Fractals

Fractals Chapter Ten (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Beauregard is still sulky… :( InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are Peeps goodness for archiving/hosting! :) ProPhile: Viva la smut! (I have no idea what brought that on… ) Morgan: *glomp * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you!!! For those of you who emailed me off AFFN asking where else I archive, there’s the ones I told you and the Yahoogroup, www.yahoogroups.com/foreververse *glomps * for everyone…

Scott woke up suddenly, not sure why he had awoken. His eyes tightly closed despite his brain demanding he open them and look around, he fumbled blindly for his ruby red glasses, making sure they were in place before opening his eyes on the room. The flood of crimson light in the narrow space between the quartz and his face made his skin heat briefly for the barest of moments before he could focus. Nothing. The room was, as it had been for the past few months, depressingly empty except for him. His pile of laundry sat forlorn near the closet door, Jean’s dresser was gathering a thick layer of dust and the small television on his own dresser played an infomercial for a real estate developing scam. With a sigh, he punched the off button on the remote control that he realized he had fallen asleep holding and forced himself out of bed, despite the early hour. He knew his own body well enough to realize he would not be getting back to sleep any time soon. He idly scratches his lower back, staring at the dirty clothes and considering a trip to the main house to use their washer and dryernce nce his had died and he had not had a chance to fix them yet, then reconsidered. He would most likely see Jean there. She would no doubt be up as early as he was, especially aftest nst night. The meeting had been inconclusive at worst, organized chaos at best. There were no answers to the questions presented, namely how to deal with the fact that they had not only been seen but captured on film, and now it seemed that they would be forced into the public eye whether they liked it or not. The mind wipe, it seemed, had not been perfect. In the Professor’s and Emma’s defense, Jean had stepped forward and pointed out that, without knowing each and every person who had seen the news that day and seen the Sentinels, they had done a remarkable job. “Some leaks were bound to happen,” she had said, sounding more tired than she realized.
“Yeah,” Todd shot back, already heading for the door to the hallway, “but someone was supposed to n thn those up.”
The meeting had dissolved after that, rather quickly, too. Rogue had followed Todd, Lance and Amara had skittered off soon after and then everyone just sort of looked at each other and went their own directions, Scott remembered. It was the closest he had been to Jean in days and he hated himself for spending the time burning the impression of how she looked into his mind rather than paying attention to every word spoken. He could still smell hermpoompoo and lotion on the pillowcases if he was very careful and paid attention. It made him feel emasculated to admit that even to himself. He sighed and reached for the most clean pair of jeans on the pile, remembering that his kitchen was pretty bare and he would have to go to the mansion if he wanted to eat breakfast. His rumbling stomach put paid to any notion that he could wait until later to eat as he grabbed a shirt and looked around for some shoes. Scott was emerging triumphantly from under the bed with his grubby sneaker in hand when he heard the knock on the door downstairs. For one moment, hope flared brightly in his chest that it was Jean, but the annoyingly logical part of his brain reminded him that she had her own key and would not hesitate to use it.
He took his time traipsing down the stairs, giving the guest an opportunity to knock twice more, each more agitated than the last. When he finally reached the front door, milky early dawn light bathing everything with gray light, he paused, trying to see who it was through the sidelights. All he could make out was shadow. A short shadow. “Hey, Todd,” he sighed, opening the door. “Why the Hell are you up at the ass crack of dawn?”
Todd ignored the comment and shouldered his way into the den. “Dude, you have got to keep your phone on the hook.” He dropped a handful of papers onto the coffee table. “Been trying to call you for half an hour.”
Scott grimaced—he had turned the ringer off a few days before when he had been trying to nap and Paige kept calling to see if he needed anything. “What is it? Is someone sick? Dead?” He dropped to sit on the sofa and Todd perched on the edge of the recliner across from him. “You look…awake.”
Todd shoved the coffee table with his foot, forcing Scott to notice the papers atop it. “Read.”
He sighed again and scooped up the papers, noticing they were printouts of the online versions of the Daily Planet and Bugle. He was not sure what he was looking for at first but as Todd jittered agitatedly, he saw it. “Oh, fuck.”
“Pretty much.” Todd finally sank back into the seat, looking a mixture of triumphant and defeated. “They’re waking up everyone at the house now, at least everyone involved in the pics, ya know?”
Scott nodded, passing a hand over his suddenly dry mouth, realizing he needed to shave. “Look… give me ten minutes and I’ll be over there, okay?”
Todd nodded and stood. He shoved a lank hank of hair out of his eyes and fixed Scott with his yellow green gaze. “I’m not so worried for myself,” he said suddenly. “But Mar…Rogue. She’s never had to deal with shit like this.” He shrugged and looked down quickly. “This is a lot different from your parents thinking you’re a freak, ya know?”
Scott nodded in return. “Yeah… Todd, she’s going to do just fine,” he promised rashly. “We’ll be fine.”
Todd’s lantern eyes flickered up to meet Scott’s red gaze. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Fearless Leader.”