nothing worse than the comics or BtVS
main characters: Hank Summers, Scott Summers
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. I hold no legal rights to any character you may recognize from any other book/series/movie.
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.
notes: sequel to 'Remembered Fears', set roughly around season 1 or 2 BtVS.
Scott tried to hide his confusion and frustration. That man was there again, watching him. He didn't know who the man was, an ordinary enough man dressed in a business suit, apparently reading a newspaper. He blended with the dozen other men in suits, drinking coffee and reading papers at the little corner cafe.
Except that he hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. Except that his eyes were following Scott. Except that he'd seen the same man watching him for two weeks now.
It couldn't be a coincidence. The man had to be following him, watching him for some reason. Scott just didn't know what that reason was. Did it have to do with his connection to Xavier's? Was the man a bigot that hated mutants, determined to find a moment to beat his point home on the man in the funny glasses? Was he a thief? An agent of the government?
He could sit here all day, wondering and guessing, or he could ask the man and find out. The cafe wasn't crowded, but it was busy enough that most people wouldn't want to cause a scene, it was unlikely the man would attack. For a few moments, Scott debated the pro's and con's of just asking the man why he was following him. If the man was clever, he might try to claim that he wasn't following him, there was just some misunderstanding, and then Scott would look bad in front of everybody else.
Or he could do nothing, and wait while the man followed him for another week or two.
No. He was not going to wait, stewing in his frustrated curiosity for another week while the man in his suits prepared to do whatever it was that caused him to be following and watching for so long. Given the past, there was too much of a risk that the man would be a danger to the school and the students.
He stood up, dropping his emptied cup into the trash as he moved towards his stalker. Settling in the seat opposite the man, he considered him for a moment. The other man looked to be close to Scott's age, and while he wasn't in terrible shape, most spies and government mutant hunting agents were in better physical shape than this man.
"Why have you been watching me?" Scott spoke in a normal tone of voice, neither shouting or whispering, and hoped that the frustration wasn't so apparent.
"You're Scott Summers, the son of Anne and Christopher Summers, aren't you?" The man's words weren't really a question, and they were spoken in a voice that was almost calm, betraying a hint of nervousness.
Scott tensed, wondering if this apparently ordinary man was sent by Sinister. He'd tried to have plans for government agents, or for bigots, but someone investigating his family? Slowly, he admitted, "Yes, those were my parents' names. They died in a plane crash a long time ago."
For a few moments, the other man was silent. "Did you know that Anne wasn't Christopher's first wife?"
"What?" The words took Scott by surprise. What did that have to do with the other man being here? "When did he have this first wife, and who was she?"
"Her name was Emily, and they were married in 1947." The man took a sip of coffee, his hand shaking. "Emily filed for divorce in 1953 when she discovered that not only did Christopher have a lover, but that his lover was pregnant."
Scott listened with a feeling of dread. He had been born in 1953, the same year that his parents had gotten married. The coincidence seemed a bit too much for this man's words not to be going somewhere. Softly, the words slipped out, "What was her name?"
"Her name was Anne. Less than a month after the divorce was finalized, Christopher married Anne. That year, she had a son that they named Scott. Two years later, they had a son named Alexander." The man sighed, and looked up, his eyes focused on Scott's. "Christopher and Anne died in a plane crash, and the boys were put into separate foster homes. I couldn't track down what happened to Alex."
"Why were you trying to find him?" Scott could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears, and his stomach was a tangled, cold knot.
"My mother was Emily," the man glanced down for a moment, before looking up with a half smile. "My name is Hank Summers. Christopher was my father too."
For a moment, Scott couldn't make sense out of the words, couldn't register their meaning. It felt like the pieces drifted slowly, with the speed of a turtle or a glacier before meaning became clear. "You're my brother? I have a brother."
"I couldn't find a death certificate for Alex, so it looks like you have a brother that we don't know the location of, and a half brother." There was a pause, and the man's fingers tapped against the table. "I'm older, by the way."
Scott nodded, trying to fit this new information into his understanding of his family. "So, that's why you've been following me? Why not just... send a letter, or make a phone call or something?"
"I probably would have, at first. This..." Hank paused, trying to find the right words. "I first found out that you were here a couple years back. I came to New York, intending to walk up to your school and introduce myself. While I was trying to figure out where the place was, there was this fight. I don't know what he was, some horrible toadstool-pale man with red eyes, shouting about the Summers genes. I was terrified, and immediately caught the first flight back to California that I could arrange."
Scott shuddered at the mention of what could only be Sinister. "If you mean who I think you mean, I don't blame you for heading back to the west coast."
"I say pale skin, red eyes, and shouting about genes and you have more than one candidate?" Hank shivered, and drank the last of his coffee. "Your life must be horribly interesting."
"There are times when that description sounds about right," Scott agreed.
"I thought about things," Hank looked at his left hand, rubbing at his ring finger. "After a while, I decided that I might as well try to meet you. I figured that there really wasn't anything left that it would hurt, and I'd been curious for such a long time."
"In that case, there's a lot to talk about, and I'm not sure this is the best place for it." Scott stood up, motioning for Hank to follow. "Why don't we go for a bit of a walk?"
"Why not?" There was something in Hank's smile that suggested that there was more to his story than he was willing to admit at the moment. "I don't have anywhere else to be right now."
Together, they left the cafe. Scott just hoped that Hank was really what he appeared to be, a man searching for his family. If that was the truth, then this could work. And he'd wanted family for such a long time.
end Following Me.