died at that lake but that we didn't."

She's gone before I can say anything… but I don't know that it would've mattered. I look around my room – and for the first time since I came to this school I wonder if I really belong here.

Something's wrong. Something's different.


Damn it…


"STOP IT," I scream, not even meaning to – batting away at the air as I push myself off of my bed.

A crash – I knocked Jean's picture onto the floor. I look at it through a red tint, laying beside my bag.


"Ye seem t'have taken a particular interest in m'patient, Charles," Moira MacTaggert says, flashing the trademark grin that made me fall in love with her so many years prior to this telephone conversation.

"I'll be using the video you sent me for a class on Mutant Ethics, Moira," I say – doing my best to mask my true intent. The truth would be far too unsettling for her – though, as I recall, in the past she would offer only one response to my overprotective nature:

"That's my call t'make."

"How're things going with yuir—"

"Moira, I'm afraid I have to go… I'll get back to you shortly."

"Of course, Charles – I was nae talkin' or anything anyway."

I chuckle and say a more proper goodbye – just in time for Ororo.

"I don't understand, Professor," she says, pushing my door open.

"A simple knock would suffice," I grin.

She returns the favor with an apology – of sorts – and proceeds with her dilemma: one we've all dealt with as of late.

"I tried talking to him. I've tried several times. I can teach these children, Professor – I need to… but if these are the students who are going to become X-Men, they need their leader."

"Perhaps, Ororo," I begin – but stop myself, thinking on the matter instead. Perhaps they need not look much farther than you.


"…Logan will be joining you in the Danger Room exercise, Ororo. As for Scott, you've done what you can – most of us have. You can't help a man unless he wants to be helped."

She isn't satisfied – I can see it in both her face and her stance.

"…should be interesting," she half-mumbles. I survey her for a moment longer before she bids farewell and heads off to train the students. She not only misses her best friend – but the man that died with her.

I mumble an I love you as I put her picture back on the table… stumbling around the room, trying to block her from my mind – trying to shut her out… to make her stop…

Why do I want her to stop?


I don't understand what's happening. Why this is happening.

She's dead, Scott. She's dead. Gone.

Storm is right. The Professor is right. There's nothing left to do. I have to pick up the pieces, fill in the cracks… be there for those that are here…

I certainly can't let Logan train these kids.


Stop it.



Last favor I do for the Professor, that's for sure.

An' Storm, givin' me a hard time about takin' the damn thing's head off. I didn't sign up for simulations and fake, cigar-eating robots. In fact, I don't think I ever really signed up at all.

Ah well. I'm headin' out in the morning anyway… figure I can—whoa… if it isn't the pretty boy.

"Hey. Scott."

Managed to catch him in the hallway… looks like he's in kind of a rush… not lookin' so pretty, either…

"They were lookin' for you downstairs… you didn't show."

"What do you care?"

Are you serious? "Well for starters, I had t'cover yer ass."

"Well I didn't ask you to."

"No. Y'didn't. The Professor did... I was just passin' through."

"So pass through, Logan."

Son of a –

"Look," I say, grabbing him with my hands instead of my claws as he starts to walk away. He's different… somethin' ain't right with him…

"I know how you feel. When Jean died…"


"When Jean died…"

"I said don't."

"Maybe it's time for us to move on."

He pulls away again – he really isn't the same kid I met up in Canada, the same "boy who saved my life."

"Not everybody heals as fast as you do, Logan."


I step outside and I almost feel better… the sun shining down, the wind blowing across my face.


It shouldn't be this way.

It's never been easy… none of us have ever expected it to be…

Why'd you do it, Jean?

Just couldn't decide between Scott and Logan? Is that it?

The ring on your finger could've been bigger, sure… but you always knew what was best for you, Girl.

Careful, Ororo – you almost made yourself smile.

Hell, Ororo – maybe Kurt was right… I sort of wish he'd stuck around… maybe you're getting too angry for your own good.

Looking over the balcony I see Scott pull out on his motorcycle… maybe he needs the fresh air, too.

Or a change of scenery.

Maybe we all do.

Things are… better… but I can't help but wonder if they're going to get worse.

But we shouldn't be sitting here, waiting for something to happen… waiting for the next William Stryker to come to us, to jeopardize the safety of these kids. We shouldn't be banking on a man who sits in the Oval Office dancing around Registration Acts or wondering if some lunatic in a cape is going to—

"…the forecast called for sunny skies," I hear—and it's only then that I realize Professor Xavier's joined me and that the skies are anything but sunny.


"I don't have to be psychic to know that something's troubling you."

I turn off my bike and I only have one thought.

I hate this place.

I've seen it every night in my dreams for months… and I can't help but think that I shouldn't be here.

But at the same time… I don't know, I—


Damn it, Jean…


...damn it…


"Don't worry. I can control it now.

You can't hurt me."