Scott sat on a worn-out cot in the small, dimly lit room they had found shelter in. The walls were bare concrete, the air cool and dry, with only a single dim bulb overhead flickering occasionally. His arm throbbed with a deep, dull pain, but he barely acknowledged it, too focused on what needed to happen next. There was always something that needed to happen next. Always another step forward.
Amelia knelt beside him, her brow furrowed as she inspected the deep bruise on his forearm, running her fingers lightly over the mottled skin. "You need to take this seriously, Scott," she said, her voice firm but tinged with worry. "That impact could have broken your arm."
Scott shrugged, his eyes distant. "It's not broken," he replied, waving off her concern. "Just bruised. I'll be fine."
Amelia sighed, clearly frustrated. She wasn't going to let this go, not this time. "You say that like it means nothing," she muttered, shifting to sit more comfortably beside him. "But bruised or not, it's still a sign. You're pushing yourself too far, and it's catching up to you. You're getting hurt, Scott."
He gave her a tired smile, one that was meant to be reassuring but instead just looked weary. "Amelia, I've had worse. This is nothing."
But she wasn't convinced, and she wasn't going to let him get away with brushing it off so easily. Carefully, she placed a hand on his bruised arm, her touch both gentle and deliberate. "It's not about this one injury," she said quietly. "It's about all of them. You can't keep doing this, Scott. What happens when it's not just a bruise? When it's something worse? Something you can't just walk away from?"
Scott's eyes flicked down to her hand on his arm, and for a moment, he said nothing. He wanted to move past this conversation, but the concern in her eyes held him still. He admired her persistence but he couldn't afford to stop now, not when there was so much left to do. "Amelia, I need to talk to Hank," he said, his voice steady but soft. "He's been through a lot, and I need to make sure he understands what's coming."
Amelia's hand tightened slightly on his arm, her gaze hardening. "No, Scott," she said, her voice firm as she stepped in front of him. "Hank is with his family, where he should be right now. He's been through hell, and he needs time to rest. Just like you do."
Scott frowned, trying to push himself to his feet, but Amelia placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently but firmly back down onto the cot. "You're exhausted," she said. "You've been fighting non-stop, running yourself ragged. Eventually, you're going to wear yourself out, and then what? What good will you be to anyone if you can't even stand?"
"I'm fine," Scott muttered, though the fatigue in his voice betrayed him. His body ached, every muscle protesting even the slightest movement. But still, he couldn't bring himself to stop, not when there was so much at stake.
Amelia softened her tone, kneeling in front of him again so that she was at eye level. "Please, Scott," she pleaded, her eyes searching his. "Rest. If you don't take care of yourself, you're going to collapse, and then where will we be? You need to stop before you hit that wall."
Scott hesitated, sensing the genuine concern in her voice. He had always been the one to push forward, to take on the burden himself, never willing to ask for help or admit weakness. But hearing it from Amelia like this—it made him pause. For the first time, he truly felt the exhaustion that had been building up in him, dragging at his limbs, dulling his mind.
Amelia let out a long breath, sensing his hesitation, and played her final card. "If you rest now," she said softly, "I'll consider not trying to convince you to go back to the mansion."
Scott's eyes flicked up to meet hers, a flicker of suspicion crossing his tired face. He could tell she wasn't being entirely honest. He knew she still wanted him to go back, to be safe, to rest properly. But the weight of his exhaustion was heavy, and for once, he couldn't find the energy to argue. He nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall, his body sinking into the thin mattress of the cot.
"Fine," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I'll rest."
Amelia smiled softly, relieved. "Thank you," she whispered, standing and pulling the thin blanket over him. She sat down in a chair across the room, watching as his eyes slowly fluttered shut, the tension in his body finally beginning to ease.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the quiet hum of the overhead light. Scott's breathing slowed, his body finally giving in to the rest it so desperately needed. But Amelia's mind was still racing, her heart heavy with the knowledge that this brief respite wouldn't be enough. Scott was relentless, driven by a sense of duty that seemed almost impossible to shoulder alone.
She hoped that when he woke, she could convince him to slow down. To realize that he didn't have to bear this burden on his own. But for now, she was content to let him rest.
-X-
Hank stood with his parents, his heart still pounding in his chest as he looked across at Cyclops and Mist, their faces concealed behind the masks they always wore. It was strange seeing them like this, after everything that had happened. Cyclops had been incredible in the battle. The way he had moved, dodging attacks with precision and using his optic blasts to knock back enemies twice his size, had been nothing short of amazing.
Hank couldn't stop thinking about it. About how controlled, how calm Cyclops had been. He had faced down enemies that could have crushed him in an instant, and yet he hadn't faltered.
Could I ever do that? Hank wondered. Could I ever use my powers the way Cyclops does?
But then, the memory of the Conquistador flashed through his mind—the way his own strength had surged, uncontrollable and terrifying. The way his fists had broken through armor, through bone. The fear that had risen in his chest in that moment came back now, tightening around his heart.
Cyclops' voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "Hank," he said, his tone serious. "I'm putting together a team. A team of mutants to fight for our people. What happened to you, it's going to happen to others—mutants all over the world. You got off easy."
Hank stiffened, his parents exchanging a furious glance. His father stepped forward, his voice sharp with anger. "Easy? You think this was easy for our son? After everything he's been through?"
Cyclops didn't flinch. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a conviction that couldn't be ignored. "What happened to Hank was terrible," he said. "But it could have been worse. Much worse. Mutants have been hunted, experimented on, strung up and paraded in front of crowds, treated as less than human. What Hank went through—it's only the beginning."
Hank's mother gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're not turning our son into a soldier," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "He's been through enough. He's not going to face danger like that again."
Cyclops' gaze hardened. "Did you expect him to be in danger like this in the first place?" he asked, his voice steady. "Can you guarantee it won't happen again, especially now that it's known he's a mutant?"
The room fell into a heavy silence, Hank's parents unable to find a response. The truth hung in the air between them, undeniable. They couldn't promise that this wouldn't happen again. No one could.
Amelia, who had been watching Hank closely, noticed the fear in his eyes. She recognized it instantly. It was the same fear she had felt once—the fear of her own power. The fear of losing control. She stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. "Even if you're not ready to fight, Hank, there's a place where you can learn to control your abilities. A place that can help you."
Scott turned to look at her, his brow furrowing slightly, but Amelia held his gaze. After a moment, Scott nodded. He could see the truth in her words. Hank wasn't ready for the kind of team he wanted to build. Not yet.
Hank's parents softened slightly at Amelia's words, turning to their son with a mix of worry and hope in their eyes. They didn't want him to fight. They didn't want him to be in danger. But they knew, deep down, that he needed help.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," Amelia continued, her voice soft and reassuring. "There's time to figure out what's best for you."
Hank swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His powers, the dangers ahead, the fear of what he could become—it all felt overwhelming. But one thing was clear. He couldn't go back to pretending this part of him didn't exist.
Cyclops stepped forward again, his voice still calm but carrying the weight of experience. "Think about it, Hank. The world is changing. We need to be ready for it. But it's your choice."
Hank nodded slowly, his mind racing with possibilities. He wasn't ready to fight—not yet. But he couldn't deny the truth in Cyclops' words.
The world was changing.
And he had to find his place in it.