WHO:Alex Summers with a brief appearance by Scott Summers WHEN: About a year and a half ago. WHERE: Xavier's Sweet-Ass Office. WHAT: SECRET ORIGINS! Why Alex dislikes Scott, and what happened prior to Xavier's.
The place reeked of money.
The wingback leather chairs. The massive polyurethane-oak desk. The oddly placed gold statue of a zebra. or was it a giraffe? The finds reached the ceiling, despite this being a office for a man in the wheelchair. Alex felt tiny in the space, and it made him shift uncomfortably in the seat, the shiny leather squeaking with every movement he made, as if the place was brand new. He even sat awkwardly too, making sure his own shoes didn't touch the Persian carpet with his muddy converse. The clothes he wore seemed inappropriate for the setting, like a pink elephant in the middle of the room, he knew coming here would make him stick out like a sore thumb. And Alex hated it. He didn't want to be here, and if initially asked? He would have turned it down in a heartbeat and ran the opposite direction of the surprisingly calm bald man in the wheelchair. But the temptation of seeing his brother? The one he thought was dead, gone, lost to a system that Alex was once apart of. Alex couldn't turn down the opportunity.
And a meal. Alex could have used a decent meal. Which Xavier -- he had found out his name before accepting an offer -- had nicely paid for at the IHOP around the corner.
Alex squeazed his hands open and closed several times, before decidingly standing up. He couldn't sit anymore. He actually would have perferred to be outside. Alex had been rather skeptical of enclosed quarters as of late, but could anyone blame him? He quickly put himself next to one of the open windows -- not before curiously messing with the paisley printed velvet drapes that adorned every single one. His hands, palm first came to rest on the glass, as he concentrated on not letting lose any of his blasts. Last time it happened he had been angry, and now Alex feared that any emotion -- whether it was anger, or at this point anxiety -- would spawn them. Hadn't Xavier wanted to be more cautious? Would the man actually leave him alone in his office that seemed too expensive to be replaced? Then again, the whole place was Xavier's.
Trying to sate his nerves, Alex rested his head now against the window, trying not to think about before he came here. Moving forward. That was what he needed to do. That was what Xavier had more or less suggested over their breakfast, as Alex had started in on his second stack of pancakes. When Xavier had said that to him, Alex, who had dropped his inhibitions about being around crowded places due to his powers, suddenly sank into himself, dropping his fork, and requesting that they leave -- immediately. Xavier had quietly nodded at him, and paid for the food, as Alex had rushed ahead of him to stand outside. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't allow himself to be put in that position. He didn't know how his powers worked -- and blowing up the local pancake restaurant was something Alex didn't want to add to his list of people he would kill.
He had already done that once.
Alex's slowly closed his eyes, feeling himself tense at the memory. It had plagued him ever since he left Hawaii. His foster family, the Blandings. His foster-sister, the one he had spent two days with in a warehouse. She was the one that clung to him in fear, the only one out of his foster family that didn't treat them like their previous son. That didn't try to mold him into something he wasn't. Alex had tried so hard not to do it. Not to allow his foster parents to control him, but he was young. They were strict and he followed the rules. His hobbies became a distant memory and he felt like a robot trapped in a life he didn't want. In a life he didn't understand. Maybe his powers manifesting in that warehouse was karma, a sign that he was meant for something else -- perhaps that was the silver lining when it came to murdering their kidnapper. The one that wanted nothing more than to hurt them, and his foster family. It was scary to think about, frightening to remember. Alex was terrified as he stowed away on an airliner to Oregon from Hawaii, that his nightmares of what had transpired were going to give him away. At least the airplane was loud.
Alex focused on running after that.
He had hitchhiked till he got to a town. Then he'd find an over night truck driver and ride with him, while he slept. He remembered walking a lot. He remembered Nebraska. He had been from there, but was too young to remember. Alaska too. He thought he had a picture once of Scott and him there. Alex had only been two or three at the time, he couldn't remember. But that picture was left in Hawaii, along with everything else he owned. Alex had nothing, except the clothes on his back and the dirty shoes that were leaving obvious footprints on the wood flooring. Why had Xavier left him in here again?
Alex's head perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he felt his heart beat faster, his face feel hot, and his throat constrict. He hadn't seen Scott in years. And even then he hadn't remembered too much of his older brother. He tried to though. Scott was all he had left of family. And he had been here this whole time -- Xavier had told him that much. And that Scott was a mutant too. Alex was relieved that he wasn't the only outcast of the family. But Scott was here. He had grown up with Xavier, practiced his powers, and had a life.
And if a light switch had turned on, Alex felt himself become instinctively jealous and bitter. Scott had lived here in luxury this entire time. Why hadn't he tried to find him? Why had Scott not come for him? Alex wasn't hard to find. He left a paper trail with every foster family he was bounced around to. Alex had realized that his lack of family and companionship of the last person left blood related to him was disturbing. Scott has been here. Alex had murdered someone because he was all alone and unable to control his wildly unrestrained powers. All Alex could do was stare at the man in front of him, pushing in Xavier.
When he stopped and stared back, Alex couldn't even blink. This man was his brother. This clean shaven, dark haired, sunglesses wearing stoney edged man. Alex felt like he was staring at a ghost. Scott looked just like their dad -- at least from the pictures Alex could remember. It had been so long. Alex felt like Scott's complete opposite standing across form him, in old clothes, needing a shower and growing something that may have been a beard if he left it alone a couple more days.
Alex's jaw clenched, not wanting to be the first one to move. Scott should be. Scott was the one who had a solid place to live and family for years while Alex was forced into playing the role of a dead son by a mildly unstable family for most of his life.
And when Scott finally did move? It was an arm, and outstretched hand, to shake. Scott Summers wanted to shake Alex Summers, his younger brother's, hand. Scott Summers who had not seen his younger brother in almost seventeen years wanted to shake his hand. Alex was in shock. His brother, his only fucking family, wanted to treat him like an acquaintance. Alex couldn't even be angry anymore. He just stared dumbly at the hand outstretched toward him. Scott probably took it as some kind of shock in a good way, Alex was just so appauled that he was shocked. He couldn't believe it.
Out of blind habit, Alex shook his hand, holding out to remove it, hoping that Scott maybe was in shock too, would pull him into a hug. But no. If anything, Scott had pulled his hand away from him first.