X-Men/Star Wars, AU, Cyclops, he was in the middle of a war and he didn't even know how he got there!

Somewhere along the way, things went wrong. Lilandra had, in an effort of peace between the Shi'ar Empire and X-Men had asked Scott and Jean Grey to accompany them in uncovering the nature of an anomaly. The scientist in Jean hadn’t been able to say no, let alone risk the possibility of adding insult to injury, so Scott had gone along with her. Now, Jean was no where he could find her (and Scott had always, always felt her presence within his mind though she never took when he had offered to share of his mind with her freely) the Shi'ar weren’t answering any communication he tried, and Scott had the sinking feeling he was very, very lost.

And then things went insane. Scott was there as, out of thunder and lightning, something that looked both foreign and familiar peered out of a storm in space. Then ships come from nothing in a blink of light, over and over, and there were names on those ships, Scott read them, saw with his own eyes that they were from Earth, because he recognized the letters and designs and though it was impossible it was somehow happening. Scott couldn’t breathe around the possibilities, around the awe and amazement he felt, and then it went to hell.

That fragile and alien ship plowed into the other vessels with beams of red light like teeth and claws, ripping into what had looked solid and reassuring as if they were paper, and Scott learned one important lesson that day, as he listened to those ships – filled with people – as they fought and screamed and begged, that the appearance of what was alien was deceiving. He’d never trust them again has he had been willing to.

Scott shook and cried, seeing those ships and people murdered, and then there was another ship – and he thought he was going to see it all over again (again and again and when would it ever stop?) – but, no, the alien ship did nothing, but Scott picked up the communication because something’s never changed and the Shi’ar were good scientists and damn good explorers for a reason.

So, Scott learned that murderers name – “Nero”, he was looking for a Vulcan named Spock, and had found him (but not him, this one was too young?) on the ship called Enterprise. And maybe that was enough for now, because Scott was determined that he would die before he let Nero get what he wanted. Scott saw the alien ship launch something into the planet’s atmosphere, dangling there – and when it started up he saw it for what it was under all that alien disguise (because he never wanted to be so fooled again), and maybe in space no one should be able to hear you scream, but Scott had lived and loved a telepath, and when a world cried out, Scott heard it and it broke his heart to hear.

So he risked it, and, yes, maybe he was acting the part of a hero, but it was the right thing to do, taking his ship – barely a dot in the eye compared to what Nero and the Enterprise were, and he hung there beside where the disk became the drilling of a beam, and he took off the glasses that gave him the name of Cyclops and it was enough – more then enough – to save a planet, and those people below, they somehow knew (or so he felt) that they recognized him, what he had done – it was enough. It didn’t end this war that wasn’t his, but it was a start in the right direction. He closed his eyes and put the glasses on, and it was too late to reconsider when he saw his hand dissolving with white lights, Scott thought he was dying, but he was alive and breathing and people were looking at him, with curiosity, with awe, and yes (he wasn’t imagining things) – some of them had pointed ears, and beneath the calm in them was something terrifying, because they were the voices of the world he had saved, and they felt things too deeply for him to name. It was war, he felt and heard, but it was love too – for him, and it was a thin line between the two.

This ended up being darker than I planned
...

He swings through the night, jumping from building to building, his costume shining under the street lamps, making him look like he's been dipped in fresh blood. He can't see the color himself but he can taste the fear it draws forth from those who see it.

He is the avenger, the hero, he has given everything in the war to save Hell's Kitchen and will do it again. People say there is nothing left to save in Hell's kitchen and they might be right, because every night he goes out to fight, he grows just a little more desperate. Still this is his home and he's going to save it, even if saving it means destroying every sinner and washing the streets clean with their blood.

This is from the Movie verse.

Madam Suliman thinks he runs from the war because he is a coward, Sophie thinks its because he's a coward and a pacifist but neither is the real reason.

Of course he doesn't like war or approve of it, but that isn't why he refuses to fight. He refuses to fight because he's good at it, to good. He'll survive no matter who he has to kill or who dies around him and there is nothing worse than standing alone on a battle field while everything and everyone around you burns to ashes.

The boys were running around the bushes and trees in the park with toy guns in their hands and their faces were covered in paint; they were red and blue and yellow.

Heidi sat on a bench and watched them with a content and happy smile on her face.

“Heidi”, Angela exclaimed, “what is that; how are you going to wash that away? Have you forgotten that a photographer is coming over this afternoon? I don’t think Nathan will like having his sons look like that on the photos.”

Heidi looked up on her, and didn’t look worried or apologetic.

“Relax”, she said, “they’re just children, what harm will it do to Nathan’s campaign if they’ve got a little war paint on their faces? And photos can be retouched anyway…”

“Are you serious?”

The younger Mrs. Petrelli laughed her ringing laugh that Angela secretly thought she heard too little of, but this time she thought it was a little out of place.

“No, Angela, don’t worry. It’s not waterproof; it’s just a little war paint for children and it washes off easily. There will be no sign of it in the afternoon.”

“Well, in that case…”

Angela sat down by Heidi’s side on the bench. It was still early, and of course the boys could play with paint and water guns in the park on such a beautiful day.

I guess I should relax more, she thought.

Monty and Simon came up to her – and wisely enough, they didn’t try to give her a hug. She loved them, but didn’t want them too close when they looked like that. She just patted their heads and asked them what they were doing.

“Can’t you see that?” Monty grinned, “Come on, look at us! We’re Cowboys and Indians!”

“We’re Indians from Mars”, Simon added, “we’re alien Indians.”

“But both of you look like war painted Indians”, Angela observed, “I don’t see any cowboys around.”

Her grandsons sighed and looked impatiently at her.

“But we’re playing, we’re pretending that we’re at war with cowboys!”

“Oh, of course!” Angela smiled. “Yes, I understand… I guess you painted yourselves like that, huh? Mommy didn’t help? Good boys…”

With shrill cries, the boys ran off again, and Angela watched them with pleasure for a while. Then she closed her eyes and turned her face upwards and let the sunshine fall on it.

They were sweet boys, reminded her much of Peter at that age. And not any signs of some kind of abilities in either of them.

She hoped it was going to stay that way. She dreaded the thought of a precognition that involved her grandsons. So far it hadn’t happened. Nathan’s daughter had her ability, but maybe Nathan’s sons were going to be spared.

Angela shrieked and rose to her feet in shock as she felt a splash of water on her face.

“Simon!” Heidi exclaimed, and then she turned to her: “Oh, Angela…”

“You…”, she gasped, “you little..!”

“Now you can be the cowboy!”

Simon laughed, but a little hesitatingly, and Monty looked insecure.

So much for ‘sweet boys’, she thought, they’re little monsters…

“Come on, cowboy!” Simon dared, “you can’t catch us, you can’t…!”

She thought about it for a minute. When was the last time she had been involved in any children’s games?

“Oh, really? You think I can’t catch you, little savages?”

Angela turned to Heidi and smiled reassuringly.

“It’s okay; the photographer won’t come until the afternoon… it’s a shame to get grass stains on these clothes, but after all, a little grass has never killed anybody…”

Angela took her shoes off, because she would surely be an easy prey for the Indians from Mars if she tried to run in high heels. And then she was ready to chase her two grandsons across the lawn.

Inspired by OneRepublic's "Come Home"

Conflict was sort of their thing. A day without at least one explosion was a day wasted in their books. A snide remark here, a little bruising of egos, a little bit of push and shove, no give and all take. It had been their thing since they were little, splashing it each other in the bathtub, stealing toys, tattletales and name-calling. It was business as usual.

Justin went to college in Upstate New York. She thought it was just as pretentious and uppity as Justin pretended he was, scoffing at the picturesque brick buildings in the brochures, feeling something a little more desperate in the pit of her stomach.

When he called on the phone, her mother would curl up around it like there was a bubble that just she and her son could live in, like he was back with her for just a minute. Alex would tussle for the phone, wanting to make a smartass comment to her brother just to hear the way he would snort into the receiver, but her mother batted her off, kept her at bay as the phone passed from one set of hands to the other, holding her brother on the phone until he had to go, a class at 3 or a student government meeting at 4, and he hung up before she ever got to speak with him.

The first Thanksgiving, Justin came home right on schedule. They ate a big dinner around the table, like always, and Justin kept kicking her from his seat. He would tap her shins, just enough to make her look up and he would smile shyly over his mashed potatoes and eyelashes and she would smile back. Because that was all part of the competition, see who could get annoyed first, see who would smile longest, make the other one crack first. He went back after three days and Alex found herself rethinking her plan.

The house was emptier without him. She kept expecting to turn around and find him holed up in a corner, textbooks and magical artifacts and wands and intelligence filling up the crevices of the walls. She kept looking for that pair of socks that always ended up in her laundry, for another one of his A+ report cards to get tacked on the fridge and fall off every time she opened the door just to annoy her. Max just didn't fill up the voids like Justin could. She could manipulate him easily, but they generally ignored each other, living lives that were separated from the beginning. There wasn't any conflict between them. They flowed around each other like two siblings should; just two people who grew up together and would someday grow up and away from each other.

The first time Justin didn't come home for a holiday was the summer vacation. He was accepted into a prestigious internship program and he told their mother he'd be home for the last two weeks of summer break before the fall semester started.

He didn't.