Cyclops: Fear No Gods (Marvel)

Winston Frost sat in his dimly lit office, his fingers steepled, his expression set in stone, but beneath the mask of calm, rage simmered.

The meeting had been a disaster. Not because of Charles Xavier. No, he had been predictable, idealistic to the point of naïveté. His words had been expected, his approach amusingly weak. No, the source of his anger—the one who had dared to defy him so boldly—was Scott Summers.

A boy.

A boy who had stood in his home, in front of his guards, his daughter, and spoken to him as if he were nothing.

A boy who had not cowered, not bent, not even hesitated.

Winston's jaw clenched as the memory replayed in his mind. The words Scott had spoken weren't just challenges—they were humiliations. The way he had torn apart Winston's power, mocked his belief in control, dismissed the very foundation upon which Winston had built his empire and worst of all…

He had done it in front of Emma.

His daughter.

His tool.

A necessary piece in his long-term strategy, one that he was molding to serve a far greater purpose. One that would one day be unleashed against his greatest rival—Sebastian Shaw, the Black King of the Hellfire Club.

But a tool was only useful so long as it remained obedient. If Scott's words, his actions, had planted even the smallest seed of defiance within Emma…Winston had to crush it. He would crush Scott Summers and everything connected to him.

But he wouldn't act out of emotion.

Winston Frost did not make rash decisions.

He was a patient man.

A smart man.

He took a slow, deep breath and reached for his desk drawer. Sliding it open, he retrieved a burner phone, its black surface unmarked, with one single contact saved within.

He pressed the number.

The call barely rang once before a voice—calm, measured, dangerous—answered on the other end.

Winston wasted no time. "I have a mission for you," he said. A pause followed as a faint, low response came from the other end that made Winston's frown deepened. "When will you be available?"

Another pause.

Winston's fingers curled slightly against the desk as his frown became even deeper. "I'll pay half when your current contract ends," he said flatly. "And the remaining half once the job is completed." Winston leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet edge. "I expect results by the end of the month." His voice was absolute, unyielding. "If not, I'll pass the contract off to your competitors."

A final pause.

Then, a simple confirmation from the other end before the call cut off. Winston lowered the phone, exhaling steadily before placing it back in the drawer and sliding it shut. Some of his tension eased, the first steps of his retaliation now in motion.

But this was just the beginning.

While his contact finished his current job, Winston would prepare. He would have his men investigate Scott Summers and Charles Xavier further. Every detail, every connection, every weakness would be documented and exploited. When the contract was executed, he wanted the kill to be clean.

Then, when Scott Summers was gone, nothing would stand in the way of what he had planned for Emma.

-X-

The car ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind—the kind that carried weight, thick with unspoken words and discontent.

Scott sat still, his gaze fixed out the window, watching the blurred cityscape pass by. He knew exactly what Charles was thinking and the professor was not happy in the slightest. Not with the meeting itself—that was always going to be a long shot—but with what Scott had done.

Charles had hoped, had banked on the slimmest possibility that Winston would let Emma leave. Scott had crushed that possibility immediately. Xavier knew Winston would never let Emma go. She was a tool to him, a piece in his long-term ambitions, a key to taking control of the Hellfire Club.

If things played out the same way they did in Cyclops' memories, Winston would never even live long enough to see that ambition realized. It was an ironic thought that almost made Scott smile when he thought upon it more.

Eventually, Charles spoke. "I take it you know," Charles said at last, his tone even, though edged with disapproval, "that I disapprove of what you did back there."

Scott didn't answer right away. "…I do."

Charles inclined his head. "And?"

Scott sighed. "And… I apologize for that."

Charles' expression didn't change. "No," he said, "you don't." Scott turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze and Charles sighed, shaking his head. "You're not apologizing because you don't believe you did anything wrong," Charles said simply.

Scott didn't deny it.

Another sigh escaped Charles. "I won't argue with you," Charles continued. "It's too late to change anything and I'm starting to realise…" He turned his gaze forward, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You and I," he said, "will always do what we believe is right, even if we disagree on how to go about it."

Scott remained silent, watching him.

Charles gave a small chuckle as he caught the look on Scott's face. "You look surprised," he observed, his tone amused.

Scott was surprised. He had expected a lecture, an attempt to make him see reason, for Charles to push back against him. But instead, the Professor was relenting? That was so unlike the version Scott knew not only from Cyclops' memories but what Scott had come to learn of Charles himself.

Charles chuckled again, shaking his head. "I must have said something truly shocking for you to look like that." Scott's lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing as Charles turned serious again. "I think I'm beginning to understand," he said, "that what you went through as a child has shaped how you see and approach the world." Scott's fingers curled slightly. "I made a mistake once," Charles continued, his voice quieter now. "I let someone like you continue down their path, unimpeded, when maybe—just maybe—if I had stayed by their side, I could have helped them find a middle ground."

Scott knew exactly who Charles was referring to.

He didn't say it, but he didn't have to.

Even so, Scott didn't react, but he felt the weight of Charles' words.

"I don't believe you're like them," Charles said, his tone gentle, "but even so…" His gaze softened slightly. "I hope to be the angel on your shoulder, so to speak. The world is a dangerous place and maybe your methods may be what Mutants need to survive. But I have seen what happens to those who don't have someone to challenge them, to keep them in check. The path to hell is paved with good intentions as they say. It's my hope and I believe my responsibility to make sure that you don't go too far."

Scott was genuinely caught off guard.

For the first time in a long time, he actually hesitated before responding.

Then, lowering his gaze slightly, he spoke. "…I'm sorry, Professor."

This time, it was genuine.

Charles simply smiled. "I know." The moment passed, and then Charles leaned back slightly. "Now," he said, "tell me—why did you do it?" Scott met his gaze again. "I know you wouldn't have provoked Winston Frost without reason," Charles continued. "So tell me—what was your goal?"

Scott nodded, exhaling slowly. "Winston would never let Emma go with you," he said. "Because to him, she's nothing more than a tool. And right now—she believes that's all she is." Charles' eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already putting the pieces together. "So long as Emma believes that's her place," Scott continued, "she'll never be able to break free from him."

A pause.

Charles' eyes widened slightly in realization. "You wanted to show her," Charles murmured, "that someone can stand up to Winston Frost."

Scott nodded. "To plant the seeds of rebellion in her mind," he confirmed.

Charles let out a small breath, understanding fully now. "That was a dangerous gamble," he said.

Scott gave a slight shrug. "Calculated risk."

Charles hummed thoughtfully, then his expression darkened slightly. "And how," he asked, "do you intend to take responsibility for whatever Winston might do in response?"

Scott leaned his head back slightly against the seat. "Winston needs Emma," he said. "So he won't do anything to her. Not directly."

Charles inclined his head. "But he will try to make an example of you," he said.

Scott nodded. "And he'll make sure Emma sees it," he added.

Charles' frown deepened. "He'll make a demonstration out of it," he murmured.

Scott nodded again. "I suspect a kidnapping or assassination attempt," he said casually. "He'll want me dead or alive—either way, he'll want to bring me back to the Frosts."

Charles exhaled sharply. "You say that like it doesn't concern you," he said, watching Scott carefully.

Scott shrugged. "I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't willing to face the consequences."

Charles shook his head. "I know you would," he muttered, "but I'm worried about the others."

Scott's gaze flickered slightly before he responded. "I planned to speak with Logan," he said. "Have him keep a lookout whenever anyone leaves the mansion."

Charles raised a brow. "And you assume I'll be watching for unfamiliar minds approaching the mansion?"

Scott gave him a knowing look.

Charles sighed.

"You don't deny it either," Scott pointed out.

Charles simply shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "I suppose I don't."