One Minute

by Dyce

One minute.

Just one minute.

One minute of life. One minute of not thinking about the Dream or the X-Men or humans or mutants or or fighting or spandex or hate or fear. Just air, going into my lungs, then out again. Eyes, blinking. Pulse, beating. Not pounding, not lagging, just beating. Air, brushing my skin. Maybe sunlight, warming it. Or rain, soft and wet.

Just one minute.

One minute that's just *me*.

But I don't have any minutes. Not one.

Every minute, every second, of every day, I'm an X-Man. A leader. A friend. A brother. A husband. A father. A pupil. A teacher. And I don't grudge that time, I swear I don't.

As an X-Man, I've saved hundreds, thousands, millions of lives. I've battled evil, and I've won. I've *won*. I've made the world better, even if it's only for one minute.

As a leader, I've lead my friends and family into the deadliest of danger, and I've led them out again. Sometimes they've been hurt. One or two have died. But there was always a *reason*, it had a *purpose*, and it had to be me, because that wasn't a burden I could lay on anyone else.

As a friend, I've done my best to be there, even though I know I'm bad at it. It might be a stiff, rather formal shoulder, but it's there, and it's what I've got to offer. I've loaned it. I've offered whatever halting words of comfort I could come up with. Good times and bad. Stiff, uncertain, but present.

As a brother, I've failed more often than I've succeeded. But I never stopped trying. I loved Alex, always, and no matter what he thinks, I was never disappointed in him. Never. Not for one minute.

As a husband, I've been a success and a failure both. Madelyne never forgave me. I don't blame her. Jean did. I never expected her to. But Jean knew I loved her more than anything, more than life itself. Maybe that was why.

As a father, I've given my pitiful all... and still failed. Failed Nathan, my son, my baby boy. I look at him, and I know I failed. And when I look at Stryfe, I know I failed them both. But that doesn't mean I wanted to. I wanted to do well. I wanted to be a good father. I just didn't know how.

As a pupil, I've been diligent. Devoted. I learned the Dream, I believed in it, I lived it. I followed in the Professor's tracks with more passion than he himself... but with more compassion, too. I like to think so, anyway.

As a teacher... I don't know how I did. I hope I did more right than I did wrong.

But in between all those things, there was never a minute, never one, where I was just *me*. No responsibilities. No pressures. No thoughts. Just... being.

One minute.

All I wanted, just one.

One moment when there was no X-Man, no Leader, no Friend, no Brother, no Husband, no Father, no Pupil, no Teacher, no Scott Summers.

Just... me.

And now there are no more minutes, no more time, and I'm not sure who I am as I hurl myself forward. X-Man, certainly. Leader, perhaps. Brother, no longer, Husband, not enough, but Father, more than anything. No longer Pupil or Teacher, but Scott Summers, more than ever before.

I know I'll die.

I don't grudge it.

I can let go of them all.

Nate, I don't grudge giving them up for you, for the son I was never a father to.

For your life, I'll give it all.

But I wanted...

....I always wanted....

....just one minute.

back to Dyce's stories | Cyke and Logan archive | the Summerlands | comicfic.net