October Prompt for Fandom_Muses: Temporary
Based on past comics-canon. This akes place after 'Uncanny X-men #201,' when Scott lost the leadership of the X-men to Storm, and went back home to live in Alaska with his first wife and newborn son, and arrangement that didn't last very long. Madelyne Pryor-Summers is used with permission of pryorqueen.
Scott holds the sleeping, silent baby against his shoulder, and tries to make everything feel the way that it's supposed to.
This is my child, he thinks, cautiously touching Christopher's tiny, intricate palm with a thumb that is almost big enough to cover the hand entirely. No, he corrects, Our child. Thinking of Madelyne on the other side of the door, in the kitchen of the large house, empty save for the three of them. This is his life now. This is his home. No team, no professor, no saving the world. He's just a husband and a father, with a good job and a quiet home, and this fragile new family. He settles into a living room of new furniture, the deep soft armchair a wedding gift from his grandfather.
Scott has always been under the impression that infants scream constantly, that there is no reprieve of silence for new parents and that -- he thinks -- he was prepared for. After all, he has never been very good at sleeping through the night. But what has caught him unawares are the long intervals of quiet, of stillness. The baby is almost five weeks old, and most of the time, it lies motionless, with its eyes closed, and doesn't do anything at all. When Scott sits very still, he can feel the boy's chest rise and fall with his breath. My son, he thinks. This is my son.
"Stay just like that."
He tenses, instantly, at the sound of his wife's voice, tightening his hands against the baby. "Maddie -" The handheld video camera whirs as she walks closer; Christopher stirs against his shoulder, and Scott lets go a little. He starts to turn toward Madelyne.
"Don't move, don't look at me." The camera's "on" light glows, a brighter, purer crimson in the corner of his red-washed vision. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
"Maddie -" Scott averts his face a little and covers the back of the child's head with one hand.
"Don't be shy. Silly boys." Her smile startles him; he has almost forgotten what it looks like. "You should see yourself - I can copy this tape and send it to Kitty. She gave me the roll of film we took in Westchester -"
"Maddie -"
"But there wasn't one of you with Christopher -" Something about that smile, something happens to her eyes- "This is perfect." A satisfied grin, a playful toss of her head, and for a second she looks exactly like someone that doesn't exist anymore. She looks and sounds just like Jean, and Scott feels sick to his stomach. "Nice job," Maddie coos. "You handsome little baby. And handsome daddy. Just like that. You look perfect."
"I'm not performing!" Scott snaps. And if he was trying to get rid of her smile, to banish it from the room, the mission is a spectacular success. The hard set of her jaw, now, is all Madelyne's own. He wilts a little under her glare, and looks down at Christopher. "The baby's sleeping."
She lowers the camera, slowly. "I'm not bothering him. I just thought --" She walks toward the picture window, looking out over the wide vista of the Alaskan countryside. "I actually thought you looked happy. I thought if I took a picture - maybe it would be real." She clicks the camera off, and set it on the broad windowsill. "It's not important," she says, in a clipped, tired voice.
"Maddie -" He rises, clutching the still-sleeping child to his chest.
Maddie turns to him. Her mouth is still pressed thin, her brow furrowed. He tries not to remember that he's seen Jean that way, too. Scott's wife puts out her hands. "You hold him too tight." The baby hardly stirs as Scott surrenders him. Maddie pulls Christopher to her chest, and looks back at the window. "You remember you agreed to watch him in the day tomorrow. My doctor's appointment --?"
"I know," he says, too quickly - almost snapping again - then places a tentative hand on her back. The sun is setting, and even his monochrome eyes can make out the play of light over the long grass. "You're feeling okay?"
"It's routine," she says - also too quickly - then contradicts herself right away. "Because of how it happened, they want to make sure everything is healed up like it should be."
Because of how it happened. Because Madelyne Summers had her baby alone at Xavier's mansion, without a doctor or drugs or even a friendly face. Because instead of bending over the bed and reminding her how to breathe, Scott was in Paris for Magneto's trial, trying to save the reputation of mutants throughout the world. He hadn't even called home, because the baby wasn't supposed to come for a month, and so that was the next crisis. That was supposed to wait -- she was supposed to wait - for the end of the present crisis, and when she didn't. . .
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I'm fine," Maddie answers. "I'm tough. I can look out for myself. That's why you married me." She lifts her hand from the baby's head and gives Scott a playful - he is almost sure it is playful - punch on the arm. Then her hand travels up to rest against the side of his face. He tenses and for a moment, he wonders if she is mocking him. He can't remember the last time an uncomplicated, affectionate touch passed between them. "If everything checks out, which it will, we'll be able to make love again."
He turns slowly to stare at her. Her hand still rests on his face, beneath the heavy frame of his glasses. "I thought - six weeks?"
"That's a wives' tale. Anyway, it's been almost five." He looks down at her hand, stroking the baby's silk-fine hair. "I'm ready," she says.
He swallows. He knows that he should speak, but it feels like there's some object caught in his voicebox.
Maddie turns her head to the side. "I thought at least you would pretend to be happy. About that, at least."
"I just -" He looks at their sleeping son, again, and wonders if the boy will have to live his entire life around the edge of his parents' muted arguments. "I don't even feel like you like me, half the time." More than half the time. "You're obviously upset. I guess I have a hard time believing you would want - that."
Maddie levels her gaze at him, and at that moment, Scott doesn't think that anything coming out of his eyes could be more formidable. "You're my husband. Scott. I'm not happy with the way things are now, and you obviously aren't either. But that's going to change. What's happening now - all of this - " She leans in, clutching Christopher to her chest. For the first time in a long age, maybe since before Paris, she places a soft kiss on his mouth. "It's all temporary. It's just temporary."
"Temporary," he repeats and, because he feels like he should, returns the kiss, and puts his arm around her, careful of the baby pressed between them.
He raises his eyes to look out the window, the grass and the lake and the brilliant evening sky stretched out like a long, untouched future before them. He looks out and works very hard to remind himself that this is exactly the life he has always wanted.
Scott holds the sleeping, silent baby against his shoulder, and tries to make everything feel the way that it's supposed to.
This is my child, he thinks, cautiously touching Christopher's tiny, intricate palm with a thumb that is almost big enough to cover the hand entirely. No, he corrects, Our child. Thinking of Madelyne on the other side of the door, in the kitchen of the large house, empty save for the three of them. This is his life now. This is his home. No team, no professor, no saving the world. He's just a husband and a father, with a good job and a quiet home, and this fragile new family. He settles into a living room of new furniture, the deep soft armchair a wedding gift from his grandfather.
Scott has always been under the impression that infants scream constantly, that there is no reprieve of silence for new parents and that -- he thinks -- he was prepared for. After all, he has never been very good at sleeping through the night. But what has caught him unawares are the long intervals of quiet, of stillness. The baby is almost five weeks old, and most of the time, it lies motionless, with its eyes closed, and doesn't do anything at all. When Scott sits very still, he can feel the boy's chest rise and fall with his breath. My son, he thinks. This is my son.
"Stay just like that."
He tenses, instantly, at the sound of his wife's voice, tightening his hands against the baby. "Maddie -" The handheld video camera whirs as she walks closer; Christopher stirs against his shoulder, and Scott lets go a little. He starts to turn toward Madelyne.
"Don't move, don't look at me." The camera's "on" light glows, a brighter, purer crimson in the corner of his red-washed vision. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
"Maddie -" Scott averts his face a little and covers the back of the child's head with one hand.
"Don't be shy. Silly boys." Her smile startles him; he has almost forgotten what it looks like. "You should see yourself - I can copy this tape and send it to Kitty. She gave me the roll of film we took in Westchester -"
"Maddie -"
"But there wasn't one of you with Christopher -" Something about that smile, something happens to her eyes- "This is perfect." A satisfied grin, a playful toss of her head, and for a second she looks exactly like someone that doesn't exist anymore. She looks and sounds just like Jean, and Scott feels sick to his stomach. "Nice job," Maddie coos. "You handsome little baby. And handsome daddy. Just like that. You look perfect."
"I'm not performing!" Scott snaps. And if he was trying to get rid of her smile, to banish it from the room, the mission is a spectacular success. The hard set of her jaw, now, is all Madelyne's own. He wilts a little under her glare, and looks down at Christopher. "The baby's sleeping."
She lowers the camera, slowly. "I'm not bothering him. I just thought --" She walks toward the picture window, looking out over the wide vista of the Alaskan countryside. "I actually thought you looked happy. I thought if I took a picture - maybe it would be real." She clicks the camera off, and set it on the broad windowsill. "It's not important," she says, in a clipped, tired voice.
"Maddie -" He rises, clutching the still-sleeping child to his chest.
Maddie turns to him. Her mouth is still pressed thin, her brow furrowed. He tries not to remember that he's seen Jean that way, too. Scott's wife puts out her hands. "You hold him too tight." The baby hardly stirs as Scott surrenders him. Maddie pulls Christopher to her chest, and looks back at the window. "You remember you agreed to watch him in the day tomorrow. My doctor's appointment --?"
"I know," he says, too quickly - almost snapping again - then places a tentative hand on her back. The sun is setting, and even his monochrome eyes can make out the play of light over the long grass. "You're feeling okay?"
"It's routine," she says - also too quickly - then contradicts herself right away. "Because of how it happened, they want to make sure everything is healed up like it should be."
Because of how it happened. Because Madelyne Summers had her baby alone at Xavier's mansion, without a doctor or drugs or even a friendly face. Because instead of bending over the bed and reminding her how to breathe, Scott was in Paris for Magneto's trial, trying to save the reputation of mutants throughout the world. He hadn't even called home, because the baby wasn't supposed to come for a month, and so that was the next crisis. That was supposed to wait -- she was supposed to wait - for the end of the present crisis, and when she didn't. . .
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I'm fine," Maddie answers. "I'm tough. I can look out for myself. That's why you married me." She lifts her hand from the baby's head and gives Scott a playful - he is almost sure it is playful - punch on the arm. Then her hand travels up to rest against the side of his face. He tenses and for a moment, he wonders if she is mocking him. He can't remember the last time an uncomplicated, affectionate touch passed between them. "If everything checks out, which it will, we'll be able to make love again."
He turns slowly to stare at her. Her hand still rests on his face, beneath the heavy frame of his glasses. "I thought - six weeks?"
"That's a wives' tale. Anyway, it's been almost five." He looks down at her hand, stroking the baby's silk-fine hair. "I'm ready," she says.
He swallows. He knows that he should speak, but it feels like there's some object caught in his voicebox.
Maddie turns her head to the side. "I thought at least you would pretend to be happy. About that, at least."
"I just -" He looks at their sleeping son, again, and wonders if the boy will have to live his entire life around the edge of his parents' muted arguments. "I don't even feel like you like me, half the time." More than half the time. "You're obviously upset. I guess I have a hard time believing you would want - that."
Maddie levels her gaze at him, and at that moment, Scott doesn't think that anything coming out of his eyes could be more formidable. "You're my husband. Scott. I'm not happy with the way things are now, and you obviously aren't either. But that's going to change. What's happening now - all of this - " She leans in, clutching Christopher to her chest. For the first time in a long age, maybe since before Paris, she places a soft kiss on his mouth. "It's all temporary. It's just temporary."
"Temporary," he repeats and, because he feels like he should, returns the kiss, and puts his arm around her, careful of the baby pressed between them.
He raises his eyes to look out the window, the grass and the lake and the brilliant evening sky stretched out like a long, untouched future before them. He looks out and works very hard to remind himself that this is exactly the life he has always wanted.