Title: Ties that Bind
Rating: T for the boys' potty mouths
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and claim nothing. Except for the turkey sandwich that I'm eating right now. That's mine. NO TOUCHY THE TURKEY!
Summery: Seventeen year old Scott Summers is stranded at a gas station in Canada and has a talk with a certain wandering gruff Canadian mutant…(Get the hint?)
This'll be fun, he had thought. Get out of the country, see the sights, and maybe even get to see a moose or a beaver or something. He had thought that this would be the perfect time to try and start seducing the girl of his dreams. Maybe, just maybe, this would give him the chance to forget that he was a mutant for a few weeks.
However, seventeen-year-old Scott Summers had thought wrong.
Professor Xavier and Mr. Lensherr had set down two rules for Ororo, Jean, and himself to follow. Rule one, no powers. Rule two; don't get separated from the group. If by any chance one broke rule number two, then they were to stay where they were until the Professor located them.
If they broke rule one, then they'd better pray for mercy. The Professor hadn't said as much, but it was strongly implied. And off they went to Canada.
Within three hours in the car, the hormonal teens had been stricken with boredom. At a rest stop, Jean pointed to a garbage can, and said. "I bet I can get a stone in there."
Ororo rolled her eyes. "Ten bucks says you can't." She looked over to Scott. "Are you in?"
"I've got five dollars saying she makes it." Scott pulled out his wallet. Jean shot a look to where Mr. Lensherr and the Professor were standing. Then she levitated a stone before allowing it too zoom forward. It landed neatly on top of the garbage can. Scott moaned, and Ororo laughed. He handed her the five dollars.
Jean crossed her arms and glared at Ororo. "Like you could do better," She snorted.
"No, I couldn't," Ororo said. Then, she threw an arm around Scott. "Scott could though. I bet fifteen dollars that he can blast that can right up to the sky."
Jean raised an eyebrow, looked over to the two teachers, and then pulled some money out of her pocket. "I'd take that bet."
"Uh, guys?" Scott felt the situation desperately rising out of control. "Doesn't this bet constitute me actually agreeing?"
"C'mon, Scott!" Ororo begged.
"He's scared, isn't he?" Jean said.
At that moment, the teenage boy in Scott reared its raging hormonal head. He shut his eyes, pulled his sunglasses off, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his visor. He unleashed his beam, and quite literally blew the trash can nearly ten feet into the air.
"Scott!" He cringed. The two girls looked determinedly at the ground.
He spent the rest of the ride in the back seat, not allowed to talk or get up unless it was to go to the bathroom.
Finally, they got to the small rural cabin that they'd rented. Naturally, after spending hours in the car, the girls decided that they wanted to go into the nearest town to see what shopping there was.
Of course, they dragged Scott along with them. After spending nearly three hours of answering that no those don't make your butt look big, and where ever did you get the idea that anything could make you look fat, they all rushed to the car.
Promptly, it sputtered and was out of gas about three miles from the nearest station. Using part Jean's power to move the vehicle, part Ororo's to keep the snow off of them, and part Scott trailing behind and complaining, they managed to get it moving. As they went down the road, a blue pickup truck with a trailer behind it flew past them, covering all but Jean in snow. Jean simply used her powers to block it.
"I hope he crashes…" Scott muttered to himself. Ororo slapped the back of his head.
"What would you do if he did crash?"
Scott just shook his head, and climbed into the back seat of the car.
When they finally made it too the gas station, Ororo went to call the Professor and Mr. Lensherr that they'd be late, and no, they're not dead, and Jean went to pay for the gas. Scott climbed out from the back seat and went into the bathroom.
As a result, neither of the girls realized that Scott wasn't in the back seat and drove off. When said teen came out, he quickly put two and two together, and didn't like the answer. He checked his pockets for money for a pay phone, but found them agonizingly empty.
He sat slumped against the wall of the station. He noticed that the blue truck from the road was parked against one of the pumps. He looked into the window, and saw that a tall man was standing at the checkout counter. His hair was grown so that it almost looked like two ears were sprouting up from his head, and he was wearing a beaten leather jacket. As if sensing that he was being watched, the man turned and looked directly at Scott.
Scott looked down at the pavement. A few moments later, the door swung open and the man stepped out. Scott noticed that he'd stopped walking and was looking down at him. Scott peered up. They stayed like that for several moments. Then the man spoke. "Isn't it a little dark to be wearing shades?"
Scott swallowed. "Uh…"
The man rolled his eyes. "Articulate, aren't you kid?"
Scott stood up, and he just barely reached the man's shoulders. "I'm not a kid!" He said.
"Right." The man raised an eyebrow. "And I'm guessing that your two little girlfriends didn't leave you here neither, huh?"
"Yes, well, I mean, no, Just…uh…"
The man shook his head. Scott noticed that a dog tag had fallen out from his shirt. He wondered if the man was in the army. He certainly was big enough to be. "You should probably call someone to come and get you." The man said. "Don't know who could be out here."
"Well, I don't - "
"Have any money?" The man snorted and lit a cigar. "Jesus, kid, you'd make a rotten Boy Scout." He began to walk away, and almost as a second thought, reached into his pocket and threw Scott a couple of quarters. "There. Now go home, Cyclops."
The man turned, and got into his truck, and drove off. Scott frowned to himself for a second. He realized that he was wearing his visor, thus prompting the man calling him Cyclops. As he walked to the phone, he found himself thinking.
The Professor and Mr. Lensherr have wanted us to get code names. Hm, Cyclops. I could get used to that…Nine Years Later…
"Go bother somebody else, Logan." It was the designated tax night, and Scott, the resident mathematician, was in charge of it. Needless to say, he was really stressed out.
"No, seriously Scooter, I want to know." Logan said. "Tell me why and I'll go away."
"It's none of your business."
"C'mon!" Logan growled. "Just tell me!"
"You'll really leave?"
Scott looked at him suspiciously. "You'll leave me alone for the rest of the night?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Logan rolled his eyes, and though he couldn't see it, Scott did too.
"You can't die, smart ass."
"Whatever, just tell me!" Logan demanded. "Where in hell did you come up with the name Cyclops? Wouldn't like Captain Boy Scout work better? Or like Laser. All you have to do is here some of the other's and you know what they do. Storm. Pretty self-explanatory. Why Cyclops?"
Scott rubbed his temples. "It was some guy up in Canada, he called me it, and it sort of stuck." Suddenly, both men looked up. Scott paled out slightly. "Oh no…"
Logan was grinning a little on the maniacal side. "Oh yes, Cyke."
"Damn it!" Scott cursed. He banged his head on the table several times.
"Whatever," Logan stood up after watching Scott beat his self up for a few moments, and stretched. He turned to walk out of the room, then turned and looked back over at Scott. "You owe me seventy-five cents, Summers."
Scott just groaned.
AN: I just thought that this would be cool if it had happened. You know, since Logan is always calling Scott nicknames, wouldn't it be ironic if he'd given him the one that he's called by everybody?