A/N: this story is set way before the first X-Men movie. Scott and Jean are around fifteen, Ororo's a year or two younger, Sean/Banshee is a year or two older, and Alex/Havoc is Sean's age. I know that in the comics Alex is Scott's younger brother, but because I just can't see Scott as having a younger brother (and who the hell knows what happened in the movies concerning those two), for the sake of this fic, Scott is Alex's younger brother. Also, I'm ignoring X men: First Class entirely.
Charles Xavier had had a long day. Starting a school, especially a school for mutants, had proven to be much harder than expected. And it was expected to be pretty challenging.
That day alone he had introduced two families with mutant children to the school, and while one had been pleased, the other looked on the brink of a nervous breakdown when he had shown them out. He had been forced to seek out Sean again to ask why he hadn't been at Mr. Englehard's History class that morning and when presented with the same answer (he had overslept— again), he had been forced to assign Alex to wake Sean up every morning in time for class. Neither of the boys were thrilled.
Matters had only gotten worse when Ororo had properly lost control of her abilities during a practice session, and whipped the already cloudy December day into a proper blizzard. It was still howling outside and Miss Petra, one of two female teachers Charles had hired thus far, had taken a tearful Ororo to bed hours ago.
To cap off the disasters of the day Alex, in a bad mood, had started firing insults at his younger brother, Scott, as soon as he had entered the kitchen. Scott had responded with a barrage of ariel cutlery, prompting to be too much for Charles' worn mind. A room had never gone silent so quickly.
Now, though, it was almost over. The children were in bed and had been for hours (with the exception of Alex and Sean, who were older than the rest and probably ignored curfew more often than Charles could admit to being aware of). The staff that didn't live at the mansion had set out for their residences, and Charles had decided to venture to his bedroom on the early side, which was still rather late in the grand scheme of things.
He wasn't sure exactly how he ended up near the library. It wasn't exactly collinear with the kitchen and his room. Perhaps he had intended to force Hank out of his lab and forgotten en route; maybe he had thought of something else to do in the west wing. Whatever the reason was, Charles ended up outside the library, unplanned, and was just close enough to hear the voices.
He was usually a very perceptive man, but exhaustion had dulled his senses. He had completely bypassed the sliver of light that glowed from under the door of the library, which should have been vacant. It was the noises that made him turn back.
"I swear to God, there's no land bridge from Australia to Argentina, there never has been…"
There was a babble of talk before the same clear voice rose up from the clamor.
"See, all of the land bridges have the dotted lines! No one plays with Argentina/Australia, that's just stupid."
Alex. It was Alex. Charles sighed to himself and wheeled as close to the door as he could manage. Being half-paralyzed made opening doors frustratingly difficult. The knowledge that he would have to brace himself for such a simple task repulsed him. He had refused Hank's offer to make the doors automated, which he had never seen before but knew Hank could probably work out. He was crippled, yes, but he didn't have to accept it.
Charles opened the door as quietly as possible and stuck the right wheel of his chair in it to prop it open. He could only glimpse a sliver of the room beyond, but it was just enough.
Someone had set a fire in the fireplace. The furniture on the antique yellowish-green rug Charles abhorred had been pushed aside. Someone had raided the pantry for coco and crackers, which lay about in mugs and on plates between the rule-breakers. The five of them were settled around a cardboard sheet covered in colorful wooden pieces, facing toward each other and looking perfectly content.
Ororo, who had been so upset earlier, was lying peacefully on the floor in front of the fireplace grate. Jean was sitting next to her, sipping her drink slowly. Scott was next to Jean with his back to the professor, but the red-lensed glasses gave him away. He was offering Jean something Charles couldn't make out. To Scott's left was his older brother, Alex, who was engaged in a heated discussion with the last member of their group, Sean.
"Of course you can attack Argentina from Australia, otherwise Australia's useless."
"Eastern Australia, maybe, but not Western Australia."
"Either Australia, that's why it's called the Australia/Argentina land bridge."
"No such thing."
"Let's take a vote. All in favor of an Australia/Argentina?"
Only Sean raised his hand. Jean shrugged and Scott bent over to retrieve something.
The older boy huffed and scowled at Alex. "Ororo's with me, she's just asleep."
"Am not," the littlest of the group called out.
"No land bridge."
"If you can attack North Africa from Brazil, you can attack Argentina from Australia."
"No land bridge!"
"Fine." The sound of dice thudding against the rug echoed loudly.
"Where are you even attacking?"
"Ontario! Scott, that's you!"
"Oh come on, man, really?"
"Yeah, get off my continent. Ontario from Northwest Territory. Get up and fight like a man."
Jean laughed quietly. Charles could help smiling to himself as Scott grumbled and picked up the white dice. He had quite forgotten he owned Risk. He wondered what else the kids might find in the attic, and if he should get the teachers to scour it first. Any attempt to make the top floor off limits, he knew, would be met with more illegal trips.
Speaking of illegal.
Charles considered shoving open the door to the library and announcing his presence, dissolving their gathering and confiscating the game. He had had a long day. Some part of him wanted to take it out on somebody. Then he paused. Classes had been put on hold for the next week to accommodate a version of Winter Holiday. There weren't classes tomorrow morning, meaning that while the children had broken curfew, they weren't doing any real harm to themselves or their peers.
Three or so hours ago, Ororo had been sobbing, Scott and Alex yelling at each other, and other students intimidated into staying away from them. Now they were relaxing in the library, in a winter storm, drinking coco and making peace through the Game of World Domination. Charles had the strong urge to simply leave them be.
Nevertheless- he wasn't thrilled about food in the library, and was even less thrilled about hot chocolate on the rug. No matter how much he hated that rug, it was vintage from a number of decades ago, and a large brown patch wouldn't complement the already horrid color.
"No fair, the dice was cock-eyed."
"Die."
"Love you too, Jean."
"Ha! I keep Ontario!"
"Shut up, Scott. Ororo, alliance?"
"Oh, for God's sake…"
Charles cleared his throat from the doorway.
Heads whipped up and no one moved. Scott and Jean looked instinctively guilty. Sean and Alex gazed up with arrogant 'you can't touch me, I'm not a kid' expressions. Ororo had hidden behind the sofa. All of them were waiting, waiting to be punished. For the game, for breaking curfew, for the food.
"If you're going to be in the library after hours, the rules still apply. Please use the coffee table it you're going to bring drinks in."
They stared at him in utter disbelief. Ororo's head popped up from behind the sofa, confused. Alex and Scott exchanged a glance. Was this the professor? The English, rule-adhering professor who had just interrupted them? And had not terminated their game? Was actually allowing them to continue?
"If you spill anything on my rug, all of you will be spending the rest of Winter Holiday indoors, understand? And if I ever catch you breaking curfew again…" Charles glared at them. "I will not be so lenient."
This statement was acknowledge by five synchronized nods.
"Very good," Charles said. He began to wheel himself out of the door before remembering. "And Sean? There's no land bridge from Australia to Argentina."
There was a triumphant whoop from the library, and that was the last Charles heard before wheeling himself toward the elevator.