Scott stared into the shiny surface of one of the tools on the table. He'd forgotten the color of his own eyes. They were blue. He'd forgotten what blue looked like.
"You're sure I'm not... Going to hurt anyone?" Scott asked quietly.
Hank nodded. "I'm certain. Jean's outburst activated the part of your brain that was damaged in your accident. It's blocked out your mutation completely. I'm talking to a surgeon from California who believes that, with combined telepathic stimulation and surgery, you could get it back and gain control-"
"No surgery." It was firm and slightly panicked, and Scott turned to look at the scientist. "Not happening. I'll deal with not being a mutant anymore."
"We weren't going to force you," Hank reassured him. "But it's an option."
Scott took a moment to breathe, and then nodded. "Right. Sorry. I just... I don't like doctors or hospitals."
"I understand entirely. But that does mean, likely, you won't get your powers back until Jean's fully in control of her powers and can undo it."
"I can live with that. I don't need it to survive." Scott bounced his knee nervously. "Um. Is there anything else wrong with me?"
"Nothing I can detect. You're the picture of perfect health."
Scott nodded. "Can I go, then?"
"You can. And, Scott? Please stop and talk to Jean. She's worried sick about you."
Scott nodded, already halfway out the door.
Jean was sitting outside the school, looking as nervous as Scott had felt when his memory returned. She had her hands in her pockets, looking out at the trees. The one Scott had burned his first day at the school still was laying, rotting where it was left. Several small stones were floating around her. Scott took a moment to look out past the water himself, admiring the blue of the sky and the green of the grass.
"Hank says the only thing that happened was a flipped switch. I'm fine."
Jean jumped, pulling her hands out of her pockets and turning to look at Scott. Scott watched her eyes, watching them widen and then slowly go back to their relaxed state. Her arms fell to her side and she let the pebbles fall. Her eyelids fell. She took a deep breath and then opened them again.
"You scared me."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to." Scott reached a hand out. Jean took it and squeezed it softly.
"Right. I know." She looked back out at the tree. "Hank said you were fine?"
"Yeah."
"Does he know what I did?"
"Yeah, and it can't be fixed. Well. A surgeon from California could fix it, maybe. But I don't want that."
"No? Why?"
"Didn't you hear me? A surgeon from California. I don't even like Hank giving me medical care."
Jean nodded. "Right. But you're okay?"
"Yeah." Scott put his hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. "Your eyes are brown."
Jean nodded. "Yeah. They are."
"They're beautiful. Last time I saw the color brown it was my own hair in the bathroom mirror."
She smiled. "I guess we need to reteach you your colors."
"Nah, I just want to take time and see all of 'em again. So far I'm really liking this one, though."
"... That your favorite jacket?" Scott asked, watching Logan get dressed from their bed. It was huge, custom-made to fit both men and Jean.
"Yes, it is. Thought you knew that about me, pretty boy." Logan cast a glance at his boyfriend. "Why'd you sound so shocked?"
Scott felt his cheeks redden at the nickname and ducked his eyes. With the weight of his visor gone, he still felt vulnerable. "It's brown, is all."
"Something wrong with that?"
"No. I just... I was colorblind when you met me. I was colorblind until Jean killed me, actually. Everything I've seen has been red since I got my mutation."
Logan nodded, mulling over the information. "I see."
"Your hair is brown, too. So are Jean's eyes. A lot's brown."
"A lot's brown. It's one of the more common colors."
"Yeah. I'm liking it, I think."
"I can see that." Logan crossed the room and cupped Scott's chin in one hand, lifting it. Scott closed his eyes on reflex. "Open them."
Scott listened, opening his eyes to meet Logan's.
"Yours are blue. Since that's become a thing for you."
Scott laughed a little, and Logan took a moment to appreciate how much more natural it seemed without the visor. "Yours are brown. Like Jean's. But lighter."
"She called 'em whiskey brown once. She's romantic like that."
"You could be too. If you wanted."
"If I wanted." Logan closed the distance between them and brought their lips together.
It was short, but it felt safe, to Scott. Being able to lean into it or away. The quiet urgency in Logan's kiss contrasted with the laziness with which he initiated it. Scott's heart fluttered a little bit, and then broke the kiss. Logan let go and stood up.
"Be safe."
"I'll try to only get stabbed by trees."
"Asshole." Scott grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.
Scott stood in the hall with Hank while the students looked for their classrooms. One of the students stopped and showed her schedule to Hank. She had naturally pale hair, Scott remembered, but he never knew what color her hair was specifically. Looking now, he saw about three inches of white by the roots, with the rest of her hair being a deep black with pale green lowlights. She'd obviously dyed it.
"Turn left and it's the second door on the left," Hank told her. "And your hair looks lovely."
She grabbed a lock of it and beamed. "You think? My dad could never afford the hair dye but I've wanted it for ages-"
"I mean it. It suits you. Get to class." Hank watched her go and turned back to Scott.
"You're not upset she's dyeing her hair? I thought there was a dress code thing..." Scott pondered it for a minute.
"Got removed because they could just pretend it was their mutation. No way to prove it's not. I mean. I'm blue."
"And you're encouraging it?"
"A lot of queer kids dye their hair. Trauma victims too. It's a way to feel safer and more comfortable in your skin where you can. I had pink hair when I was a teenager."
"Really? Remind me to ask about your yearbook photos."
"I don't have any of them. But I'd rather they dye their hair than try crash diets or get an ill-advised tattoo with no forethought, planning, or research."
Scott nodded, thinking. "I suppose it's got meaning to her."
"It's a fresh start in a safe place where she's not struggling anymore. She changed the way she looks. Much like nature blossoming in the spring, with bright new colors."
"Yeah. She did look cool, I think."
Hank smiled at him.
Scott held two jars in his hands, weighing the decision.
"Do you need help, sir?" offered a young woman dressed in highly punk fashion with bright yellow hair, pulling down a box dye from the shelf next to him.
"Um... Yeah. What exactly does 'semi-permanent' mean?"
"Permanent hair dye changes the color of the hair a lot longer. So if you never cut the hair, you keep the color. Temporary washes out in one or two shampoos. Semi-permanent means it lasts longer than temporary, but it fades and if you never cut your hair, you'd eventually never know you dyed it."
"Thanks." He looked at the colors a little longer, before setting the red dye back on the shelf.
"You're welcome! Is it for your kid?"
"Um. It's for a fresh start." He smiled at her, and then headed to check out.
The dye was darker than Scott expected. It was blue, so he didn't complain. This was, ultimately, what he wanted. It looked different. It looked nothing like the stern photos of himself from before. Nothing like the brown-hair, visor-wearing, too-stiff man in the mirror who he'd had to become when he couldn't control his mutation.
He never talked about it, to anyone. But secretly, like Rogue, like Hank, Scott never wanted his mutation. Sometimes he ached for a cure. He'd blamed most of his problems on it. He'd lived every day of his life since he was a teenager in terror that he'd hurt someone on accident, that his glasses would slip, that his visor would break. That he'd open his eyes while changing.
It hurt.
It hurt to live in fear and it hurt to never have a moment where he COULD lose control. Even Jean didn't have to worry as much- despite the Phoenix making her far more powerful than Charles, able to do things he never could even with the help of Cerebro, she only lost control if she was using her powers when she got upset. She hadn't hurt anyone after she came back. She'd relaxed and had practice with it.
She wasn't as scared anymore.
Now, he wasn't either. Yeah, that surgeon from California could help him, maybe. Fix the damage in his head that made it so he couldn't turn it off. Guide Charles or Jean or some other telepath around his head to put the switch back.
But he didn't need it.
He still had the ability to train with the X-Men. To train them and teach them how to feel out how they could use their powers. He still could stay in the school, teaching the students, being a confidante when necessary. He could pass off the leadership and take a breath as an unburdened man. He could still stay with Logan and Jean, and support them. He didn't have to choose between this freedom and his home.
He pulled himself out of his head before it went down a route he didn't want to go. He refocused on his hair. He'd missed a streak in the front, a lock of hair that was still the same brown as the day he was born. Part of him wanted to reach for the jar of dye, to fix it, but he didn't. He liked it. It wasn't bad. It helped make it more obvious. He grinned.
"New beginnings... Thanks, McCoy."
"Mmm, it's different. It's not bad. I wouldn't say better or worse." Logan was staring. It would have felt judgemental, years ago. But Scott had doused that bridge. He knew Logan better than that. He knew Logan was trying to burn it into his memory, to remember Scott as he wanted to be seen. "I would have gone with red."
"I didn't want red. I've seen way too much red. I like keeping Jean the only one with red. I was tempted to go green, actually. But I was scared how that'd turn out." Scott flicked his eyes away from Logan anyway, reaching for another shirt to fold. "Damn, I'm glad none of us wear the same size clothes."
"I, for one, think you look great," Jean said, looking back up from the papers she was grading. "It matches your eyes."
Scott blushed. He was easy to make blush, Logan had learned. Praise him, or call him a nickname that didn't draw attention to his visor. Nobody really noticed because his visors hid the majority of where the blush showed up, and because the red made it look less obvious. But Logan and Jean knew.
"it's one of the first colors I saw." Scott finished folding the laundry and set Logan's on the dresser and went to hang his and Jean's up. Both Scott and Jean had a socks-and-underwear drawer, but Logan kept all his clothes in the drawers, and the other two split the closet.
Logan set down his own papers to put his clothes away. "Suppose that'd be special. What was the first one you saw?"
"Brown. Jean's eyes. Then pretty much everything at the hospital was white, so when my memory came back and you picked me up... It was brown. Your jacket. Your hair. Your eyes. But you can't dye brown hair brown when looking for a change."
Logan nodded to himself. "Right. Why'd you need another change? I'd figure these past few months'd make you tired of change."
"Not quite yet." Scott turned his head, hoping to steal a glance. He didn't expect Logan to have done the same thing. His heart jumped. He dropped his gaze, remembering his glasses were off but forgetting his powers were too.
"Look at me, pretty boy." Logan's voice had a quiet firmness, that told Scott it was a command. Not one he had to obey. Logan had no authority over him and wouldn't be mad about not being listened to.
But Scott wanted to listen. Scott want to have someone else calling the shots. He had for ten years, at least.
So he looked.
Logan met his eyes and smiled. After his heart slowed down, so did Scott. He hadn't blasted Logan through the wall. He'd just looked at him. Something about seeing the color of his eyes made it easy to relax.
"Not done with changes yet," he repeated.
Scott was known among students to be strict. Even Logan, after he'd returned and was considerably more relaxed, had asked if his ass hurt after Jean pulled the stick out. But nobody could honestly say they'd ever known him to be an unfair teacher.
That was why, the Friday after the last exam of the semester, none of his students was surprised to find the desks replaced with tables and board games settled on each. They weren't surprised that there was a radio on or that the board was clean of everything but the date. They weren't surprised that there was a spot near the front desk with comfortable chairs and beanbags for students who wanted to sit and sketch or read or gossip together. He wasn't even the only teacher who did it.
They were surprised that his hair was suddenly blue. They were surprised when he sat down on his desk instead of sitting down grading.
"We all need a break," he told them. "Please don't fight over the games."
The students listened, filing to form groups to play. Both Rogue and Bobby Drake were among the kids who sat in the beanbags. Scott watched them all settle in.
"I'm here if any of you need anything."
The kids spent the period content to chat and play games. Nobody stayed at one game the whole time. Toward the end, one of the kids near the desk set his book down and looked up at the others.
"You know what kind of question like... Nobody asks anymore? Like, past age eleven?" he asked.
"No, what?" Bobby asked.
"Favorite colors. That was like... That's a lot simpler than stuff now. I don't even know if I HAVE a favorite color anymore."
"I do!" Rogue cut in. "It's green."
Bobby thought for a second. "I'd say blue."
Scott listened to them debating colors, thinking about what he'd seen since Jean had accidentally killed him. The world wasn't as red as it used to be. His bike was black. Jean's hair was red- not ginger, red. Like blood, like roses, like wine. So were the glasses he once leaned on like a crutch. The sky was blue; the leaves were usually green, but he'd seen a few photos from autumn, when they were orange and yellow and purple. Downstairs, everything was a chrome-silver-blue hellhole. Upstairs, the walls, the structure, was unendingly brown. Desks, tables, chairs, cabinets. Everything was brown in this place he called home.
Everything was brown.
The small, worn wooden box Scott had bought to keep Alex's dog tags in, although he didn't know when he bought it. (The ring he'd bought Jean had been kept there too, though he'd had Ororo help him pick one out.) Chocolate ice cream, what Jean ate when she wanted to just cheer up a little. The whiskey and beer Logan ordered each time they went out together. The record player Logan had found at a yard sale and fixed up.
Logan's hair. Jean's eyes. Logan's eyes. Logan's favorite jacket. Jean's makeup case. The cover on her journal, which sometimes she'd show him if she wanted to double check details. The skirt she wore when she didn't have time to plan an outfit for a formal meeting. Logan's cigars.
They were brown, too.
"Mr. Summers?" Rogue asked, breaking off Scott's train of thought. "What's your favorite color? Blue? Red?"
Scott chuckled. "I'm actually quite sick of red. I'd have to... I'd have to say brown, actually."
"Brown?" Bobby asked, shocked. "You see one color for what. Twenty years, you get access to the full spectrum, and you land on brown?"
"Yeah. Brown. It's under-appreciated, I think."
"You really are a teacher." Bobby emphasized it like it was a dirty word.
"Got nothin' to do with it." He smiled to nobody in particular, savoring the thoughts in his head, and stood up to address the full room. "Alright class. It's almost time for the classes to switch. Please clean up and put everything back where you found it."
It was early summer. The kids who could safely return home were already mostly packed up, with parents picking them up or flights booked. Those still waiting were playing on the basketball court. Scott, Jean, and Logan were by the pond, staring out at the sunset over the tree line. It was one of the first that Scott could truly enjoy, what with finals having still been graded.
Jean was laying with her head on Logan's lap, with Scott standing ankle-deep in the water skipping rocks. It was obvious how much more relaxed he was without his eyes. Every so often, Scott would run out of rocks, and Jean scanned the ground for more.
"Sunset's beautiful," she commented.
"It is." Scott stopped throwing stones to look up a little more. "I forgot how many colors they have."
"My favorites are the ones that are mostly yellow. With just a streak of pink." Jean looked up. The sunset in question was, at that moment, mostly orange, with a highly red sun. "But these ones are nice too."
"Is yellow your favorite color?" Scott asked.
"Yeah. You didn't know?"
"It was never really information I could use, so. I guess I never asked."
"Makes sense." Jean looked up at Logan, who usually stayed quiet when they sat out like this, just taking it in. "What about you, Logan? Do you have a favorite color?"
"Red. Not to be a sap, but it reminds me of you two."
Scott blushed a little, looking at the water. "You'll never find mine in the sunset."
"Why not?" Jean asked, at the same time as Logan asked, "Is that a challenge?"
"Is it green?" Jean continued.
"Brown. At risk of sounding like Logan. Because it feels like home." Scott turned to come back up to where the two of them were. "Like you two."
For the first time, he wasn't afraid to meet their eyes.