…And Teddy Bears Danced

by Patch

Scott Summers slammed the door to the mansion shut behind him. He paused briefly on the porch, took a deep breath, and started walking. He was not sure where he was going, but he was going away from here. Not permanently, never permanently. He could never leave the place he called home for any extended amount of time. God knows he had tried, but he always ended up coming back to the only place he knew as home.

He stopped briefly to survey his surroundings. He was in the woods that surrounded the mansion. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as an evening breeze picked up. He should have grabbed his jacket but he was too angry, too upset and too blinded by his own emotions to even think straight.

"What in the world is happening around me?" he wondered to himself as he kicked at the fallen leaves like a little kid. He made his way to the lake and took the trail leading to a cliff edge. He stepped to the edge and looked down. He stared into the water and pondered what had taken place earlier to force him from the mansion.

It had not been anyone in particular or anything. It was everything. Everything had been wrong. Everything that was his little world was going haywire. He sighed, not that it was normally such a placid place to be, but it was his world and he expected certain things to happen or not happen.

That was not to be. Not today.

===========================

It started in the morning; he and Jean had an argument. He did not, truthfully, really remember what started it. He made mention of the cap off the toothpaste and she slammed the lid down on the toilet so hard, it broke. Then he made some off-handed comment and their tempers flared from there. After about fifteen minutes of mutual shouting, she turned her back to him and he left the room.

===========================

He stared down in the water. The sky above and the trees around him that somehow represented his little world reflected in the water back at him. A smile crept across his face as he thought back on the morning. He closed his eyes and wondered why it was always Jean who had to initiate the apologizes for when they argued? He would have to change that.

===========================

He had been at his desk, staring at the computer but never really seeing the yearly budget report. She came down to his office. He felt her sadness and regrets that they had argued through the rapport they shared, but mostly he felt her hurt that he had, once again, closed her out.

"I'm sorry, Scott," she offered softly.

"I'm sorry," he had replied in the same quiet tone.

"I know," she replied as she looked down at the carpet.

He stood up from behind the desk and started toward her. "I never meant to hurt you. I don't even know how we got into such a stupid fight."

"Neither do I," she agreed as she met him in the middle of the room.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. She hugged him back, resting her head on his well-developed chest. "I guess it's just with all that's happened lately, I just, I don't know."

Jean looked up at him. He was so vulnerable at times like this when he could not explain irrational behavior. He looked and felt so lost and that's when she knew he needed her most.

"Stress of the wedding?" she offered.

He took a deep breath. "I guess."

She looked up at him with her big green love filled eyes and smiled.

His defenses fell and she was able to feel his emotions and thoughts through their rapport once more. He softly kissed her full mouth, pulled her tight to him and somewhere on the distance of his hearing, he heard her telekinetically lock the door.

===========================

Scott stared at the water, at the edge of the cliff and the smile slowly left his face. Unfortunately, the rest of the day went to Hell in a hand basket.

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Later he and his teammates were training in the Danger Room, as normal. Then the alarm went off, there was trouble in New York. He immediately assessed the situation and choose his team which would be himself, Wolverine, Metallica, and Jean. Not a hard choice considering it was supposed to be one mutant.

They arrived via the Blackbird, but the menace was not the mutant. It was FoH, Friends of Humanity, an anti-mutant terrorist group. One that Scott likened to the KKK, only the FoH did not care what color your skin was or what your religious beliefs, just as long as you hated mutants.

Cyclops had set the plane to hover and Metallica flew with Wolverine and Jean flew with him down to the ground. Metallica started shoving the FoH back with her magnetic shield and Jean followed suit with her TK shield. Wolverine jumped right into the fray, chopping up weapons with his claws and kicking back the enemy with his karate. Cyclops used his optic blasts to force the stragglers back as he made his way to the mutant.

One loan man stood beating at the mutant with a bat. Cyclops grabbed the bat from the FoH member with such force the man was spun all the way around.

The man turned to face Cyclops. He was a kid, maybe fourteen. The boy looked angry but once he stared into the ruby visors of the X-Men leader, he looked terrified.

Cyclops twisted in rage and forced the urge to blow the kid away at point blank range. Instead he shoved the kid into the crowd and fired at their feet, making them dance away.

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Scott closed his eyes briefly and the image of the mutant burned into his eyes. He opened them and stared into the water. Over the edge into a world that he no longer understood.

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Once Metallica and Jean had the crowd held at bay, Cyclops turned his attention to the victim. He turned the body over and fought down the bile in his throat. In all his years as an X-Man, he had never been so sickened or at least not since the Morlock Massacre.

The body was that of a little girl, no more than eight. Her delicate features now busted by baseball bats and fists of hate. Her tiny body that once skipped and played was now shattered by intolerance. Her small hands that once picked flowers and held kittens, balled up in fists to protect herself from unbridled bigotry. Her soft skin that once was stroked by a mother's tender caress, now splattered in her deep red, innocent blood.

Cyclops felt his body begin to shake. This was unacceptable. There was no place for this in his world. He had accepted years ago that he would be persecuted for his mutation and that he may be killed like a dog in the street, but not this little girl.

He stared into the opened eyes of the dead child and covered them with his hand closing her eyelids.

===========================

Scott opened his eyes and looked at his world. His world was one of intolerance, of betrayal, or bigotry. A world of super powered villains who were all convinced that the world would be a better place if they were in charge. A world where his kind were feared and hated. His world where he was cheered if the villain was stopped and then attacked once the villain was arrested or had escaped.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back towards heaven and screamed "Why?"

============================

"Why?" he heard the blood curdling scream rip from the depths of someone's soul. "Why?"

He vaguely saw Jean turn and look at him, as he became aware that it was his voice. His soul that was being shredded. The agony of the girl, her suffering, her death was all strained forth in his voice. He was screaming out her question. The question she probably was crying until the last ragged breath left her body.

"Why?" he screamed again. He was not sure if he was screaming at God or those who committed this atrocity. "What did she do that was so wrong?"

The crowd had grown silent save for a few grumbling. Even Wolverine eyed Cyclops warily.

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Scott opened his eyes to the heavens above. He ripped off his goggles and let loose a blast towards the sky. He pushed his power as he tried to get God's attention. "Why?"

He stopped after several moments, his chest heaved in harsh breaths and sweat, despite the cold, formed on his forehead. He put his goggles on and looked up at the sky to see if he got anyone's attention.

The stars twinkled and greeted him as a chuckle escaped his throat. He must have looked like a wild man the way he was carrying on. Much like he had when he lost his famous self-control and self contained emotions as he ranted at the crowd.

His eyes were drawn to the lake below him. He stared over the side, he was standing so close to the edge that pebbles and dirt broke off and fell, making rings in the water.

His world had been shattered in that moment

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Slowly, Cyclops picked up the broken little body and stood. He held the still warm child tight to his chest. He could feel the child's blood soak into his uniform and onto his skin. "What was her atrocity? What did she do? What could she have done that was so horrible?"

No one answered.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he became aware that Jean was mentally scanning the crowd and then she answered for them, "She made a teddy bear dance."

Cyclops felt his heart break.

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The world he knew was no longer just a battle between grown-ups. No longer a battle between heroes and villains. No longer would the battles rage between the X-groups and mutant-hating humans. The battle of right and wrong was no longer clear. No longer were the rules black and white, but gray.

Innocent victims were always involved, but not like this.

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Something in Cyclops snapped, he felt his chest constrict, his breath was suddenly ragged, he could not control the seething anger that threatened to boil over.

His battle was personal.

His optic blasts hit the crowd. Screams filled the air from members of the FoH. He heard them and did not care. He wondered at the back of his mind if that is what the little girl sounded like? Did she cry out for mercy and none was give?

A hand touched his shoulder.

He ceased firing. The crowd has disbursed. Those that were wounded were still trying to escape the X-Men leader's rage.

He turned to expect to see Jean by his side, but it was Wolverine's hand.

"Come on, boss, let's go home."

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Scott took a smaller step toward the edge and looked down. He closed his eyes tight and saw the battered face of the little girl. So young and so innocent. She would never know this world. His world and perhaps that was for the best.

He felt the tears start to form in his eyes.

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Jean flew them home in the Blackbird. Cyclops sat in a seat, still holding the dead child. He did not want to let her go. At least, he could hold her now. He could not have arrived in time to save her so perhaps in death he could offer her some comfort. It was irrational but some how it made him feel better.

No one should die alone.

He carried the body into the medical lab and laid her on the table. Gently, he arranged her in a suitable position that made her appear like she was asleep.

"Here," he heard Metallica say, her voice choked with tears.

He turned and she handed him a tattered teddy bear. Cyclops stared at it. The teddy bear that once had danced, was now as still as the girl's body. He wondered if teddy bears would ever dance again.

He put the bear in the little girl's arm around it and covered her with a sheet.

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Scott felt a cold breeze blow across the lake and over his body. It chilled him to the bone but he ignored it. His world was cold now. Cold and unfeeling. A sick world had become his now.

Scott chuckled. Not that his world before this had been a walk in the park. He had lost family, teammates, and friends. He knew first hand the brutality that man could do to man. But he had walked into this life by choice. He did not have to stay to fight this never-ending battle, but he did.

Scott felt his eyes burn with the renewed threat of tears as he pictured the little girl that was never a part of it. She was never involved. She was the reason the X-Men fought these battles, but she was never a participant.

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Cyclops walked into the recreation room. The big screen TV had the news on. He sat down next to Jean. She offered him a small smile and put her hand on his knee. He smiled back and put his arm around her.

"And in other news, the vigilante group known as the X-Men opened fire on a peaceful demonstration by the FoH. A little girl was reported as being killed by one of the X-Men, known as Cyclops."

Cyclops tensed. He was being blamed. Of course, no one would stick up for the X-Men. Especially after the way he had behaved by firing into the crowd.

"What?" Metallica yelped. "Ah, that is bullshit!"

"Media sucks, what can ya say?" Wolverine shrugged. "Guess S.H.I.E.L.D. 'll be wantin' ta talk to ya? I'll get the tape from the Blackbird to Nick and that should put an end ta this."

Cyclops nodded. "But it'll never be over. Ever. It never is over, is it?"

The room was silent but for the television.

"Nope," came Wolverine's surprisingly soft reply.

A young man, proudly displaying his FoH badge, came on the screen. "Yeah, all of a sudden they just showed up and started attacking us. We weren't doin' nuthin' and Cyclops just freaked out and started firin' on us. We were just have a peaceful rally and those mutants just attacked. That's why they shouldn't be allowed out. They're a danger to our society and to the freedom of humans. The way he blasted down that little girl, it was horrible."

Somehow the bastard managed to make his eyes glisten with tears.

Cyclops felt his body shake. He stood up.

"Where are you…?" Jean started to ask.

"Out," he snapped.

The door to the mansion slammed behind him.

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His day and his thoughts had come full circle. Here he stood on the edge, looking down on the world he knew. His world. A world that he fought for freedom and peace for everyone, be that mutant or human.

He knew he would keep up the fight. He would go to bed tonight and sleep. He would dream of the little girl who never had a chance. He would get up and start over. Scott Summers would not give up on his world. He would try and keep trying to make a dream come true for the sake of others, even if they did not appreciate his efforts or that of the X-Men. His battle for a beautiful world would continue.

He had to succeed to make his world a place for little girls to play and skip, to hold kitties, to pick flowers, and laugh when their daddies tickled them or fall asleep on their mommies' laps as their hair was caressed.

He looked over the edge into the world he knew as the tears that had threatened to fall, rolled freely down his face. He stared through blurred vision at the reflection of his world.

In his world, a little girl was murdered for making a teddy bear dance.

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