Note: This is a totally personal note. Go ahead and skip it if you like: it won't impact the story, but I wanted to take a moment. I started working on this series almost three years ago. A lot has happened since then and I don't know how many hours I've put into this, but it's definitely been a constant and a labor of love and all those other clichés. Being able to share it has been great and I've really appreciated the time you took to read and review. I try to keep to a posting schedule but have sometimes posted a chapter a day early or late because I knew it would be a stressful one and that your reviews would cheer me up. So thank you for that.

Which is not to say that this is the last story in the series (last? Me? Psh!), but it does have events that the series has been building to, which I hope you'll enjoy. Thanks for reading (this note and the stories),
London.

Spring had burst, the greenest green in the grass, bright flowers that popped up overnight. For months it had. It sent weeds into every corner of the garden.

Spring seemed done bursting.

Spring had drunk in all the sunshine it could bear and now the sunshine bounced around, making the world hot and bright.

Scott was pleased.

Well, he was happy in general today. He'd had good news. Plus there was no traffic on the road, so he did not keep to the side but rode his bicycle in the lane like a car. It wasn't as fast as a car, but not for lack of trying.

And spring was over! It was summertime now! It marked the start of three whole months of not hearing Ororo mention the color of a flower, if he was lucky. She never meant any harm by it and Scott wanted to share her enthusiasm. But how great could colors be? He knew they were there, but he barely missed them.

He did miss the gate, though. Lost in thought, he barely noticed it until he passed it by. Thinking a curse, he tried to turn around.

Immediately he knew it had been a mistake.

He was going too fast. The turn was too sharp. The bike slid out from beneath him and Scott hit the ground hard.

He picked himself up carefully. He had taken a few knocks, mostly mild. His side had a raw patch, as did his wrist.

"Great," he grumbled.

The patch on his side would heal. The one on his wrist… Scott had never had parents before. The Professor and Ruth weren't really his parents, but they were close to it, as far as Scott understood parents. He was pretty sure it was his mom who was supposed to worry, though.

Scott righted his bike, let himself in the gate, and pedaled up the driveway.

He remembered the way he used to trudge home, when 'home' was the orphanage. Back then, he didn't have any family. Now he had an all-but-mom who would ask about the injury and accept it. He had a sort-of-dad who would given him that look, like somehow it wasn't Scott who had fallen off his bike.

Scott leaned the bicycle against the wall and approached the front door. It burst open almost as he reached it, spilling out another member of his not-by-blood-family, a hurricane in human form that rambled in a language he did not understand. He was pretty sure this one was not Arabic, but he didn't comment.

Ororo paused and looked at Scott like he had walked into the bathroom while she was on the toilet.

Well, Scott reasoned, not wholly. Ororo was not private about physical things. She certainly looked intruded upon, however.

She looked unhappy now. He tried to think of why. It was summertime! It was such a nice, non-flower-color day. It was promising to be a really, really good day. What could be wrong?

"Or—"

"That helmet looks stupid," she snapped, and stormed off.

"Ororo?" but she didn't even turn around. He shrugged—regretted it, because that jostled his raw side—and headed indoors. "Ruth?" he called. He didn't call loudly, but he called.

"Do you know what a dust storm is?" Ruth asked.

"Of course." He was from Nebraska.

"In the desert—in some deserts—it is not dust. So it is a sand storm. It can strip the paint from a wagon."

Scott grinned. "What's she mad about?"

Ruth gave him an encouraging smile. "Nothing to worry about. Did you enjoy the library?"

No nodded. "It was great!"

She startled dramatically. "Great?"

"Great."

"Ask Hank to take care of that wrist."

"It's only little," Scott insisted.

"This is the first time you have fallen off your bicycle in months. Maybe the man who insisted you wear a helmet would like to know all you have is a scratch on your wrist, hm?"

He hadn't considered it from that perspective, but Ruth was right. Hank lately had been talking a lot about safety precautions. Nobody wore seatbelts in cars, but Hank had even reckless Alex sold on the idea (although that may have been about making Hank stop talking).

Scott headed for Hank's lab by way of the kitchen, where he instinctively reached for a Pop Tart before remembering they weren't allowed to have those anymore. Hank said they were a fire hazard. Scott suspected that was a convenient excuse, since Professor Xavier hated them. He said the cinnamon ones—the best!—were just cookies dressed up.

Scott grabbed an apple instead.

It was gone by the time he reached the lab, seeds and all.

"Hank?"

Scott knocked, then made his way inside.

Hank, giant and furry and blue (or so Scott had been told), dangled upside down. That wasn't uncommon. He was doing something science-like with tiny things that took magnifying glasses to see. Hank had rigged up a pair of literal magnifying glasses, ones worn like any other sort of glasses.

He slipped them off, set them down, then hurled himself off and flipped around. It wasn't about anything new, but Scott still grinned when Hank landed lightly on his feet.

"I fell off my bike," Scott announced. "Banged my wrist, but my head's completely… completely…" He pretended he could not recall the word.

Hank bounced around his lab to put a basketball to shame, quite literally off the walls. There were simpler ways to collect antiseptic and a bandage, but this one was more fun.

"Hank, if I, um, needed a bit more of that," Scott began, awkward rather than affecting brain damage, "could I…?"

"Keep a secret from a telepath?" Hank supplied.

Scott sighed and closed the door. All the modesty Ororo lacked, Scott made up for. He didn't like other people seeing the scars on his body. But Hank was the closest thing to a doctor and Scott beyond clumsy.

So Hank fixed the broken patches on Scott's side and his wrist.

"Have you been here all morning?"

"Well, it would be my first time leaving the house in years," Hank said.

"We both know that's not tr—ah!"

Scott had been taught not to cry out in pain. He responded, however, as ever with a noise like a puppy that stepped on a tack.

"Hydrogen peroxide kills healthy cells as well as bacteria," Hank explained. "Unfortunately, it's quite true that this pain will be useful to you."

Scott sighed. "Have you seen Alex today?"

"No," Hank said, honestly, "but I've been in the lab. He doesn't like to visit."

Scott nodded.

"He's doing better, Scott."

"I know."

They got to talking about The Silmarillion, and there was a conversation that could last for years. Scott wasn't having the easiest time with it, but he was determined. Naturally, Hank had read the whole thing half a dozen times and could recite long passages from memory

They could have talked for years about the book.

As it was, they only needed about half an hour. Then Scott looked at the clock and swore.

"I'm late!"

He bolted.

Sometimes, the place seemed tiny for a mansion. Only so much of it was in use, just enough for everyone to trip over one another. Going from Hank's laboratory to Professor Xavier's study, however, was about the farthest anyone could go without needing to use the stairs.

Scott was already late. He ran anyway, at the least to be less than very late, and tumbled into the study half-babbling, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention—I know I was supposed to be here earlier."

Charles Xavier's school had survived its first year, more or less. Still, he could not say he had years of experience with teenagers—only with this teenager. Scott took 'well-meaning' to a new level.

"Have a seat, Scott."

He did, still looking a touch of anxious.

"Now, I realize it's summertime, but I thought we might use this opportunity to advance your studies."

Scott knew a euphemism when he heard one.

The Professor picked up a textbook and held it out to Scott, who probably would have run screaming if he saw a way to get away with it. Instead he reached for the book.

Professor Xavier caught his hand. "What's this?"

Scott had almost forgotten about the scrape. Even to him the fresh bandage stood out.

"It's nothing. I just—I fell. On my bike."

"You really must be more careful."

He nodded. "I will. It was just a mistake—one-time thing. I promise." And then Scott asked for something he had never in his life expected to want: "Can I see the math book?"

Then, "Geometry?"

He opened the book and leafed through a few pages. Surprise and confusion registered on his face.

"I don't… I can't…"

"It's all right. I know you can't solve any of those problems yet. We'll work toward it this summer."

Scott couldn't argue. He and math were not friends, but after two years and a good deal of help, he had (just barely) scraped a C in algebra. Getting an early start with geometry, which looked even more complicated, was a good idea.

Charles must have read the glumness in his expression, because he added, "It won't be your whole summer. An hour or two in the morning. You'll still have free time."

It wasn't just the math, of course. Scott wasn't a full-time student that summer, but he was a full-time mutant. There would be training in the use of his powers, and martial arts with Ruth. If they could drag Alex into it, perhaps there would be experiments with Hank, who was fascinated by Alex and Scott's similar powers and immunity.

"Could we maybe do math in the afternoons?" Scott asked. "Or, um, whenever you have the time. If mornings work best for you, of course—"

"Afternoons are fine, Scott. Do try not to sleep until noon every day, but it's your holiday, too."

"It's not that. I—if it's okay with you and Ruth—Mae said I could help out in the library sometimes. And I'd like to. If I may."

"Yes, of course. I would never keep you from the library."

Scott bowed his head because he couldn't keep from grinning. "Except when I'm grounded."

"Well I might try!" Charles retorted. "Since you're here now, let's begin with chapter one…"

Ororo's summer was off to a rather less stellar start and she wasn't sure why.

She was a good student.

She passed all her classes.

When she was given her summer assignment, she said as much. "I've never read so many books in my life!" she objected, ignoring that it was only in the past year that she had learned to read at all. "I've never even seen so many books in my life."

"You do not have to read all of them," Charles replied, "only three."

"Then why are there so many on the list?"

"You may select whichever three you like."

She wrinkled her nose at the idea. She didn't like homework, but this was just… weird.

Within a week, she was twenty pages into Dracula. Scott said there were monsters in this book. So far there were just thick, plodding chunks of text. She was definitely reading Little Men next—the book he said she would not like.

She was not liking Dracula either.

"Can I stop reading now?" she asked.

"This depends, you have read ten pages?" Ruth replied. She sat in the shade beside Ororo, enjoying the warm day—and enjoying avoiding it for the cool shade. As soon as Ororo finished her reading, they could go back to the garden.

The garden quickly became Ororo's favorite part of the school. Hank had his lab, Professor Xavier had his study, Alex had the garage and a skunk-smelling tin in his sock drawer… and Ororo had this.

It was enough to slog through another couple pages.

"Now can—"

"Sh!"

Ruth tilted her head, listening. Then she leapt to her feet. "Something is coming."

"What?" Ororo asked.

Before Ruth could answer, Ororo heard it: a whining roar, coming nearer along with a growing dot in the sky. As it approached the dot started to look like a plane, though not a plane either of them had ever seen.

Ororo stood and shifted closer to Ruth, who wrapped an arm around her.

That didn't comfort Ororo much, because close to Ruth, Ororo felt the woman's racing pulse. Not much frightened Ruth.

"Nothing will happen to you," Ruth murmured determinedly.

Ororo wanted to believe her.

The plane grew closer. Bigger. And Ororo couldn't stop the feeling that her heart was trying to outdo the speed with which the ship approached.

She didn't expect the ship to keep coming nearer and nearer. That only happened in nightmares. What were the chances, after all?

But it came closer and closer until it crashed on the lawn.

"Inside," Ruth whispered.

Ororo stared at the half-buried ship. It left a long, broad scar in its wake. She had never seen anything like that. The metal was like copper and milk, dull and bright at once.

"Inside!"

When Ororo raced to the front door, though, she found the others spilling out of it. Some of them looked scared, but none so much as Ororo and Ruth. Ororo gave Scott a filthy look—she wasn't sure why she was annoyed with him, but she was—but slipped beside him all the same.

Only Hank looked wholly fascinated as the ship shifted and a panel slid open.

Anything could have stepped out of that ship. It might have been friendly or hostile, corporeal or gaseous, any shape or size or color… but it looked like a man.

Ororo sighed, relieved.

Beside her, Scott had gone rigid. "Someone find Alex," he rasped.

"Why?" Professor Xavier asked. "Scott, what is it?"

"That's his father."