Chips Cashed In
by Mo

Pairing: Scott/Logan primarily, although the focus is sometimes on other characters.
Summary: Billy comes to Westchester. Complications ensue.
Rating: NC/17 for sex and language.
Scenario/Sequel/Series: Movieverse, although much has happened since the movie. This series is a sequel to a story I wrote a while ago called What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been. That story can be found at the following URL: http://www.angelfire.com/comics/mo/longstrangetrip.htm. Long Strange Trip is a one-shot describing an encounter between Logan and a young trucker named Billy Halverson. Chips Cashed In also makes reference to some of my other stories, particularly those in two of my series: Canadian Nights and I Know What You Are.
The characters, situations and events in Chips Cashed In are consistent with those portrayed in my previous stories and series:
Anything Can Happen
I Know What You Are
We're Not What You Think
Canadian Nights
What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been
Night and Day
Foreign Correspondence
Adult Education
Continuing Education
Safe House
Commencement
All of these are available, with much thanks to Nancy the web goddess, at www.angelfire.com/comics/mo
In addition, some or all are available at the following sites:
www.fanfiction.net
www.phoenixfyre.net
www.dymphna.net/xmovieslash
Disclaimer: The X-Men and Alpha Flight belong to Marvel. The movie belongs to Fox. Billy, Tabitha, Simon, Jamie, Oliver and assorted other characters in Westchester, North Dakota, Saskatchewan and elsewhere are the products of my fevered imagination. Scott and Logan feel a little bit like they're mine, too, since I've been borrowing them for so long. St. Olaf is a real college and is, indeed, where "smart Norsky kids" go to school. The title of this series, like the title of the story to which it is a sequel, comes from the song "Truckin'", lyrics by Robert Hunter. The complete lyrics, with explanatory notes, can be read at http://arts.ucsc.edu/GDead/AGDL/truckin.html.
Literature Guide: It has been my practice to publish a literature guide with supplemental information on literature quoted in each series, with URLs for the complete works, if available. The guide for Chips Cashed In will be posted after the stories themselves. It contains spoilers so should be read after the series.
Acknowledgements: As always, big thanks to SW and LS for research, beta reading, inspiration and lots of laughs. And thanks to Makes Rain Woman for the line about the boys who leave North Dakota and end up coming back.

It wasn't so bad. That's what I kept telling myself. Not exactly the life I had planned for myself, but at least I was getting out into the world. I always swore I wouldn't end up like Jeff Sherve or Ed Bjerke or Chris Hanson. All those guys who went off to college and planned a life somewhere other than Eastwood, North Dakota. And then ended up coming home to take over the farm or the trucking business or the implement. That wasn't going to be me. I was going to be the one who made it out. Out. Yeah, I had a stronger motivation than any of those guys. People in my hometown always said how safe it was to live there, how dangerous city life was. Well, safe for some. Rural North Dakota wasn't such a safe place to be if you're queer.

So, I had it all planned out. I was going to college and then getting a job in the Twin Cities. Lots of gay people there - a place you could be out and be safe. I thought I'd like to teach or something. I'd come home and visit on school vacations, no one the wiser. But in the city I could live pretty openly. Well, probably not when I was working. I don't think that would go over well in a school, but I could live with that - "Be secret and exult." Well, I could if the rest of the time I could live like other people do, not hiding. And that seemed within reach in the Cities. I went there during my junior year of high school for Gay Pride - told my parents I was going to see University of Minnesota. It just blew my mind - this huge festival and there were guys holding hands and kissing each other right out in public, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Right then I decided I was going to Minnesota.

Of course my dad thought it was a lousy idea. Said why should we have to pay out of state fees? I could go to my own state school if I wanted a college education. And besides, he didn't like this idea of me going to college and trying to be a teacher. Said I could work with him instead, that he didn't want me turning into some faggot English teacher. I didn't tell him that being a faggot English teacher was exactly what I wanted.

I thought I could count on Mom standing by me, but she didn't want me going to the Cities. Too big and too dangerous for her Billy. Still, she was all for me getting a college education, not settling for being a trucker like my dad. And then I got into St. Olaf. I got a National Merit scholarship and another one from the Lutheran Brotherhood. So, it still was expensive, but not that expensive once you subtract the scholarship money. Dad grumbled that the scholarship was enough to pay for my whole education at University of North Dakota, but Mom was thrilled that I got into St. Olaf and could go to school with all the other smart Norsky kids. So, that seemed to solve it - a good college education at a school my Mom could brag about, enough scholarship to keep my Dad at the grumbling-not-refusing level, small town enough for Mom, and far enough away from home for me. I just kept my eyes on the prize - four years in Northfield, Minnesota and then I was going to the Cities after all.

College was good. Yeah, I had to be pretty closeted there - a Lutheran college isn't the most gay-friendly place. But at least it was somewhere new and different. And my classes were great and I was learning so much and just realizing there are so many different kinds of people in the world, so many different ways of looking at things. And there were even other gay guys. We found each other. Kept quiet about it but found each other.

I could always find other gay guys, always knew how to spot them. My friends said I had great gay-dar and I left it at that. But I knew that wasn't it. At least it wasn't all of it. More and more I found I just kind if knew stuff, particularly about other people, things I just shouldn't know. I didn't know what to make of that but I figured it wasn't a good idea to let on. So when my best friend Rick used to ask me "How do you spot them?" I'd just smile enigmatically and say nothing.

So, anyway, St. Olaf was good for me. It was a crucial step in my life plan. But the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley. Mine was no exception. Dad got sick and it stopped being a question of me joining him - somebody had to take over for him. Mom tried to but that just didn't work out and suddenly there I was: quitting school and driving Dad's rig. At first I thought it was just temporary but then he got worse and we realized he wasn't going to get any better. Just turned twenty and I was supporting a family of seven and no way out.

Dad died real slow, but he died. And then Mom went back to work - she got a job as the school secretary in our town. So she kept an eye on my brothers and sisters during the day and made some money, too. And me? I just kept driving the truck. Saw America - or at least every damn highway and truck stop. Came home for a few days in between jobs but on the road most of the time.

It wasn't that bad. I was out there in the world, like I said, seeing new places. I missed school but I always took books with me - audio books for while I was driving, regular ones for when I stopped to eat. Tried to keep reading, keep learning.

And there were men. My gay-dar or whatever it was came in handy along the way. Good to know who's interested and who's going to punch you in the mouth. I had this knack for telling that - it wasn't just limited to kids at school.

I don't think I would have had the nerve to use that gay-dar, though, if not for Logan. He was a guy in a truck stop in Saskatchewan - he picked me up. I was just planning on getting some food and some fuel for my rig but there he was. Looking me straight in the eye and it didn't take any kind of special skill to know what he was after. I surprised myself by going off with him. I'd never had sex with somebody I didn't know before. Never did what I did with him before, either. Even though I knew he only did me because he thought I looked like this other guy he wanted to be with. Just another one of those things that I shouldn't know but I do. And I don't know why I did it but I told him about knowing things I shouldn't. Something I hadn't even told my best friends and I told this complete stranger who fucked me. I still can't figure that one out.

Anyway, I knew I'd never see him again. He made that clear. Still, that time with Logan made a big impression on me. It got me thinking. And just sort of noticing guys along the way more. There was often some guy in a truck stop who was interested. Like I said, I could tell.

So I'd go over to him at a table, or talk to him in line for the showers or something. The first time I was so scared I didn't think I'd go through with it. But I introduced myself and this guy looked at me and I could tell he really wanted it. I offered to show him how I'd set up the sleeper compartment in my rig and he knew what I meant and went off with me.

As soon as we're in the truck he's pulling my clothes off, unzipping his pants. And then before I know it he's on top of me, my legs back over his shoulders. He would have fucked me without anything if I didn't slow him down, give him a condom and some lube. So, pretty soon he's pushing deep inside my ass and I'm rubbing my cock against his belly and it feels so good. And then he says to me, "I'm not gay, you know." Right while he's fucking me - I almost laughed in his face, but I didn't.

"Of course not," I said as I came all over him. Well, I got used to it. That was what most of them told me. Usually right before or after sex, that is, not so often during. No, he was just far away from his wife and a guy needs some sort of release. Hey, I pretended to believe them - why burst their bubbles of self-deception? I never told any of them anything about knowing stuff. And I stuck to safer sex, at least for fucking. The only time I did it without a condom was that one time with Logan.

So that was my life - driving and books and the occasional one-night stand with some closet case in the back of a truck. And I tried to tell myself it wasn't that bad but I was having trouble believing it after a while. So every once in a while I'd take this piece of paper out of my wallet and look at it. Folded and unfolded, almost worn out, but I knew it by heart. All it said was "Xavier's Academy - 914/555-6745." That guy Logan had given it to me, said to call that number if I was ever out East, near New York City. He'd said to ask for Professor Xavier and to tell him about knowing things I shouldn't. Said he could help me with that and maybe with school, too.

Oh, I was out East a lot but I never called. What could I say? "You don't know me but some guy named Logan fucked me in the back of my truck and then gave me your number." I couldn't quite picture it. And what could this professor do for me anyway? Was he going to drive the truck so my mom and the kids had some money coming in? School just wasn't in the cards for me anymore. And the stuff I knew? Well, who could help me with that? Nothing to do about it except shut up and not let anybody know. After all, tell people and they might think I was one of them. That kind. Mutants.

Maybe I was, though. I kept trying to deny it but there was something going on with me and it had to have an explanation. It was getting so I didn't just kind of know things about people I saw but sometimes I'd hear voices in my head, too. More and more as time went on.

It wasn't even just that, just what was happening in my head. Sometimes I'd be reaching for something while I'm driving, like maybe my coffee cup or the next tape in the book or something. But before my hand would get to it the thing would just be there - in my hand - like it flew there or something. And once when I was home in between jobs my mom was just beside herself with Ginny. She's the youngest - just five - and the quietest of the bunch of us. She was crying and crying and wouldn't say what's wrong. Well, I knew before Doc Sherve looked at her that it had to be appendicitis - I could feel right where it hurt, almost as if it was my own body.

So I didn't know what was going on with me but I couldn't keep denying there was something there. Then one day I'm sitting in this truck stop and there's a TV and the news is on and there's this guy talking about mutants and psionic powers and some of what he's saying sounds a lot like me. So I'm getting a little uncomfortable and embarrassed even though nobody knows me there and probably nobody knows what I'm thinking. But I'm just listening so intently to all this guy says and then his name flashes on the screen: Professor Charles Xavier.

So there I am and I'm on Route 80 in Pennsylvania and not really far from New York. I was going to go online and get another job because I was about to drop this shipment in New Jersey but I think it's like fate or something and I decide it right then: I'm not getting another job right away - I'm calling that guy on the TV.

Deciding it was one thing and following through was another. I can't explain why I was so scared to call, but I was. Maybe I sort of had this professor in the back of my mind as the guy who was going to save me if I just couldn't take it anymore. So if I called him and he didn't do anything for me, then where does that leave me? And does that mean I really can't take it anymore? What do I do then with no escape hatch? Well, I delivered my shipment to New Jersey and I didn't have another pick up. It was now or never. I dialed the number.

Someone answered the phone, someone young and female. "Xavier's Academy" she said. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Professor Xavier."

"He's not here right now. Can I take a message?"

"No. I'm not going to be around here long. I need to talk to the professor."

"I'm sorry but he's not going to be back until Thursday. Maybe you should talk to Mr. Summers. He's in charge when the professor's away."

And then this guy gets on the phone and says he understands I want to talk to the professor. Says the professor is away for a few days but he's the assistant headmaster, Mr. Summers, and he'd be glad to help me. He sounded kind and like he really wanted to help. I told him I'd just call back some other time if I was in the area.

"Please don't hang up," he said. "I think we can help you."

"What do you know about me?"

He chuckled. "Nothing. I don't even know your name"

"It's Bill."

"Hi, Bill. You sound like you could use some help. Am I right?" I didn't say anything. "Will you tell me how you got our number?"

"Logan gave it to me." I wondered if he'd know who I meant.

"Oh, you know Logan?" he said. "I'm sorry, but he's not here now, either. He and the professor are in Washington but they'll be back in a few days."

"I don't think we're talking about the same guy. The Logan I knew was in Saskatchewan."

"It's the same guy. He moved back here last year. So, Bill, why did Logan tell you to call here?"

I took a deep breath. "He said the professor could help me." I didn't say anything for a long time. "I think maybe I have psionic powers." I said it softly.

"Well, Bill, I think you've called the right place. Can you come here? I'd like to meet you. Maybe we can talk a little about what kind of help you think you need and what we could do for you."

I told him I'd meet him. It was a couple of hours away, in this really tony suburb of New York, in Westchester. Huge mansion up a long drive. I drove up in my rig late at night and this guy meets me at the door. Tall and thin - he looked a little like me. And here it is past midnight and he's wearing dark red wraparound sunglasses.

I got out of the cab and walked up to him, shook his hand. "I'm Billy Halverson," I said.

"Pleased to meet you," he replied. "I'm so glad you decided to come here, Bill. We spoke on the phone - I'm Scott Summers."

Scott. Logan's Scott. It was too late to just turn back but I had this feeling I was making a big mistake.

It's the best part of the job. It's why I do it, really. I want to believe I'm doing something important with my life, to feel like I'm really having an impact. And I don't mean all those times we've saved the home planet from total destruction. Not that there's anything wrong with that - I'm as enamored of continued existence as the next guy. But if I'm thinking of career satisfaction I have to say that's not where I'm getting it. It's not the saving the whole human race that does it for me - it's the individual connections, the knowledge that I'm making the difference in one particular person's life. Rescuing a victim of anti-mutant violence; infiltrating a war zone and bringing food, information and hope; using our mutant powers in the disaster relief efforts for the 2004 San Diego earthquake - all of those missions where you can see one person's life being directly affected, significantly improved by our efforts. Lieben und arbeiten. Two for the price of one, so to speak. They're both there in those missions where you really touch someone else's life. And, of course, they're both there in the other half of my job: teaching.

Teaching, I think, is really where I have the strongest and most lasting impact, more so than my role as field leader or as trustee of the Xavier Foundation. Not every kid, of course. Plenty of them are just sitting there in class waiting to be done and out. Others are interested in the material but not engaged with the teacher, particularly. Still, I think we all find that there are a few we connect with in real and profound ways. There are teacher/student relationships that affect kids - for better or worse - all their lives. I try to make it for better, but I also know it's not all about me. What I try to give them isn't necessarily what they take from the relationship. You can't always tell which kids you're affecting or how you're affecting them.

Take Tabitha Stanley, for example. Yes, the Tabitha Stanley. First open mutant to win a Nobel prize, youngest ever full professor at MIT, and the most famous woman scientist since Marie Curie. She's an alumna of ours, one of our first students. We're all so proud of her, though I'm just as proud of Hank, who nurtured and developed her scientific talents. She was back visiting last week and took me aside and said that having me for a teacher had transformed her. "Tabitha, are you joking?" I asked. "You hated my classes. You told me Shakespeare was boring and Creative Writing worse. You complained all the time you were here that English was a required class."

She smiled broadly and said, "It wasn't the classes, Mr. Summers. It was you - seeing you up there, looking at you in those glasses. I didn't know if I was ever going to learn to control this," she added, a small blue flame emerging from her right index finger. "I'd look at you and say to myself, 'Either you'll learn how to make it happen when you want it to or you'll learn to live with it, like Mr. Summers.' It wasn't enough for me to see people like Dr. Grey or Ms. Monroe who have their powers under control. I needed to see someone who failed at that part but still succeeded at life." So, here I was thinking I had no effect on Tabitha at all and it turns out I'd inspired her through failure. Life can be strange.

Still, there are times you really know you're making a difference to a kid, times you develop a relationship that is close and significant to both of you. There are a few kids who have been like that for me, students who've taught me at least as much as I taught them. Oliver's definitely one of them. It was Jean-Paul was shook me out of my complacency about being closeted at work, and Logan's discomfort with keeping our relationship hidden certainly made me think about the personal costs of the closet. But it took Oliver for me to truly understand the damage I was doing to the kids I teach. Coming out was hard on both of us but we're both better people for my having done so, I think. And closer friends, too. Yes, at this point I'd say our relationship has gone beyond teacher and student or mentor and protégée and he is one of my close friends. I'll miss him when he goes off to college in the fall.

It's starting to look like Jamie is going to be another student to have a lasting connection with me. I've been banging my head against the brick wall of Warren's resistance to mentoring him for months now, absolutely sure that he's just what Jamie needs. Meanwhile, Jamie decided for himself differently. I've been quite fascinated by him. I don't think I've ever taught - or even met - a kid quite as smart as him, quite as perceptive. I would say I was quite attentive to Jamie and his development, but I guess I was so focused on getting Warren to work with him that I wasn't really noticing what Jamie wanted, even when he signed up for three of my classes and asked me to be his advisor. It took Charles to point out to me that Jamie had already found his mentor.

And then there's Billy Halverson. He's sort of a special case since he's not really a student here, but he's someone I feel like I'm getting very close to, someone I hope I'm having a positive impact on.

I was the first person he met at the school and I felt like there was something simpatico between us right away. Well, I was the first not counting Logan, whom he'd met in Saskatchewan. Billy's a trucker and he had been delivering supplies to the Saskatchewan outpost. I was kind of surprised to hear that, since Logan was always so careful to keep the outpost location secret and had often used some pretty inventive methods to get materials there unnoticed. I suppose, though, that he had some story for Bill and probably thought it safer to work with an independent trucker like him. Anyway, they got to talking while Bill was there. I'm not sure how it came up but Logan realized Billy was a mutant and suggested he call us. It took over a year before he did, though, and by that time Logan had forgotten all about him.

So he kind of showed up on our metaphorical doorstep, calling the school and asking for Charles, who wasn't here. He was so tentative, so scared. I had a hard time getting him to talk to me, to agree to come to the school and meet me. I remember when he arrived on our actual doorstep - I introduced myself and thought he was going to turn and run. But he stayed. And stayed - we talked all night.

We had lots of points of commonality - both small-town boys, both gay, both eldest sons in families not able or willing to handle a son coming out. So I could see right away that I had something to offer Bill. And, beyond that, he just seemed so young in some ways, so unworldly. Twenty-one years old but having lived such a sheltered life and spending so much of his energy on hiding - both his homosexuality and his mutant powers - that he seemed more like one of the kids at school than an adult in some ways. Meeting him brought out my protective side.

Still, he is an adult. And a high school graduate, with three semesters of college, too, before he had to quit to drive his ailing father's truck. And since his father's death it doesn't really look like he has the option to go to school. So, it wasn't clear how we could fit him in. He needed us - needed help with exploring and controlling his mutant powers, among other things. Still, even if he didn't have to work, he couldn't just enroll at the school, since we really didn't have any classes at the college level beyond a few AP courses.

We talked and talked about it and finally came up with a plan. His mother works as a school secretary, so she's off all summer. Billy said he'd talk to her about handling the trucking business for the summer and he could come here. He could take some classes that hadn't been available at his high school or college, like Self-Defense and Mutant Studies, and work as a sort of teaching assistant and general handyman as well. Meanwhile, Jean or Charles could work with him on developing and controlling what seemed to be pretty profound and varied psionic abilities - telepathy, telekinesis, empathic potential. And maybe we could work out some long-term plan that could let him finish his college education. When he left we agreed to keep in touch via email and phone and I hoped we'd see each other again in about four months.

Charles and Logan came back a few days later and I told them all about my encounter with Billy Halverson. Logan said he couldn't place him. I asked him not to let on that he'd forgotten him if Billy ended up here since Billy seemed really affected by having met Logan. He just kind of shrugged and then changed the subject.

By the time Billy showed up for the summer Logan seemed to have remembered him. Well, maybe he just realized it would be hard on Billy if he didn't. It could be a real disappointment if the one mutant with whom he'd had a prior acquaintance forgot all about him. Anyway, he was pretty kind to Billy in his own gruff way, encouraging him to take his self-defense classes and offering to train with him outside class as well. Although I have to say Billy always seemed a little bit wary of Logan and as far as I knew never took him up on the offer for one-on-one training. Maybe he found his manner a little off-putting; he's not an easy man to get to know. I do find some of the kids are a little frightened of him, particularly at first.

I raised the issue with Logan kind of tentatively, not wanting to be critical but wondering if he had noticed Billy's unease and whether he had any ideas how to rectify it. Logan and I were in the Danger Room at the time and feeling pretty pleased with ourselves. We'd just succeeded at a simulation that had "killed" us the previous 13 times we'd tried it. So, we were both pretty relaxed and happy and I figured I could bring up a touchy subject.

"Hey, Logan," I said, sort of hesitantly. "I've been wondering a bit about you and Billy Halverson."

"Suck me," he replied, pushing me down to my knees. I did not consider this answer responsive.

Still, sex is as good a use of that post-success glow as deep conversation, I suppose. He was hard already and as soon as I took his cock in my mouth he started thrusting in far, holding me by the back of the head and telling me to suck harder. Not his usual pattern at all - we both tend to like starting slow and working up to that kind of fast and furious motion. But he was in the mood for something different, I guess. I could feel very soon that he was just about to come and moved to take him all the way in. But he pulled out and came on my face instead.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, as he got down on the floor with me, licking the cum off of my cheek.

"I just wanted to see what it looked like on you." He smiled. "You look good."

"You got it all over my visor. I can barely see."

"You don't need to see." Pulling my clothes off as he said it. "You know what I look like." And then his clothes were off, too, and he was kissing me and biting me on the shoulder. "You wanna fuck me?" he whispered in my ear.

Definitely in the mood for something different. I rarely top and I can't remember any time before where I had at his initiative. "What's gotten into you?" I asked.

He shrugged, reaching for a nearby jar of Vaseline and handing it to me. "Nothing. You. Get into me. Now."

So I did. It felt great, right there on the Danger Room floor, Logan lying prone and me pushing hard inside him. And he was talking to me the whole time. "You like to top, Cyclops? You like sticking your big dick in me? You like being the one who makes it all happen?" My hand was on his dick and I was rubbing him while I fucked him hard. He came on my hand just as I started to come in his ass. By that point I'd forgotten all about asking Logan what was up with him and Billy Halverson.

I gathered Logan didn't want to talk about Billy, so I didn't bring the subject up again. Meanwhile, Billy and I were getting to know each other quite well. He was just so thrilled to be at Xavier's and I was very happy to have him there. Other than the one brief meeting with Logan, he'd never known any mutants before he came here and had as negative an impression of the mutant subspecies as anyone I'd ever met. He had been paralyzed with fear in the face of his growing conviction that he was one of us. It was a total revelation to him to be in a place where our differences were accepted, where we strive to use our gifts well for the benefit of all of humanity.

Billy was just as surprised that I could be out as a gay man and have a responsible and respected position in the school and on the team. His sexual experiences had generally been so furtive, the environment he'd been raised in had been so closed to sexual diversity, that it just seemed to blow his mind. He had some concept of gay culture and gay community and had hoped to move to a more gay-friendly environment at some point in his life. Still, it was beyond his ken to imagine that someone could live an openly gay life in a largely straight environment, especially in a school, and have it mostly just not be an issue. Well, I could understand that point of view. It wasn't so long ago that it had been beyond my ken, too.

So, Billy and I were having a good time getting to know each other and I was happy to be a role model for him in a few ways. Even in swimming - he had been on his college's swim team and missed that. He wasn't eligible for our school's team, being too old and not really a student. Still I coached him as if he were, just for the fun of it. He had a lot of promise and we both enjoyed the sessions.

We were working at the pool one day when Logan came in. I got out to talk to him.

"I want you bad, Scott," he whispered in my ear, leaning against me. Not worried that I was dripping wet.

"Nice to hear." I smiled at him. "I'll catch up with you later. Where are you going to be?"

He took me by the arm. "Come on," he said. "I don't want to wait for later."

I shook my head. "I'm busy now. We'll be done in a while."

He started to raise his voice. "Now, Scott," barely suppressing a growl.

I was getting pretty annoyed by this point. Poor Billy must have been dying of embarrassment. "Can you keep your voice down?" I said. "I told you I'll see you later. I'm busy now."

He didn't say anything for a minute, just looked from me on the side of the pool to Billy, smiling nervously there in the pool, pretending not to have witnessed the exchange. Gave us both an appraising glance and then said, in a calm clear voice, "Yeah, busy. Well, pound him into the floor, Cyclops. He likes it hard."

His appearance was truly striking, even in a bar full of beautiful young men. The phrase "tall, dark and handsome" seemed no longer a cliche when I looked at him. Strongly defined features - cheekbones that begged to be stroked and this gorgeous mouth that seemed full of promise. And such a wistful smile, somehow suggesting equal parts ironic amusement and laughing through tears. Or was I projecting all that? If the eyes are the windows of the soul, his blinds were tightly shuttered. Dark red wraparound sunglasses shielded them, even in the dimly lit bar. I watched, waiting for him to take them off, but he didn't. I sat there in a dark booth tracking him as he walked through the crowded room, brushing off the men who approached him. He sat down on a stool at the bar, right across from me. I kept him in sight, wondering what the expression in those hidden eyes would be if I went over there and kissed that sensuous mouth.

Not that I really would. Twenty years ago I might have been able to get away with that, but cruising is a young man's game. I do what I can, go to the gym three or four times a week, keep myself in shape. Still, the face looking at me in the mirror is clearly over fifty. Sometimes I wish I were straight - my heterosexual age mates all seem to have no trouble finding women, often ones twenty or thirty years younger than them. Well, once in a long while a young guy is interested in me, too. It becomes clear pretty quickly, though, that his interest is much more in the financial resources he assumes a man my age would have, rather than me personally. It doesn't bother me. I suppose it's a form of prostitution: dinners and theatre tickets and gifts in exchange for sex and the pretense of affection. Still, it's never expressed so baldly and if the other guy's not fretting about it, I'm not going to let it worry me. I'm pretty careful not to engage emotionally, though, since I always know it's not going to last. And, for reasons I don't quite understand, it's a bit of a point of honor with me that I haven't used the services of a real prostitute in many years. Maybe because, paradoxically, it was the last time I directly paid for sex that I did get too emotionally involved. At least that's a theory my therapist seemed to find interesting.

That episode was long in the past, though. In this first decade of the twenty-first century my occasional liaisons with Beautiful Young Things have been few and far between. Now when I come into a bar it's mostly to hang out, to talk, to listen, to absorb the atmosphere. And to look at interesting people without expectations that I'll get to do anything more than look.

This Red Shades guy was definitely interesting. Not just attractive, but kind of mysterious, too. Partly the glasses, I guess. Why would he choose to see through a glass, darkly, rather than face to face? And partly how he seemed so lost in his own thoughts, so oblivious to what was going on around him. Just sitting there drinking his beer slowly, seemingly adrift in his own private world. That half smile was for someone or something remembered, it seemed. Certainly not for any of the men who approached him. He politely but firmly sent them all packing.

I started playing a little game with myself, making bets on whether he'd even talk to any of them. The queenie guy in the bright red shirt? No, too flamboyant. That biker dude? Red Shades looked much too conventional for rough trade like him. On the other hand, sometimes those buttoned-down types are looking for a little danger. Not this time, I guess. Red Shades was shaking his head but Biker Dude wasn't taking no for an answer. They argued for a minute and then Biker Dude put his hand on Red Shades' arm.

I couldn't see exactly what happened but next thing I know Biker Dude was kind of limping away, expression of pain mingled with surprise on his craggy face. I smiled and nodded in appreciation, thinking that Red Shades could take care of himself. And just at that moment he turned and looked at me, catching me smiling at the scene that had just unfolded. Meeting my glance seemed to pull him out of his contemplative state. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Hey, it happens" and then walked over to my booth and spoke to me. "Looks like you keep track of everything that goes on here." I smiled and shrugged. "I'm kind of out of touch with Village life. Maybe you could fill me in. Mind if I join you?"

"Please do."

Red Shades appeared surprised all of a sudden when I answered. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped. He looked at my almost empty glass, asked "What are you drinking?" and went back to the bar, returning with two glasses. I thanked him and he sat down. Looked at me from behind those shades, or at least I think he did. Half-smile on that sensuous mouth. "How have you been, Simon?" he asked.

"Do I know you?" Surprise was evident in my voice. It didn't seem likely I'd forget someone like him.

The corners of his mouth turned up a little more. "It was a long time ago," he said. "I'm sure I look very different now."

"As do I, no doubt," still trying desperately to place him. "I grow old... I grow old..." I added, with what I hoped was a somewhat self-deprecating smile.

"I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled." He finished the couplet and then said nothing more for a minute or two. "Well, Simon," he said finally, "I wouldn't really know how much you've changed. I never did see what you looked like then. But your voice is just the same. I thought I was just going to chat with a guy who looks like a regular here, but I knew it was you as soon as you spoke."

I just sat there, astonished. It didn't seem possible. But I took another look at his face and I realized it was. "Scott?" I asked and he nodded, mouth in a flat line, not even the ghost of a smile now. Remembering when we'd last seen each other? Or something else. I just stared at him for a minute, trying to see the boy I'd known in that grimly beautiful visage. "I can't believe it," I said. But I did.

The smile came back halfway, full of irony. "Believe it, Simon," he said. "Everybody grows up."

"Some try to avoid it as long as they can." He laughed. "You look wonderful," I said.

"So do you." I started to protest but he stopped me, smiling more broadly now. "I mean it. It's just great to see you after all this time." He paused, looking a little embarrassed. "I always did wonder what you looked like."

"I'm thrilled that you can see. Is your vision back to normal?"

"No, not really." He tapped the sunglasses. "I have to wear these. They're made of ruby quartz - it's the only thing that works. I can't see in color and my night vision is lousy but it's a hell of an improvement over being blind."

"That's all it took? Special glasses?" He nodded. Neither of us said anything for a while. "I've often thought about you, worried about you." He didn't answer. "I'm sorry, Scott. Inadequate and trite as that sounds, it's true. I've always regretted losing touch with you."

He shrugged. "It's okay," he said and sighed. He took a sip of his beer and continued. "I spent a lot of time thinking about you, too, but I wasn't worried about you. Pretty much equal parts anger and puzzlement - wondering what went wrong, what I did wrong." I started to say he hadn't done anything wrong but he gave me that sardonic smile again and said he knew that. "I don't think now that it was my fault - I'm just telling you how it felt at the time. But, anyway, I got over it. I needed to if I was going to get on with my life."

I didn't know what to ask him - there was so much I wanted to know. "Have you been in New York all this time?" I asked, finally.

He shook his head. "Not in the City. I live in Westchester - I've been there for years." He laughed at my surprised expression. "You didn't think I'd grow up to be a suburbanite? Neither did I. I went there for school originally, but I stayed."

"You finished school? I'm so glad. What do you do now?"

"I teach high school English. It's partly your fault, you know. All those poems you read to me, all those books on tape you got for me." He was smiling in happy memory. Then the smile disappeared again and he added, "Afterwards I wasn't sure what I missed more - food and shelter or literature."

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I meant for the audio books to be yours, you know. I didn't mean for you to have to leave like that, without warning. Not taking anything."

"When you have nowhere to live, you can't really take anything with you, anyway. I wouldn't have taken them if you had told me I had to go. All I would have wanted from you was money." He said it in a totally flat tone, no inflection.

"I'm sorry, Scott," I said again.

The smile came back and his voice was friendly once more. "Don't be, Simon. When I've thought of you over the years, it's generally been with gratitude and fondness. You gave me a lot. I think the time I stayed with you really saved me, in a few ways. Not the least of which was just physical." He paused again, enveloped in memory. "I was a pretty young fifteen, you know. And I went downhill pretty quickly out there on my own. I don't know how much longer I could have survived on the street. Having a few weeks of eating every day, of having a roof over my head - it made all the difference. I went back on the street stronger, more resilient. And I knew a lot more, too." The wry smile came back. "In terms of marketable skills, I mean, not just the poetry."

I could feel my cheeks redden. "I... I never did that before. Or since. I don't know why I did. Really - I'm not the kind of guy who picks up teenage boys."

He shrugged again. "I don't think I'm the type of guy who gives blow jobs for a living, but that's what I did for well over a year. Sometimes people do uncharacteristic things. Sometimes circumstances in their lives lead them to." We both mused on that one for a while. "The school I teach at," he continued. "It's where I went to high school, too. It's a private boarding school funded by a charitable foundation. We get lots of runaways, some who've been through similar experiences to mine. I like to think I can understand them better, help them more, having been through the same kind of thing. So, some good came of it."

We talked for a while, filled each other in on our current lives. He didn't seem surprised that I was out now. He said he had had a long period of being deeply closeted and had only come out again over the past few years. I told him once more how thrilled I was to see him looking so well, doing so well. And that I could see in the man he'd become the boy I knew - earnest and serious, but with those flashes of self-aware, sardonic humor.

We chatted about all sorts of things. I waited and waited for him to ask but finally concluded he wasn't going to. "Do you want to know what happened?" I said finally.

"Only if you want to tell me."

"I think I owe you an explanation." He didn't say anything. "My wife found out," I told him finally. "She gave me an ultimatum. If I had nothing more to do with you we could have a quiet divorce. If not, well, I'd lose my job and probably go to prison, too."

He nodded. "I wondered if it was something like that. I wish you'd told me, though. Do you have any idea how many times I tried to call you at work?"

"I was scared to talk to you, scared my secretary would tell her. I would have talked to you if you'd called the studio when I was there, but I wasn't there much after that weekend."

"I can imagine. So, how did she find out?"

I hesitated before answering but decided I owed him the truth. "She found pictures. Polaroids."

"You took pictures of me?" I nodded. "You figured you could do it without me knowing, since I couldn't see?"

"Yes." I barely spoke aloud. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I'm truly ashamed of myself. For all of it, but most especially for that. For abusing your trust, deceiving you. I had no right to take pictures of you like that."

"No, you didn't," he said. "And besides, all you had to do was ask, Simon. I would have let you. I would have let you do anything. When someone's totally dependent on you it's not necessary to trick him. You can do whatever you want."

When I get mad, I get stupid. Or at least I do stupid things. Stupid, violent things more often than not. It's always been like that with me, and it's caused more trouble than I can tell. And given the way my life's gone, more trouble than I can remember, too. I really thought I had it under control, though, these last couple of years. I've managed to teach, to maintain a relationship with Scott, to be a fucking X-Man, even. I couldn't do any of that if I just lost it and destroyed something - or someone - every time somebody pissed me off. So I'm kind of surprised at myself for losing my temper over Billy Halverson. I can't believe I went and did something so dumb. I mean, I knew that what was going on between him and Scott was getting me kind of edgy. So I was watching myself, trying to stay in control and just wait it out. Just like in that poem: "I am to wait, though waiting so be hell." But then at the pool I just kind of lost it. I didn't kill anybody, at least. Still I said something really stupid, something I knew I shouldn't have said as soon as it came out of my mouth.

I'd been uneasy ever since Scott first mentioned Billy. Hey, I would've told him right off that I'd fucked Billy, that I'd picked him up at that truck stop I used to go to in Saskatchewan. He knew all about me doing that for a while there. I don't think he really cares anymore - it wasn't even when we were together. But when he told me about Bill coming to the school while I was away he said that Bill had given him some story about meeting me when he delivered supplies to the outpost. I just didn't know what to say - I didn't know why he'd lied to Scott. I thought about telling him the truth, but I was worried about what he'd think if I said Billy lied to him. It might sound like there was something more than just a one-night stand between Billy and me, like there was something worth lying about. So, I didn't say anything about him, left it like I didn't remember.

But when Billy showed up a few months later I gave him a piece of my mind, asked him why he was lying to Scott about me. He said he thought it would just make trouble between Scott and me if he'd told the truth. I didn't know what to make of that - maybe he meant it. But maybe he wasn't thinking about Scott and me. Maybe he was thinking about Scott and him.

They were spending more and more time together as the summer went on. And even when Scott was with me he was still thinking about Billy. Scott was always talking about him and how much they had in common and how he hoped they could work something out for Billy to finish his education.

I'm used to Scott getting close to kids at the school. There's usually one or two he kind of makes a project of, really works with a lot. Often the really quiet, troubled ones. The ones who've been through hell before they came here. Scott knows how to get them to trust him, how to help them to open up. Maybe he can do it because he remembers his own time in hell. It never bothered me when he was spending all that time with Oliver or Jamie or Gwen. I'm proud of him for what he does for those kids. But this thing with Billy was different.

Billy's not a kid. And I know what he likes and could guess what he wanted with Scott. I was getting pissed off at both of them. And pissed off at myself for going along with Billy lying to Scott in the first place. I should've just told him the truth. Nothing would have made Billy off-limits in Scott's eyes so much as knowing I did him in the back of his truck that time.

Well, too late to do anything about that now. So mostly I was just keeping mum about the whole thing. But watching them. Lots of times when they didn't know it. Like tonight at the pool. I stood in the locker room for a long time, looking through the window at them. First they were just swimming, or Billy swimming and Scott timing him, giving him tips on strokes from the side. Then Scott tells Billy to get out of the water and work on his racing dive. Has him dive in again and again, but not satisfied even after he shows him what he wants him to do. So he gets up behind Billy and starts moving him, positioning him the way he thought he should be.

Drove me nearly nuts to watch Scott touching him. I could see Billy getting hard, too, with Scott all pressed up against him like that, though I don't think Scott knew that. I couldn't take it anymore. Closed my eyes and counted to a hundred to try to calm down. When I opened them, they're in the pool and laughing together about something.

So, I go in and try to act like I didn't see anything. Tell Scott I want him to come with me, want to do him then. It didn't go over so well. At first he was friendly, just saying he'd catch up with me later and I suppose I should've just gone along with that. But I could see Billy smirking in the pool, pretending he didn't know what's going on. So I start talking louder, just making it clear that Scott's mine and he better not forget that. And then Scott gets mad at me for embarrassing Billy. So, that's when I lost it, just hearing him so much more concerned about Billy than me. So I told him I knew what they were doing, although I wasn't really sure they were doing anything. And said that I know how Billy likes it.

Big mistake. It felt good for about thirty seconds - seeing that dumbfounded look on Scott's face, that sheepish one on Billy's. And walking out of there, slamming the door. But by the time I got to my room I knew it was a stupid thing I'd done.

Scott followed me there. Didn't even knock, which is totally unlike him. And he's standing there dripping wet and madder than I've ever seen him. He couldn't even talk for a minute - first time that ever happened, far as I know. Finally, he sputtered, "You're fucking Billy?" All the color drained from his face, barely controlling his rage enough to talk.

"What's it to you?"

"What it is to me is I'm a teacher in this school, Logan, and so are you. He's under our care, our protection. I can't believe you would abuse your position like that. That's completely unacceptable - in anyone. You know if it were anybody but you I caught having sex with one of the students I'd go to Charles right away and see that the guy doing it got kicked out. I probably should be doing just that, even though it is you." He didn't say anything for a minute, just glaring at me like he was daring me to ask him not to. I didn't say anything and he continued. "A school is built on trust - particularly a school like this one, full of emotionally vulnerable kids far from home. I've devoted my life to making this a safe place for the students here." He was speaking softly but clearly, still shaking a little with anger. "We don't fuck the kids," he said finally.

And I was getting madder, too. Sure, I could have told him the truth now, but where does he get off thinking I'd be fucking one of my students? So, I didn't say what really happened. Just, "I don't fuck kids. You know that. Billy's not a kid. He's 21 years old, Cyclops."

"He's more of a kid at 21 than I was at 16." Still just as mad as I've ever seen. "Did you bother to get to know him at all, Logan?" Voice rising with that. "Or was it just 'eat me' on the Danger Room floor like you did with me? Well, I could handle that - he can't. Do you even know anything about him? He's stuck supporting his whole family and he's trying to deal with losing his chance at college and coming out and coming into his powers all at the same time. With all that to manage he never had a chance to grow up. He's as vulnerable, as immature, as any of them. It's as bad as if you were doing Jamie!"

That did it. I punched him in the mouth before I even knew what I was doing. Or tried to. Well, not before he knew what I was doing. I'm stronger than him but he's faster. Before I knew it, I'm on my ass and he's walking out, slamming the door.

So, I followed him. Wanted to know where he's going, what he was up to. I didn't know what I'd say to him, though. At first I was really mad, wanting to fight some more. But he sped off on his motorcycle and I took one of the cars and followed him, thinking about what happened. Calmed down a bit and thought about how dumb I'd been.

And just tried to figure out how to get out of this mess. Should I tell him the truth? If he'd listen to me at all, that is. I mean, at least I hadn't done what he thought - hadn't fucked one of the kids at school. But - even though I didn't want to admit it - I was realizing he's right. Billy wasn't grown up, no matter what he looked like or what it said on his birth certificate. And when I'd done him he'd been just as vulnerable as he is now. Probably more - it was before he'd even faced up to being a mutant. And all I'd been thinking about was that he was a good fuck. Well, I did give him the number of the school - tried to help him that way. But I never gave him a second thought after that. And here I was accusing Scott of doing something he'd never do, something he's too honorable to do. Something I did.

So, I wanted to do something, apologize somehow, try to make amends. But I wanted to know what he's up to, too. He took a train into the City and I took it too, staying where he couldn't see me, but keeping him in sight. Transferred to the subway with him and then followed him, walking up and down the streets in Greenwich Village. Paying no attention to the men who approached him. I thought about hitting one of them, but then Scott went into this bar.

I followed him in but sat in a booth where he couldn't see me. He was just sitting there at the bar. Drinking a beer. Thinking, lost in his own thoughts, paying no attention to anyone. One guy didn't want to take "no" for an answer but Scott taught him a lesson. Made me smile. But then he goes and sits with the guy in the booth behind mine.

Crowded, loud bar but I can hear anything I want to hear. For sure in a booth with just a wood panel in between me and them. At first I'm trying to figure out where Scott knows this Simon guy from. And then I've got it - the studio apartment guy. Talk about fucking kids! This Simon was doing Scott when he was a scared, hungry fifteen-year-old kid and Simon was some hotshot executive. And then just threw him away when he's done. So what's Scott doing about it? Sees him again after all this time and he could just take off those glasses and give that Simon what he deserves. But no, he's sitting there thanking him, telling Simon he saved his life. I could hardly stand it, almost popped my claws and stabbed him through the wood of the booth. But I figured I'd gotten into enough trouble with my temper for one night. So I'm trying to calm myself down and concentrating on that so much that I missed some of what they said. And then before I know it, they're walking out that door together.

For years afterwards I'd looked twice every time I saw a blind boy on the street, trying to find Scott. As time went by I'd find myself wondering if I'd even recognize him "for changes wrought on form and face." I always knew exactly how old he'd be at any given time. I'd thought occasionally about using detectives to find him, but ultimately I was too scared to follow through. I even went so far as to find out what the statute of limitations was in New York State on child sexual assault. And then by the time I'd reached it I told myself the trail would be too cold and there was no point in even trying.

Child sexual assault. How hard it had been to come to terms with that, to realize that was what the law would think I'd been engaged in. It wasn't what it felt like when it was going on all those years ago. And it certainly wasn't what I thought I was getting into when, running late, I cut through an alley and came across a blind teenager being beaten and robbed.

His attackers had run as soon as I hollered. I helped him up, gathered his things for him, including the empty wallet they'd thrown aside. I asked him if I could take him somewhere, could help him call his parents. He shrugged that offer off. "Can I do anything for you?" I asked.

He straightened the dark glasses he wore, then reached out to touch my arm. "I'll blow you if you give me ten dollars," he said.

So, that's how it began. God knows where I thought it was going to end up. I rationalized that I was helping Scott - getting him off the streets, away from all the attendant dangers. I was very aware that sex with Scott was safer for me, too. There was an epidemic raging and the furtive anonymous sex I'd occasionally engaged in was definitely a high-risk activity. So I told myself this was good for both of us. Well, I've always been the king - or perhaps queen - of rationalization. That's the only way I'd managed to live the double life I had been leading all those years.

I had fantasies of it lasting. I thought about getting Scott into some sort of school, maybe even bringing him home with me and passing him off as a foster child or something. Still, I knew they were only fantasies. Sex and poetry in that studio apartment was as far as this was going.

And then it all fell apart: the marriage, the fantasies about staying with Scott, everything. Some good came of it, though. I came out, was able to live a more honest, less fragmented life. I discovered the truth of Emerson's maxim that "The man is only half himself, the other half is his expression." Funny how you don't realize you're living as half a man when it's happening, but it's so obvious after the fact.

So, I learned to live by truth and stand in need of expression. I learned to understand myself better, to know who and what I am. I never got involved with an underage boy again. After a while I stopped worrying that I was turning into some sort of pedophile and just accepted that it was kind of a fluke. I never stopped worrying about him, though. Worrying about how he was doing, whether he was still alive, even. The streets swallow up so many vulnerable kids.

What a wonderful surprise it had been to run into Scott like that and see him so well. I was thrilled to find he had his vision restored, even if it was limited. When he first let on who he was I was too astounded to be worried. But after I'd recovered from the surprise I was sure he'd hate me. It was a relief and a joy to just talk to him so comfortably, to hear him say that his memories of our time together were mostly positive ones. We talked and talked and it felt amazingly comfortable. I didn't really think anything of it when he asked if we could go somewhere quieter.

"I live right around the corner," I told him. "Not that any city street is going to seem quiet to a guy from Westchester," I added.

He laughed. "You say 'Westchester' like it's another planet or something, Simon. Don't forget - I knew you when you lived in the suburbs."

"Those days are long gone. I've been a Village resident for close to twenty years now. I've decided when I hit the two decade mark I'll reinvent myself as a native New Yorker."

We headed over to my place. "I own the building," I told him as we entered my apartment. "I've got tenants in the upstairs and basement apartments. The previous owner used the second and third floors as his home - it's a duplex apartment - but I like living on the parlor floor. This way I get the back yard. It's about the size of a postage stamp, but any outdoor space is kind of a treat in the city."

We went out there and he admired the yard. We sat on a bench and chatted aimlessly for a while. Scott pointed to the large, dying tree near the building and asked what was wrong with it. "Dutch Elm disease," I told him.

"Can it be saved?

"No, there's really no hope for it. I have to get somebody to come in and cut it down. I'll have it chopped up for firewood."

We went back in and settled in the living room. We sat together on the couch, talking like two old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. Which, in some sense, we were. "You never got involved with another kid, Simon?" he asked after a while.

"No. I guess I learned my lesson. And, like I said, what happened between you and me wasn't a pattern or anything. I'd never been with an underage boy before. Well, not that I know of. I didn't exactly ask them for ID, so it's possible some guy I thought was in his twenties was really younger. When I was married there were a lot of men, a lot of anonymous encounters. But things changed a lot for me after you - my whole life, really."

"I imagine losing your marriage was a bit of a shake up."

"It had to happen. I wish it hadn't happened like that, but that's no one's fault but my own."

"Are you involved with anyone now?" he asked, placing his hand on my leg.

"Scott, are you coming on to me?" I asked in surprise.

He laughed. "I think I might be. I was trying for a little more subtlety than last time, though. I guess I didn't do so well on that score," he added, with that self-aware irony that was so typical of him. And then, after a pause, "Are you interested?"

I nodded, dumbly. He leaned in and kissed me, long and deep, strong hands on my shoulders. He tasted of beer and peanuts. I reached under his shirt and stroked his broad shoulders and back.

"You're still a great kisser," I said, after a while.

"I had a good teacher," he replied. "Simon, there's something I want to talk to you about. And then you can decide if you still want to have sex with me."

"It's okay, Scott. I've had positive lovers before. We'll just be careful."

He shook his head. "I'm not HIV+. It's something else." Then he didn't say anything for a long time, looking like he was trying to figure out how to begin. "I was never really blind," he said, finally.

"What?" I was dumbfounded. I touched his glasses. "You don't really need these?"

"I need them. And it's an oversimplification, what I just said. I mean, I guess I was blind, effectively. I couldn't see because I couldn't open my eyes. I was scared to."

He didn't say more and I tried to draw him out. "Some sort of psychological problem?" I asked.

"No. It's not in my head." He gestured towards the glasses. "It's in my eyes. And in my genes. Simon, I'm a mutant." I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. "My gift is in my eyes," he continued. "We call it 'optic blasts'. It's a kind of beam of force that comes out of my eyes. Very powerful." He stood up and took my arm. "Come on, I'll show you."

I followed him and we went back to the back yard. Scott kind of muttered to himself, walking all around my dying elm, looking up and down it, touching the trunk in a couple of places. Then said, "Okay!" in a satisfied tone. He took his sunglasses off. I saw his eyes were closed. Then he pulled something out of his jacket pocket - a kind of visor, which he proceeded to place over his eyes. "Stand by the building, Simon," he said. Then he touched the visor near his ear and it seemed to open up. A thin beam of what looked like a laser emerged from behind the visor, quickly slicing a wedge at the base of the elm. "Timber!" Scott yelled, as the tree fell.

"I always wanted a chance to say that," he added, methodically carving the dead wood up with the same red force beams. He made quick work of it and I watched the whole thing, transfixed. Within minutes the yard was full of pieces of wood and Scott switched the visor for his glasses. Then he started to gather up the logs and pile them by the wall. By the time I thought to offer to help with that part he was almost done. I apologized. "It's okay," he said. "It is a little overwhelming the first time you see it, I know." He handed me a medium-sized log. "Do you want to keep this one? It looks pretty disease-free. Maybe you could have it made into something - a wooden box or some sort of carved statue? A way to remember that magnificent tree when the firewood is long gone."

I thanked him and took the piece of wood and we went back inside. "Do you want to ask me anything?" he asked.

"What do the glasses do?"

"They block the beams. We don't really understand the physics of it completely, but we think the ruby quartz absorbs the optic blasts. It seems to be the only thing that works. Before that I just had to keep my eyes closed all the time."

"You can't just stop it from happening on your own?"

He shook his head. "I wish I could. I hoped for that for a while - there are lots of mutants who can't control their powers when they first come into them but develop the knack later. But that's not how it panned out for me."

"What's with that visor thing?"

"It's also ruby quartz, but it has electronic controls. I can open it a little or a lot to control the size of the beam. I don't see as well with it as with the glasses, but it gives me much more precision than just opening my eyes part way. If I just took off my glasses and opened them all the way, there wouldn't have been anything left of that tree. Or much of the building, either." I didn't say anything more, just looked out the window at where the tree had been and then back at Scott, those dangerous eyes hidden behind the wine-dark glasses.

We sat back down on the couch, not touching, not talking. After a while, he said, "So now you know." I nodded. He pulled his glasses off, eyes tightly shut, and leaned in to kiss me again. I pulled back.

"I'm sorry," I told him. He put the glasses back on and this time I noticed that there was a faint, red glow behind them when he reopened his eyes.

"You're scared?" he asked. I nodded again. "I won't hurt you, Simon. I spent over a month with you and never opened my eyes. I have really good muscular control that way, no matter what I'm doing."

"I know. I'm sure you do. I'm sorry, Scott. It's just that it's new to me. And frightening." I thought for a minute. "I really want to. Could you leave the glasses on?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not going to do that." We looked at each other for a minute, not a ghost of a smile on his face.

"What do you want from me, Scott?" I asked, my tone plaintive.

He smiled that half smile I knew so well. "I want you on your knees, sucking my cock, Simon. That's what I want. But only if you'll do it without the glasses."

He took them off again and just sat there. I looked at that beautiful face for a minute, eyes serenely closed. Then I got down on the floor.

He put his hands on my head as I sucked him, stroking my hair and my ears with his fingers. I held onto the base of his cock with one hand and moved up and down with my mouth. He was talking to me and kind of moaning and whimpering a bit. I was turned on and scared at the same time, so aware of those deadly eyes right above me. I unzipped my pants and stroked myself as I did him, the excitement and arousal driving the fear away.

"Oh yes!" he said in a kind of a gasp as he came in my mouth. Then pulled me onto the couch, eyes still closed, and pushed me back, semi-reclining. Leaning down, he took my cock into his mouth.

"Oh my God, Scott," I heard myself saying. "Nobody does that like you." And then I didn't say anything, losing myself in the feelings, just as I had so many times so many years ago.

After I came we both sat up. He leaned in to kiss me and I didn't shrink back this time. We kissed long and slow, our tastes mixing together. Then, too quickly, he was putting his glasses back on, standing up, zipping his pants. "I'm sorry to leave so abruptly," he said. "But you know how it is when you live in the 'burbs - ruled by train schedules." He leaned down and kissed me once more, then whispered in my ear. "Thanks for trusting me, Simon. It mattered a lot to me." He stood up and turned away.

"When can I see you again?" I asked. Scott turned back to face me but didn't say anything at first, looking a little embarrassed. "I guess that was a mistake. Should I amend it to 'Can I see you again?'"

He took a deep breath. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to do this again, Simon. I'm sorry. I would like to keep in touch with you. It's just that I've got a lot going on in my life right now. It's not the time for me to start a new relationship."

"Not so new."

"No. Not so new. And it feels good to sort of have closure on the old one, to be able to be honest with you after all these years."

"I was hoping it might be the start of something new, not closure on the old."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mislead you."

"You didn't. That was all my invention."

He smiled sort of winsomely. "It's been great seeing you again, being with you."

"But not great enough to do it again?" I asked. But only after he'd left.

I got back late, parked the motorbike, and just sat there on it for a few minutes, pondering what to do next. I'd succeeded in my aim of forgetting the situation with Logan and Billy for a few hours, but the problem hadn't gone away while I was with Simon. And here I was back home - tired and upset and still not knowing what was the right thing to do. Should I tell Charles what I'd found out about Logan and Billy? I had felt at first like it was something he ought to know and that I would have gone to him directly if it had been anyone but Logan. So, it didn't seem right not to tell him just because my lover was the one doing it. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I wasn't sure he'd see the situation the same way I had.

Charles would be just as appalled as I would if one of the teachers were having sex with a kid at the school, but Billy was kind of in a different category. He wasn't an official student, wasn't a minor, wasn't even here long term. And he was working with us at least as much as going to school. In loco parentis hardly applied to a man who was of age and supporting his whole family.

Would Charles agree that it was an abuse of Logan's position to have sex with Bill? Or just look on it as another intra-faculty relationship? In a small semi-closed society like our school community, there are a lot of those - sometimes short-term, sometimes long-lasting. Charles might well think that I was angry and jealous and just using the ethical considerations as an excuse to justify my anger. And, hard as it was to admit it, I wasn't sure that my motives had been so pure. My first reaction had been outrage - certainly I knew how vulnerable Billy was and thought Logan ought to know, too. The last thing he needed was someone in a position of authority sexually involved with him. I had been so aware of that as I realized Billy was developing a crush on me and would never have made advances towards him.

Still, Logan's position vis-a-vis Billy wasn't the same as mine. I was Billy's mentor, supervisor, and confidante. Logan wasn't any of those things. How was I to know whether a relationship with Logan was good or bad for Billy? Would I have been so outraged if it had been someone other than my lover involved with him? Maybe I'd think it was good for Bill to have some sort of an ongoing relationship, an improvement over the one-night stands he'd told me about. I certainly knew that at least some of what I was feeling was jealousy. And I had the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing exactly why I was jealous, of whom I was jealous. I finally decided not to say anything to Charles that night, to just sleep on the whole question and think about it some more in the morning.

I started to get up off the bike but strong arms grabbed me from behind, pushing me back down. "You're not going anywhere, Cyclops. Not 'til you listen to me."

"What do you want, Logan?" I asked wearily.

"I've got something to tell you," he said, but then didn't say anymore. I waited. He sat behind me on the seat of the bike, his hands still on my shoulders, his head next to mine. I waited, but he still said nothing.

"What do you want?" I asked again.

"I lied to you." He turned his head away and spoke softly. "I got mad when you said that about fucking the kids here. I never did any of the students. I wouldn't do that." I didn't answer and he didn't say anything else for a while. Then, finally, "I haven't done it with anybody but you for a long time. If I did, it wouldn't be any of the students." He paused again. "Or anyone else here. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Are you telling me you haven't been fucking Billy Halverson?"

"I did once. It was a long time ago - when I was in Saskatchewan. When you and me weren't together." His head was still turned away. "And you were right about what you said - I didn't bother to get to know him, didn't care what he needed, or what was happening in his life. I just wanted to get off. I'm not too happy with myself for that, not now that I do know him. But, that's what it's like, you know? I just picked him up at a truck stop, like I did a whole lot of other guys. I didn't know anything about them and they didn't know anything about me. At least I didn't do any of the kids here, didn't abuse my position like you said I did. So I wanted you to know that."

"You didn't meet him when he was delivering supplies to the outpost?"

He leaned up against me, shook his head. "You know I kept that place a secret. No way I'd just have some outsider deliver supplies like that - we had all sorts of ways of getting stuff there with nobody knowing. Why'd you believe something like that?"

I shrugged. "I thought it sounded a little strange when he told me, but it didn't occur to me it might not be true. And then you corroborated his story later. Anyway, how did he even know about the outpost? He told me that story that first night he came here."

"I don't know." He pressed against me from behind, arms around me now, holding me close to him. "He's a telepath, eh? Maybe you were thinking about the outpost."

"More than likely. He told me right off he'd met you in Saskatchewan." I thought about it for a minute. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions, Logan."

"That's okay. I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Okay, we're both sorry. What happens now?"

"I don't know. Does this change anything?"

"Hard to say. Things change. You can't always tell right when it's happening." We just sat there for a minute. "Did you really think I was having sex with Billy?"

"I wasn't sure. I thought you were interested. I knew he was. I should've realized you wouldn't, would've thought about whether or not it's good for him. I do understand that now." He didn't say anything for a minute. "But you do want him, don't you? I wasn't just imagining that."

I wasn't sure what to say. "It's not like you think, Logan. He's a kid - yes, I know he isn't really, but he's emotionally immature. He feels like a kid to me. And I'm in a position with him that kind of made it likely he'd develop a crush on me. All the time we're spending together, plus I'm pretty much the first out gay man he's known well. It's not like it's the first time I've had a student with a crush on me; I know how to handle that." He started to speak again, but I stopped him. "I know, I know. I'm talking about his feelings, not mine. And yes, it's different for me than it is with the girls in the poetry class. He's an attractive young man I like a lot, and he's gay. Under other circumstances, something might have happened between us. But it's not other circumstances; it's the way it is here and now. And the way it is here and now includes Billy being my student; it includes me understanding how immature and vulnerable he is. It also includes you and me."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"I wouldn't get involved with somebody at the school, either. Not while you and I are together and both living here. I can't imagine we'd be able to survive that."

"Okay, we agree on that part. You still didn't answer my question."

"No, I don't want him." He snorted, skeptically. "I'm not saying I don't find him attractive. I can recognize that I have some attraction to him and not do anything about it. I'm not troubled by it, not obsessed with him, not even thinking about or fantasizing about sex with him. It's just kind of there. I like him, I like the attention, and I'm clear nothing's going to happen between us. Can you accept that?"

"Yeah, I guess." He leaned his head on my shoulder. "You know, Scott, I told you I'd let you know if I was doing it with anyone else and I've stuck to that. I don't know that we ever had any deal the other way, though."

"I guess not. You know, other couples have agreements to monogamy, or not. Or agreements to tell each other about other lovers, or not. Some just never talk about it at all. Why do we have to be so different? It seems like the only agreement we have is that if you have sex with somebody else you'll tell me. And that if I do, you'll kill him, if I don't stop you."

He laughed. "Well, I wouldn't really do it. If only because I'd worry you wouldn't let me fuck you anymore if I did." He started kissing me on the ear and then the back of the neck. Then I heard the snikt of a claw extending and he sliced my shirt down the center of the back. The shirt fell off of me as he kissed and licked his way down.

"Stand up," he said after a minute. He got off the bike and I did, too. He told me to bend over the bike's seat and I did, undoing my pants before he could cut them off of me, too.

"Have I ever mentioned that my clothing expenses have gone way up since getting to know you?"

"No. Do you mind spending extra?" he asked, kneeling on the floor now, holding my ass in both hands and licking and kissing my cheeks.

"Noooo." It came out in between a word and a moan.

"No?" He pulled back. "You want me to stop?"

"No! I mean - no, I don't mind. Yes, keep doing that. Please."

He spread my cheeks and slid his fingers and then his mouth in the crack, licking and sucking up and down, pushing the tip of his tongue into the opening a little. His other hand reached around and held onto my hard cock, pumping me slowly in time to what he was doing with his tongue. It felt wonderful and I started moving with it, bent over the bike seat like that. Pushing back into his face, forward into his hand. Telling him I loved it, love him, wanted more, wanted whatever he had to give me. And then I was coming hard, all over his hand and the bike.

He got up quickly, pulling a tube of lube out of the pocket of my jeans, pooled round my ankles. Slicked his cock and pushed in me quickly, pumping hard and talking in my ear. "I'll give you what you need, Cyclops. I'll always make you feel good. You don't need anybody else if you've got me. You're mine - you should know that." I told him he was right, that I didn't need anybody but him. And then sucked on his fingers as he fucked me hard and fast.

He stayed inside me and on me after he came, nuzzling the back of my neck a little. Then pulled out and stood up. I got up, too, pulling my pants up as he zipped his. "Logan," I said, hesitantly. "I don't quite know how to say this, but I think I should. I had sex with somebody else tonight, when I was out before."

"I know that. I can smell him on you, taste him on you." He scowled at me, pointedly not asking anything.

"I ran into an old friend, a former lover. I was mad at you and... I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not going to do it again."

He looked away. "Okay. And I'm not going to kill him."

"Yes, that was good to hear."

"Oh, I thought you said you were gonna stop me if I tried. You and what army? That's what I want to know." He was smiling now. Me, too. We both stopped smiling, though, when he said, "Did you think about whether or not I'd kill Simon when you did him?"

"How do you know his name?"

"I know all about him - he's the studio apartment guy. I can't for the life of me understand why you'd want to let him live, much less fuck him. But it's your life, Scott."

"How do you know about Simon?" I asked again.

"I followed you to the City. I was in that bar when you were with him. I followed you to his place, too. I didn't stick around to find out what you did there with him, but I knew as soon as you got back. His smell's all over you."

"I'm sorry, Logan. I had no idea you knew. I'm surprised you'd even be willing to have sex with me, knowing I was with him earlier."

He shrugged. "It doesn't make me want you any less. It makes me mad. Mad at you for doing him. Mad at him, too. So mad sometimes I worry I can't control it." I started to say something but he stopped me. "I'm not gonna kill him. I'm not gonna do anything to him. I just wanted to make the smell of him go away. Maybe make the thought of him go away from your head a little, too. I wanted to get you to say you belong to me. Even if you don't mean it, I like to hear it." He looked down, speaking softly. "Just don't bring him here, okay? It's one thing to promise not to go after him. I'm not saying I could stay in control if he was here, though. I don't think I can manage to 'not blame your pleasure.'" He looked up at me at that last bit, smiling when he saw my surprise at the quote. "You never think I can remember that stuff, do you?"

"I didn't think you knew that one. Anyway, I don't ask that of you, Logan. It didn't work out too well for Will, either, did it?"

"Yeah, well I think he was a total jerk to put up with that guy cheating on him over and over. But we're all jerks sometimes."

"I know. I was a jerk tonight. It was partly because I was mad at you and partly wanting to understand that period in my life a little better or something. It was a stupid way to deal with any of that.

"Logan, I meant it when I said I'm not going to do it again - with Simon or anybody else. You're right - I'm my own man. It's my choice. I choose you." I put my arms around him. "I choose us." He just shrugged again. "Well, I mean it. Maybe you'll realize it after a while. I can understand it's hard to believe at this moment."

"A little." But he said it with a smile.

"So what did you mean by 'what army?' I've got an army, you know. Small but powerful."

"Big fucking Field Leader. Powerful guy."

"That's me."

"Well, you didn't seem so powerful a few minutes ago, begging me for it."

This time I shrugged. "I'm a complex individual." He smiled knowingly at that. "And I'm freezing out here without a shirt. Let's go inside."

He entered my mind first. Just a single word, but I heard it ringing inside my head and felt all the intensity he brought to it. Telepathy's so different than speech. If someone's talking to you, you can tell something more than the words by the tone - loud or soft, happy or sad, insistent, plaintive. With telepathy it's not tone, really. It's intention and feeling and meaning and it was all there in the one word, as if the word were just a wrapper holding a whole package of thoughts and emotions. There's so much more when it's right there in your head, not needing to go through any hearing process.

So when he spoke that one word in my mind - "Stay!" - that wasn't all I got from it. I felt a lot of other things in it that were all about what he thought and felt about me being in this mess: sadness that things had gotten to this point, concern for my welfare, trying to understand what I thought my role was in it all, protectiveness and a sense of responsibility.

Sort of under and behind all that there was even more in that one word, a lot more that had nothing to do with me. An overpowering love and devotion, as strong as any I've ever felt, ever known, ever heard of. And the sense that he'd do absolutely anything to make things easier and better along with the rueful realization that there are some things he just could not fix. Like I said, that wasn't about me; it was all about Scott. I kept packing.

When I didn't answer his foray into my mind, he came to my room. Knocked politely, saying "May I come in? We need to talk."

"No, we don't." He rolled in anyway.

The room was kind of a shambles: dresser drawers on the floor, books and papers all over. I was sitting in the armchair in the corner, legs drawn up close, chin on my knees. My suitcases were open on the bed, and I was packing. Telekinetically. As the professor wheeled in he had to duck to avoid getting hit in the head by my left boot, flying from the closet to the suitcase.

"Dangerous spot," he remarked, smiling.

"Sorry about that." I looked up and made sure to float the other boot far away from him. "But I didn't exactly invite you in, you know."

"I know." He looked around. "It kind of looks like it's now or never, though. Are you planning on leaving without saying ‘goodbye' to anyone?" I didn't answer. "Not even to Scott?"

"I doubt he wants to hear from me."

His mind touched mine, saying "He does. He cares about you. I know it." Out loud he said, "I don't know everything that happened between you two. I have the general idea, though. Seems like our field leader mishandled some of it." He looked straight at me. "Forgive him. We all make mistakes."

I stood up and started rearranging clothes by hand, just to not be facing him anymore. "There's nothing to forgive. He didn't do anything wrong," I said, back turned toward him, digging deep in my duffel bag. "I made a fool of myself." He didn't say anything. "And I lied to Scott. And got Logan to lie to him, too. I'm sure they'll both be glad to see me gone."

He rolled over to me and touched my arm. "No, Bill, they won't. Scott especially won't. You're very important to him."

"Yeah. Right."

"Sit down for a minute. You can do this later, if you are so sure you want to leave. Just listen to me now." I sat on the bed and faced him. "He cares about you, Bill." I looked at him skeptically. "Not the way you want him to, maybe, but he does. Why do you think he spends so much time with you, works with you? And I don't know if you know this, but Scott has been trying all summer to come up with a way for you to finish college. This isn't just a job to him." He looked me straight in the eyes. "And you're not just another student to Scott."

"No, I'm sure I'm not. I bet I'm the only student who's been to bed with his lover. Not exactly how I wanted to stand out from the crowd." I felt a tear fall down my face. I just sat there, not saying anything more. Embarrassed, ashamed, wallowing a bit in self-pity. And just without the energy to say anything more about what had happened.

I didn't have to, though. He touched my arm and I just opened my mind to him, letting him see and feel all the events of that night. Maybe I was just beyond feeling embarrassed, or maybe I was just too tired to resist him anymore.

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. Then he touched me again and said, "I'm sorry. It shouldn't have happened, not like that. They both got too wrapped up in their own conflict, their issues with each other. They shouldn't have just left you like that. Scott, in particular, should know better."

"It's not him. If I hadn't lied to him, nothing like this would've happened."

"Well, that's true. On the other hand I really don't think anyone can expect you to tell him your whole sexual history upon meeting. Or even later. You had no obligation to talk to Scott about your encounter with Logan. And it was up to Logan to decide for himself whether he would say anything to Scott." He sighed. "Bill, Scott and Logan have a very complicated and intense relationship. It has been up and down for a long time. There's a strong bond between them but there's a lot of pretty deep-seated conflict, too. They are both very strong-willed men with a lot of passion - of all kinds. They always do seem to end up together, but things can be difficult for everyone when it's not going well between them. You just got caught in the crossfire. You're new here -- the rest of the school knows how to steer clear of trouble between those two." He was smiling now and I smiled back. "Will you consider staying?" he asked.

"Geez, you make the place sound like a war zone or something and you want me to stay?" He laughed at that. "I can't. I wish I could."

"Why not, Bill?"

"Everybody knows, right? Or will soon enough. I thought I left small town life when I left North Dakota, but it's the same thing here."

"Well, there's some of that," he acknowledged. "It's a small community and we all live and work together. News travels, it's true. But some of us manage to keep our mouths shut," he added, smiling.

"I didn't think you'd say anything."

"Scott wouldn't either. Neither would Logan. Look Bill, I'm sure much of the school has noticed how close you and Scott have gotten this summer. And yes, if he and Logan don't patch things up some are going to assume you had a role in whatever happened between them. But that's as much as would happen. You didn't do anything wrong. No one's going to think you did."

"I made a fool of myself over someone who would never be interested in me in a million years. And caused trouble for him and his lover. That's bad enough."

"Stick it out." He was pleading now. "You're here another two weeks. See how it feels, see how it goes. I understand right now it feels very raw. You loved not wisely but too well, didn't you?"

I nodded, tears falling again. "I can't face him."

"Then don't. You don't have to if you don't want to. He won't force his company on you. But don't run away. And, Bill, I know Scott. He'll make it as easy for you as he can. You're right - he's not interested in you as a potential lover and he won't be. That's not about you - that's about Scott Summers. He's got a very strong sense of responsibility and duty, stronger than anyone I know. You're his student - he just can't think of you otherwise."

"That's not the only reason."

"No, it's not. Whatever happens with him and Logan, Scott's not emotionally available now, not ready to get involved with somebody else. It's hard, I know. Unrequited love is excruciatingly painful and you add embarrassment to it and it's even worse."

"So why should I stay?"

"Because you're strong enough to handle that. Because you need us - you're learning so much. Because we need you. Bill, we've never had a mutant with psionic powers as varied as yours. We need to teach you; we need to learn from you." And then he switched to telepathy and said what he'd said at the outset, "Stay!" Only this time it was all focused on me. I felt my resolve to leave just fade away and wondered if this is what mind control feels like.

"No," he said, switching back to speech. "I wouldn't do that." Looking at me earnestly. "I want to persuade you through my charming personality and irrefutable arguments," he added. "I'm not going to cheat and use my powers. That's the easy way out." He was smiling now.

"Okay, I'll stay. Two weeks? I guess I can handle it." He nodded, satisfied. "Is there anybody else I should know to stay away from for the next couple of weeks? I'd rather not break up any other couples before I go."

He laughed at that. "Oh, I wish you would! There are a few of them that are getting on my nerves. You know the kind I mean? Too cute for words. Jubilee and St. John would be a good start." We both chuckled. He looked around the room. "Do you want some help putting your things back?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Do you have some time to meet tomorrow? I'd like to talk to you about some of the ideas we had for college. And, just generally, about your plans for after you're done here." I agreed to see him. "You've accomplished a great deal this summer, Bill," he added, watching my clothes folding themselves as they flew into the drawers of my dresser.

"I know I have. Thank you, Professor. It's meant the world to me to have this place, to get to know everybody here. It's something I'll always take with me, wherever I go."

"That's good. That's what we want for our alumni."

"And thanks for coming and talking to me tonight."

"Are you going to be okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. A little embarrassed. But I guess nobody ever died of embarrassment." I smiled at him. "Just wanted to," I added. But telepathically, so he could feel that it wasn't just a joke.

When it came down to it, I didn't avoid Scott. I guess I wanted to show that I was man enough to handle the situation and just tried to continue with my regular activities for my last two weeks in Westchester. I took my classes, did repairs around the mansion, graded papers, and trained with the swim team. Just kept with my regular routine, figuring if there was gossip that was the best way to quash it.

Scott and I never talked about that night much. He said he was sorry for the scene and for running out on me like that. I said it was okay and that was kind of that. I was uncomfortable with him at first, particularly if we were alone together. But he treated me exactly the same as always, just like nothing ever happened. So that's how I treated him, too. And after a while I kind of forgot about it, at least most of the time.

We worked out a plan for me to finish college. I'm applying to schools for next fall. The Xavier Foundation is giving me a scholarship to cover tuition and expenses. The professor said he usually recommends that students at the Academy go away for college, to have the experience of living on their own a bit and to learn to live in mixed dorms -- mutants with non-mutants. But that's for kids who've been living in a mutant school for years. He said for me he thought it would be better if I stayed with them in Westchester, worked at the school part time and commuted to college. That way I can have more time to work with him and Dr. Grey on developing and controlling my powers and more time to be in a mutant community. So, I'm applying mostly to places close enough to commute. I'm hoping to get into Columbia. I've applied early decision there.

So, with the whole tuition problem out of the way and knowing where I'm applying, the big obstacle was my family and who was going to support them. I talked to my mom about it. She's been feeling awful about me giving up school ever since I came home while Dad was sick. She cried when I told her the foundation was giving me a scholarship. "You're talking about Ivy League colleges, Billy. That must be so expensive. How much money can they give you?" she asked. I told her the figure Scott had given me. "Oof da!" she said. "Who has money like that to give away?" I told her it's a private charitable foundation, providing services to gifted young people.

Mom said we'd come up with a plan over the year so I could go back to school. The kids are getting bigger and maybe they won't need her around as much. Plus, my brother Steve is graduating from high school in June and has no interest in college. So maybe he and Mom can take over the business between the two of them. "We'll work something out," she kept saying. "If some foundation is willing to give you all that money for college, the least we can do is make sure you don't have responsibilities at home getting in the way. I want to help my gifted son, too." I told her I'd be happy to help out with the driving during summers and vacations.

I don't know what happened between Scott and Logan after they left me at the pool that night, or any time after that. I've been back to the school a few times since leaving at the end of the summer, staying for a couple of days whenever I'm out East. Logan and Scott still seem to be together, although walking by one of their rooms you never know if you're going to hear the sounds of sex or fighting. I mostly stay out of other people's brains, and with all that happened I never try to read Scott's mind, or Logan's. But once in a while, without even trying, I'll just catch a bit of what they're each feeling when they look at each other. I don't have words for it, none that could really convey what it's like. All I can say is this: I hope I have that with somebody before I die.

Oh, and Jubilee and St. John? They're still together, too. The professor is right -- too cute for words. They're getting on my nerves, too. I haven't figured out a way to break them up, though.

The End

Literature Guide for Chips Cashed In

In my stories Scott Summers is a mutant superhero who also teaches high school. As Scott tells Logan in Canadian Nights, it's kind of a strange job. "Sometimes I teach English, sometimes I save the human race," he explains. With Scott a major figure in most of my fiction, the stories tend to contain a lot of literary quotes, most of them guided by Scott's tastes in literature (which, strangely, mirror my own). It has been my practice to publish a literature guide providing references for the quotes in each series, along with URLs, where available, for those wishing to read the works quoted. This guide contains spoilers for the series and should be read after Chips Cashed In.

Poems
Robert Burns. "To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough" contains the oft-quoted line: "the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley." Billy quotes that line when he's talking about his plans for college and career being derailed by his father's illness and subsequent death. You can read the poem at http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.html.
T.S. Eliot. "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".
This poem has appeared in almost all of my previous series. It's one of Scott's favorites. Like Prufrock, Scott has a tendency to have difficulty in making decisions about his life. In this series, Simon quotes from Prufrock in the bar and Scott finishes the couplet. Perhaps Scott first learned the poem from Simon. You can read Prufrock at http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html.
William Shakespeare. Sonnet 58.
The Shakespearean sonnets show up a lot in my stories. Scott teaches Shakespeare and is quite enamored of a few of the sonnets, some of which he has taught to Logan. They have also discussed the circumstances of the authorship of the sonnets, in previous series. Sonnet 58, in which Will is trying to come to terms with his lover's infidelity, is featured a couple of times in this series. Logan identifies with Will's feelings about his lover, known to Shakespearean scholars as the Fair Youth. He quotes this sonnet in his first person piece, "Wondering", saying that he is just waiting to see what happens with Scott and Billy, "though waiting so be hell." He later quotes from the same poem to Scott when they discuss the fact that Scott had sex with Simon. Logan asks Scott not to bring Simon to the mansion, telling Scott he couldn't manage to "not blame your pleasure" if confronted with Scott's other lover on his own territory. Scott indicates that he does not intend to have sex with Simon again, and goes farther, promising for the first time to have no other lovers besides Logan. He acknowledges that the promise is a bit hard to believe on a night in which he'd dealt with his anger with Logan by going to bed with someone else. The poem, an agonizing portrayal of a man trying to force himself to accept something that is causing him great pain, can be read at http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonness/58.asp.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson. I Wage Not any Feud with Death.
Simon expresses his doubts about whether he would recognize a grown Scott Summers by citing Tennyson's line about "changes wrought on form and face." And, indeed, Simon does not know Scott when he sees him in the bar. In this poem, the poet details what he does not blame Death for, ending only with the complaint that Death "puts our lives so far apart, we cannot hear each other speak." A fitting quote for this series, where not speaking and not hearing put Scott and Logan far apart, threatening their relationship much more than revealing the truth would have. The poem can be read in its entirety at http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/rp/poems/tennyson40.html.
William Butler Yeats. To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing.
Billy quotes from this poem ("be secret and exult") in contemplating being closeted at work. According to the poem "of all things known that is the most difficult." A lot of closeted gay people would agree. The poem can be read in its entirety at http://www.bartleby.com/147/6.html.

Plays
William Shakespeare. Othello
Charles Xavier tells Billy that he loved "not wisely but too well" and Billy agrees. It's Othello's line from the end of the play. Having murdered Desdemona because he mistakenly believed that she was unfaithful, Othello then kills himself, saying that he wishes to be remembered "as one that loved not wisely but too well." Read the play at http://www.shakespeare-online.com/plays/othelloscenes.asp or look for the Olivier filmed version at your local library or video story.

Miscellaneous
Ralph Waldo Emerson. Essays: Second Series.
Simon quotes the thirteenth essay in this series, "The Poet", in discussing the limits on self-expression that his closeted life imposed. Emerson, a leading poet and essayist of nineteenth century New England, was a strong advocate for the Transcendentalist philosophical movement. Transcendentalists believed in the innate spirituality and goodness of humankind and in the role of insight and introspection to find truth. Other well-known Transcendentalists included Thoreau and Branson Alcott. Emerson's essays are very accessible and are as relevant today (or in the not too distant future, when these stories take place) as they were in nineteenth century America. Read this one at http://www.4literature.net/Ralph_Waldo_Emerson/Essays_Second_Series/
Sigmund Freud.
The father of psychoanalysis is famously quoted as answering the question "What should a healthy person be able to do well?" with "Lieben und arbeiten" - work and love. Scott quotes this in saying that it's the personal connections with other people that give him his career satisfaction. It echoes something he says to Logan in We're Not What You Think. In trying to convince Logan not to commit suicide, Scott says that only two things make life worth living - love and work - and that Logan could have both if he just let himself.
Christian Bible. Simon quotes from the First Epistle to the Corinthians, said to be written by the Apostle Paul, when he says that the guy at the bar in dark red glasses is choosing to "look through a glass darkly." The Christian Bible is available many places. A copy of the King James edition is on the Bartleby site. The chapter including this quote can be found at http://www.bartleby.com/108/46/13.html