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Second Chances

Disclaimer: Scott Summers is the property of marvel comics. No money is being made off of this so don't

Notes: This is my first attempt at a fan fic so please give me the gruesome truth, a lie won't tell me if it is any good or not. Although try to keep your bad comments to a minimum if you are going to write back. If I get good feedback I might write a sequel to this. Keep in mind though that it probably won't come out for a long time. So you might have to nag me if you really want to read the next one.

Cannon: This is my own personal take on what will happen when Scott and Jean break up. However, everyone knows that this will not be what will happen. I think it would be kind of cool if it did though.

Rating: PG-13 for language, and violence.

Archive: If you think it is good enough sure go ahead. Tell me where it is though.

Scott Summers was perched, as he always was whenever he was here. This was his favorite spot. Sitting atop the skyscraper, his legs were bent and only his toes and right hand prevented him from falling off of the great building. Seventy-five stories was a long way to the ground. He enjoyed the challenge of it. It was not a difficult thing to do. After all, he had been doing it for the past six months. It was almost second nature to him now. Whenever the wind was exceptionally strong he had to pay attention to what he was doing. However, he was getting better and better every night.

Ever since he came to this city, this god-forsaken place of bigotry and violence. He had given himself simple tasks before the beginning of the great task he saw before him. This was one of them. Here as in most places but especially here mutants had absolutely nothing. The police were bigots, the medical society ignored them, and lawyers didn't even give them the time of day. He came here because it was the perfect place to begin.

His black leather trench coat blew softly in the breeze that was out tonight. It gave him a more menacing look. He was not visible by anyone on the street below, which was how he wanted it. He always kept to the shadows masking himself in darkness whenever he could. He had somewhat of an obsession with the color black now. It suited him. He liked it. It was one of the things he was thankful to old blue lips for. Not that he was thankful to the bastard for much. He took the life he could have had away from him. Since he had been freed from Apocalypse he had changed. Jean had left him because of it. He didn't mind now, that was ancient history. But if so why did he have to fight tears away every time he thought of her. He didn't think much of it. Why bother? It would just be a waste of time. He was who he was, and he liked who he was.

Looking down on the small people that walked the streets of this city every night he smiled inwardly toward himself. No one here knew who he was. No one here knew of the pain and sorrow he had gone through in his life. However, they had already begun to know what he was doing here. That was all they needed to know.

Scanning the nearby skyscrapers he found what he was waiting for. Just across the street, in one of the rooms near the top of the building a light just went on. He sat and waited. Eight men entered the room. Four of them were built heavily, obviously they were bodyguards. They would be dangerous if they were armed otherwise they would require little effort to take down. Another two were of average build, probably the ones that would be closing the deal. They would be less of a problem then the bodyguards. The last two were short. One was fat and balding around the top of his head looked to be in his late forties early fifties. The other was skinny and walked with a slight limp. He was younger than the other one but not by much. They looked like lawyers. He hated lawyers.

Scott took a breath and, no not Scott. Cyclops took a breath. Right now he was Cyclops not Scott Summers. Summers was a wimp that couldn't handle what Cyclops was about to do. Scott Summers couldn't handle what Apocalypse did to him. Scott Summers wasn't strong enough to fight for his wife and win her back. No, he was not Scott Summers. He was Cyclops.

Cyclops took a breath and fastened the polymer line around his gloved fist. He felt the serge of pleasure that he always felt at this moment. A small smile came to his lips which was quickly pushed away. With a quick triangulation of the angle he would have to fall from, he gave the line a quick tug and leapt.

The free fall was exhilarating as it always was; it never lasted as long as he wished though. Sometimes he could almost let go of the line and fall to the streets below. He didn't know why he felt this way, and he never bothered to examine it. He felt that if he did, he might not like the answer he got.

Within seconds the line tightened and he began swinging towards the window. A quick shatter of glass and he quickly took out the lights in the room with an optic blast. The eight startled men rose from their seats and began looking for what just happened. In the confusion Cyclops ran towards one of the bodyguards and jumped. In mid air he extended his left leg and connected it with the other mans face. The force of the kick launched the man back seven feet, before he fell to the ground unconscious. The next man pulled out a Desert Eagle, the other two both .12 gauge shotguns. They began firing almost as soon as they grabbed their weapons. One of the men at the other end of the table shouted at them, "Don't shoot you might hit Herald."

"I don't give a fuck who I hit. As long as I get what came through that window."

Cyclops saw the two lawyers running towards the exit. One optic blast changed that in a hurry. "He be one o' d'em mutie freaks," Cyclops heard someone say. He immediately turned in his direction and gave him a blow to the solar plexus and then an uppercut. The man wouldn't be getting up for the next couple of hours.

The next man was several feet in front of Cyclops. The man lowered his head and charged him. Cyclops braced his body down on one hand and brought his leg out in a sweeping motion. The man fell backwards onto his back, hitting his head on the table as he went down knocking him out. The last of the bodyguards was firing his shotgun at whatever he could see. Too bad he didn't see the right hook that would give him a mind-blowing headache when he woke up.

Cyclops looked towards the two businessmen that were left in the room. One of them was slowly making his way to the door hoping that he wouldn't be noticed. His hope didn't come through. In a flash of red he was on the floor with the rest. The last man in the room spoke. His voice was trembling obviously afraid of what this newcomer might do to him. "Wha... Wha... What do you want?"

Cyclops spoke in a low terrifying rasp "Information."

"I won't tell you nothin." His voice was still shaky.

"I think you will," was his only reply.

In a second Cyclops had covered the distance between the two individuals. Another second everything went black for the businessman.

When he awoke he was hanging upside down twenty stories from the ground. He shrieked. "Where is the munitions shipment for the FoH?" was the first thing he heard.

It took a few moments for the man's brain to register that he was being spoken to. It took another few for it to interpret what he was just asked. "I... I can't tell you. They'd kill me."

"What do you think is going to happen to you if you don't tell me?" to emphasize his point he let the rope that was holding the other man slip just a little. The man shrieked again. "Well?"

"New... New York," the man quickly answered.

Cyclops sighed. Of course it would be New York. It was the story of his life, if anything ever happened to him it was in close relation to the X-Men. He tied the rope to the railing nearby and began walking away. "Wait WAIT! What about me?"

Cyclops stopped but didn't turn around. "Hang around for the cops they'll cut you down." With that he left. He had a trip to plan.

Scott Summers had spent the next day preparing for his trip to New York. His plans were to stay as far away from Westchester as possible. On his plane ride out he had sat next to an elderly man and they had a discussion about the horrible way that mutants were treated. For Scott it was a welcome change. Since he moved to his new home all he had heard about was how bad mutants were and that they had no place in today's society. It made him sick to his stomach.

Once he got off his plane though he remembered how bad New York was. He hadn't been here in just over three years. He was already regretting coming back. As soon has he landed he was hit by the classic New York hospitality. Five times someone attempted to steal his wallet. It had resulted in five failures. In half an hour he was asking himself, "How could I have ever liked this place?"

He rented a hotel room near the New York dock, which was not an easy feat. He spent five hours just looking for a place close by. Then he had to spend two and a half hours getting a cab driver that could speak English, and then another hour trying to find a cab driver that could take him to where he wanted to go. Finally when he got there it was worse of a dump than he'd expected. There were holes in the roof. The place had no heating, everywhere he stepped he heard squishy noises. The toilet didn't flush, the shower had no faucet and the water was brown. To top it all off the bed was nothing more than a rotten old mattress with food stains on it. Not to mention the fact that the entire place smelled like one of Logan's cigars.

"Oh well," Scott said to himself, "typical old New York. I haven't missed you one bit, although you do make my new home look like a stay at the New York Plaza."

Scott threw his bag onto the bed and then began his workout. Five hundred pushups, five hundred sit ups, five hundred pull ups, and then he would do a twenty five mile run with thirty pounds on weights in his backpack. When he was finished it was seven thirty and he had four hours until the shipment came in. He had one of two choices. He could either watch the five channels on TV or he could rest. He opted for resting.

Two and a half years ago in his travels when he had first left the X-men, he learned a way to induce sleep upon one's self from a Japanese martial arts grand master. It was one of the first things he had learned. Not only did he have to spend his waiting hours restlessly trying to get to sleep he could just retreat inside of his mind and shut it down. It had become very useful in the days that he would spend pacing a room back and forth waiting for time to go by. Within seconds he was out like a light.

When he awoke he only had a half an hour to get ready and be at the dock. He didn't rush thou, to do so would be foolish. Another thing he had learned in his travels and in his days as an X-man is that when you choose the time and place for the battle to begin, it has a higher chance of going your way. He had both seen the positives and the negatives of this.

Within twenty minutes he was at the docks. He had managed to find a perfect place for him to wait out the off loading of the weapons. It was secluded behind crates, and the old cargo ship that was docked heavily shadowed it. "Classic," he thought to himself, "isn't this the type of position one always sees in the movies?" His train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of a crane lifting the shipment off of the vessel.

The next thing Cyclops heard was footsteps coming closer to him. He soundlessly ducked further down into the shadows. It was not yet time for him to make his strike. "Well," one of the voices began, "this gets easier and easier every time we do this." Cyclops laughed in his head. This man was in for a big surprise.

"Yea, ain't it amazing what the cops will do in this city for the right amount of money?" came the second mans reply.

Cyclops felt a cringe of anger at the man's remarks. He should have suspected as much. Police always looked the other way when they would make money, or if the situation involved mutants. "Makes me almost pity the muties in 'at one building down in Brooklyn."

"Better watch your mouth man. Ya could get disciplined fer sympathiz'n with the freaks."

"Hey, I said I almost felt sorry for them."

Cyclops shook his head in wonder. Why was it that all the thugs in the world could never speak proper English? They always spoke with slang. Sometimes it really pissed him off. "However," he thought, "they did give me some very useful information. I think they have served their purpose." With that last thought he was on the move. Up over the crates and down upon the unsuspecting victims.

One kick on his way down took out the first man. Cyclops landed on his left leg and then twisted around and brought the leg that had just taken out his friend into the other mans temple. Both were out cold.

Inside of a minute, the two men were where Cyclops had once been hidden, and Cyclops himself was making his way toward the crane that was lifting the crates. One punch took care of the crane operator. Another five seconds to drop the three-ton payload of weapons onto the deck of the ship.

Cyclops spotted five men pop their heads out of the ships bridge. Ten more came running toward the crane. He ducked down low and waited. When the first man arrived and opened the door, Cyclops kicked him directly in the face. The kick was immediately followed by a lunge punch, which knocked the man to the ground. Cyclops went with the man to the ground. When he landed he started rolling along dodging the bullets that had started coming when he hit the fist man.

After three rolls he got to his feet and began running in a zigzag motion in the direction of the pier. Once he reached it he blew a hole in the ground with an optic blast, which he jumped into. Cyclops reached up with both hands and grabbed the remaining part of the dock. Using the momentum of the fall he swung himself so that he was parallel with the water. All the while blasting holes into the pier for his hands and feet. There he waited.

Cyclops began moving his way toward the ship as the men began exploring the area in which he had fallen through. He placed his blasts perfectly so that it would look like the pier just gave away. He also made sure that his body covered the angle of the light that would be given away by the beams. They would send search boats to make sure that he would be picked up and "taken care of." It didn't matter though. They wouldn't find anything, and he was hidden by the pier's shadow. He was safe.

He had to work fast when he reached the boat. The search ships would be there soon and he didn't want them seeing him blasting holes in the cargo ship. Setting his visor to focus the blasts into a short focused beam. He doubted that they could see such a small beam but he didn't want to take that chance. His mission would be a hell of a lot easier if they thought he was dead.

It took him about ten minutes to use his optic blasts as a scalpel, and cut a hole big enough in the ships hull for him to crawl through. Once he was inside he silently made his way up to the bridge. On the upper deck of the ship, he spotted where the munitions had been unloaded and committed it to memory. Cyclops heard footsteps getting closer. He quickly lay flat on the deck and waited for him to get closer. When the man walked right past Cyclops, Cyclops jumped up, and put his hand around the guy's mouth. He then forced the other man's head down and brought his elbow onto it with all the force he could muster. The man would wake up with a mild to severe concussion.

Cyclops was then moving again. The bow of the ship only had five or six crates left on it. With one wide burst optic blast they were nothing more than little splinters of wood and metal. "Have to move fast," he thought, "that surly got their attention. With two quick steps he was at the edge of the ship. He quickly spotted the rest of the crates on the dock and one final blast took care of them.

"Now to get away," he thought. Once again he was on the move. The few people he ran into he took out without so much as a lost breath. He was two miles away from the Harbor in seven minutes. He made sure to stick to the shadows and to mask his trail. No one had a hope in hell of finding him. He was slightly disappointed though, he had to stay in New York for the next couple of days. He had to make sure that the mutants in some building in Brooklyn would be all right.

Scott Summers woke up after a restful sleep. The events of the previous night had made him somewhat tired. Not enough that it actually made him need to sleep, far from it. It was just that he barely got any chance to have a peaceful rest. It was about ten o'clock when he finally got out of bed. He did his regular morning training regiment, and then took a shower to get cleaned up. Although, it wasn't like the liquid that came out of the faucet could actually be called water.

Scott then decided that he would get started on finding out where this mutant building was located. He first bought a morning paper to find out what building this would be. As luck would have it the society section had a report about a new mutant shelter in Brooklyn. His next step took him to the library to look at a few maps of the area to find out where this building had been located. It had after all been three years since he had been anywhere near Brooklyn. The place might have changed. Surprisingly it hadn't that much. The map was only a few months old and Scott thought that maybe his luck was changing.

He was still unsure as to when the FoH were going to strike at the center. However, he felt that even with the little intelligence their leaders had they would at least know not to strike in broad daylight. Even if they did, it would make his job a hell of a lot easier. The local authorities would probably be able to handle it. That was if they cared enough to respond.

Scott was hoping that he would only be in town over night and therefore had not brought anything entertaining to do. He quickly found a few books to sign out and went back to his hotel room. Upon walking into the lobby, he gave the receptionist a second glance, something that he hadn't done in he didn't know how long. She was not an unattractive woman. She had shoulder length blonde hair that Emma Frost would be jealous of. With big blue eyes, full pouting lips, perfect cheekbones, and a smile that could melt Bobby's ice armor. No, she wasn't an unattractive woman at all.

She was currently talking on the phone. With one of her friends he presumed. The conversation quickly turned into a heated argument, which ended abruptly with her slamming the phone down on the receiver. "I take it someone wasn't exactly behaving appropriately," he stated.

The woman jumped up startled by the new voice. She hadn't seen this new man come in. She quickly recovered from her shock and replied, "Just a jackass of an EX-boyfriend, that's all." She said in a rather harsh tone. Scott knew it wasn't directed at him, but he couldn't help but feel somehow responsible. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked now remembering her job.

"Uh, no thank you," he stammered out, "I don't think anyone knows I'm here."

"Hiding out from the wife are you?" she stated with an amused smile. There was a faint hint of a flinch in his face, but it was quickly covered up, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to pry."

"It's not that. I'm not married. Well, not anymore." He answered and lowered his head slightly.

"I'm sorry, it's not my place to ask questions." She apologized.

"Don't worry about it, it's ancient history." He said lifting his head back up. "Say, do you know a place that serves a good lunch?"

"Actually there is this place that makes great steak down the street." She said with a smile.

"Steak for lunch huh? Well, there's a first time for everything right?" he replied.

"If you'd wait about half an hour I can get off work and take you there myself."

"It's not necessary, I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble at all. Besides I didn't have breakfast this morning so I'm famished."

"Thank you, I think I'd enjoy the company. By the way I'm Scott." He greeted by extending his right hand.

"Don't mention it, it's my pleasure. And I'm Helen." She said as she took the offered hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Helen." Scott then flashed her the smile that had first made Jean fall in love with him, and then watched as Helen's heart melted.

Part 2

<Other Stories By Mark Howes>

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