xmen1a X-MEN 1970:

The Professor and His Pupil

by DarkMark

FOREWORD: This is the first of a new series of stories. It branches off from Canon, with its starting point being just after the last original issue of the first series of X-MEN, #66, in 1970. The Angel trilogy in KA-ZAR (first series) #1 and 2 and MARVEL TALES #30 also take place just before this story. I'd been toying with the idea of this one for awhile, but credit Indigo and Frito for giving me a final push.

End of foreword. Word begins...

-X-

The Prof was still in bed, and eating steak and fried eggs from a tray. Mrs. Johnson came in to fix meals for them three times a day, though sometimes they called to tell her not to come. On those days, Jeannie fixed the meals for them. She wasn't bad. A long time ago, she had improved to edible.

Scott didn't want to disturb him. But he damned well had to.

He stood outside the half-open door in his slacks and short-sleeved shirt, the impenetrable sunglasses perched on his face. The Prof had improved the design of these glasses, with their ruby quartz inner surface. Just another bit of his life he owed to the Prof.

He owed quite a bit of it to the Prof, actually.

The Prof owed all of his to Scott, and to the team, as well. Not long ago, he'd come back to them, after years of them thinking him dead. All because of that alien invasion he'd needed "time to prepare for". Well, he'd prepared for it, all right. He'd prepared for it by abandoning them, letting somebody die in disguise in his place, and then, after they'd operated on their own for two years, making a surprise entrance and taking charge again.

During that incident, the Prof had almost died from mental overstrain. The team had to go to great lengths to save his life. Great lengths meant going to Vegas, fighting the Hulk, and bringing back a device that brought the Prof back from the brink.

That was some weeks ago. In between then and now, Warren's dad had been murdered. Warren had taken care of the guy who did it. The team wanted to come see him and pay their condolences. Warren thanked them, but said he wanted to be alone for awhile, with his mother. They respected that.

Now the rest of the team had talked things over with Scott. He'd talked it over with them, too. It all led to him standing here outside the door of the Prof's bedroom and feeling somewhat like he had when the Prof had called him on the carpet over a lousy exam paper, when he'd first come to the Mansion.

He had to go in sometime.

"Come in, Scott," said Professor Xavier.

Scott Summers let out a long breath and poked his head around the door. "You were reading my mnd, Professor?"

"I didn't have to. I can usually tell when one of you is outside my door. Have you had breakfast?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, I did. Thanks for asking, Professor." Scott cleared his throat. "Uh, Professor...please don't read my mind right now."

The Prof gestured with a piece of toast toward a seat facing his bed. As Scott sat down, the Prof fixed him with a gaze. "Do you think I'd be as discourteous as that?"

Scott put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs out before him. "I doubt it, sir. No. I just...wanted to make sure."

"Would I go through your desk drawers or your personal papers without permission, Scott? No? Agreed. Then why do you think I would sift through your thoughts without cause?"

Scott didn't say anything.

"Privacy is an inalienable right," said Xavier. "Only violate it when there is no other choice." He spooned a bit of marmalade on the toast and ate it. Like Scott, he waited.

"Professor, you left us without warning. For two years," Scott said, looking up at the Prof to get his reaction.

The Prof folded his arms. "Yes, Scott. Two very lonely years. Mostly, I worked by myself at that time. It was important that the Z'Nox not know we knew of their existence. They might have learned of the plan. They might have prepared."

Scott nodded. He hated talking to the old man like this. My God, he loved him. Loved him like a...well, like a parent. A very demanding parent. A very cold parent. In loco parentis, wasn't that the phrase used of a school's role in a student's life? In place of a parent. It fit here.

But there were things you had to go through with parents. Even surrogate ones, like the Prof.

"It hurt, Professor. It hurt us badly to think you were dead, and then find out you weren't." Scott let it hang in the air, and did not turn his eyes from Xavier.

Xavier slid the tray table aside from the bed. "I know it did, Scott. But you know why I had to do it."

"I know why you think you had to do it."

"You know why I had to do it," repeated Xavier.

The old man wasn't giving any more than he had to. How could Scott make him understand?

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

Xavier opened his palm upward. "You've been here longest of all my pupils, Scott. Of anyone I know, you have the most right to ask. Anything."

Scott grasped his right knee with both hands, pulling his leg idly towards his chest. "Well, your father. You told us that your father died a long time ago, in a test blast at Alamagordo. Up in a big nuclear explosion. Vaporized, you said."

The bald man's eyes grew harder. Silently, he nodded.

"Now suppose--just suppose, Professor--that, two years after that, when you and your mother were living with Dr. Marko and Cain, somebody'd rung your doorbell and you went and answered it, or somebody did, I don't know, and there, standing in your doorway, was--" He paused.

Xavier made him say it. "Your father," finished Scott.

Xavier folded his hands before his chest. "I understand what you're saying, Scott. But you must understand--"

"How would you feel, Professor?" Scott overrode his words. "Please. Tell me."

"I would," began Xavier, "I would feel, quite discomfited. Does that make you feel somewhat better, Scott?"

Scott wanted to massage his temples, sure as hell that a tension headache was coming on. But he wouldn't do it. Too much of a "tell". Talking with the Prof was, indeed, a lot like playing poker.

"Would you feel that you had been betrayed?"

Xavier's expression hardened again. He looked somewhat like he had when the team had first jelled, when Bobby, Hank, and Warren had arrived and he put them all through an unending battery of tests. Those deadly, deadly tests.

"Let us add another factor to the story," said the Prof, quite clearly. "Let us say that my father came back home. He told me that his faux death and his abscence from home was a grave necessity. That he had to do so in order to prevent the Communists from gaining vital nuclear secrets. That what he had to do stabbed at his heart as much as his 'death' stabbed at mine and my mothers. But, in the end, he saw what he had to do, did it, and prayed they would forgive him. That, Scott, is much nearer the mark of what happened. We both know it."

Scott stood up, because he felt he had to, and paced the floor a bit. Dammit, he could not let Xavier run this conversation. There was so much to be said. As usual, the others had sent him to say it. The buck stops with the guy in the cheaters.

"Say that you did forgive him, Professor. Would you still feel betrayed?"

"Scott. Get to the point--"

"Would you feel betrayed?" Scott Summers was standing still. He was surprised to find he had almost shouted. So was Xavier. And after a second of surprise, the Prof's face showed--there was no mistaking it--a hint of cold anger.

"That might be an initial reaction, yes," said Xavier. "But it would be overridden by the more logical viewpoint of--"

"I'm not talking logic, Professor."

"--of the necessity of what he had done," said Xavier, his voice rising to override Scott's. "There shall be no further discussion of that point. Am I clear, Scott?"

Scott looked at him, then away. "No, Professor, you're not clear."

"I have already awarded you several demerits, Scott," said Xavier. "Just for going this far. Do not forget who is in authority in this house."

Looking straight at him, Scott sunk his hands in his pockets and plowed on. "I've never forgotten. I just think you have. Who in blazes do you think's been running this operation ever since you've been gone?"

"And whose money have you been running it with, Scott?" retorted Xavier. "Your own? Warren's? The money sunk into my trust fund was what allowed you and the others to continue operations in my abscence."

Scott sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Professor, I've got a lot I need to say."

"Apparently you thought this was to be a one-sided conversation," said the Professor. "I will not play the role which you have written for me in your mind, Scott."

"Then, Professor--" Scott gestured emptily with one hand. "Then, Professor, how can you expect us to play the role you've written for us?"

"Touche`," said Xavier, quietly.

After a second or two, the Professor said, "If that is all, Scott, perhaps you can fetch my wheelchair. A session of training exercises is scheduled for this morning. I wish to see how the team has improved, or if it has, in my abscence."

"Professor. I cancelled the training exercises."

Xavier stared at him.

"We're leaving the school, Professor," said Scott, as gently as possible, but firmly. "The four of us. Bobby, Jean, Hank, and me. I haven't sounded out Warren on the matter, but I think he'll go with us."

"I see," said Xavier.

"Are you sure, Professor?" said Scott. "Are you sure that you see?"

Xavier leaned forward in the bed a notch. "Tell me about it."

"Sure you wouldn't rather read my mind?"

"Don't even joke about that, Scott."

Scott sat down, fooled with the class ring on his finger. "I don't know. I--well, for me, Professor, maybe for some or all of the rest, but maybe for me--"

"Scott--"

"--it goes back to the time of your 'death'. We fought the Juggernaut. Then we were told by Amos Duncan, the FBI liason, that the government wanted us to split up into separate teams and cover more of the country. They thought we could find more mutants, either threats or allies, if we weren't just living in New York. You know about this, right?"

Xavier said, "Yes. I was kept generally appraised of your activities, through backchannels. You performed exceedingly well."

"Glad to hear it," Scott replied. "Anyway, initially, it hurt like hell. Almost as bad as, well, losing you. We'd been a unit for over five years by then. We'd lived with each other, fought beside each other, fought with each other, gone through things normal humans will never see in a lifetime. We were as close as an army unit, maybe more so. We hadn't called any place home, other than the Mansion, for all that time. Then we had to get out. And we were scared."

Xavier nodded, again. "Senioritis, Scott. All students develop a case of it in their last year."

"Did you?"

"Oh, yes. Senioritis in high school, college, graduate school. But I concealed it well. I believe I did, anyway."

"Oh. Well, we had it." Scott smiled, briefly. "Never saw a sadder bunch of faces then I did that day, when we were all walking to our cars and saying goodbye. We wondered how we could make it on the real world. But, you know, we went out there--and we did it. For nine weeks, we did it. On our own. We found jobs. We started to make lives for ourselves. We did it, Professor."

Xavier studied Scott's expression. He was smiling. Still nervously fiddling with his class ring, it was true, but--smiling.

"I'd done well enough in journalism and political science studies here," continued Scott. "So I tried for an internship with a radio station. WLIS. They wanted somebody to cover City Hall. I went up there and stuck a bunch of nervous tension in my back pocket and tried out for it. And I got it. Did the job pretty well, too, for a beginner. Dammit, Professor, they liked my sound! They liked the way I did the stories, too."

"You always did have a notable voice, Scott," said Xavier. "I did think that, if you chose, you could make a career in broadcasting."

"Yeah," said Scott. "It was, well, being among real people. From Outside The Mansion. I really enjoyed it. Talking to the mayor, the city councilmen, cops, firemen, striking garbage workers and all that. I was in line to be promoted to permanent employee.

"Jeannie, she was doing really well for herself, too. She took a job at one of the modelling agencies in New York, so we could be together. Had somebody shoot some sample shots of her in different clothes, didn't let me see the bikini shots at first. But those were what got her the first break. Did a whole spread of swimsuit shots for a women's mag. She was getting offers from places left and right, after that. Not just for photos, either. But I played jealous boyfriend to keep that last category away. Not that she would have gone for it, anyway. We fought Quasimodo while we were doing that. Bobby and Hank, well, they went to California and tried to work up a daredevil act as skydivers. Lucky for them it was over so soon. Warren went home and tried to get interested in running part of his dad's business. That was how we spent the nine weeks. You know all this, right?"

"A good deal of it, Scott," said Xavier. "And then?"

"You know what happened," said Scott. "The business with Mesmero and the mutant city. The thing where we met Lorna. We had to get back together. It took some time for us to wrap that one up. Once we did, well...the old feelings trapped us. We didn't want to be apart again. So we reformed the team."

"Were you fired from your job at the radio station?"

"I figure I would have been if I hadn't quit," said Scott. "If you take off two weeks after just two months on the job, the management takes a dim view of your reliability. Told 'em I'd gotten a better offer from upstate, and they were grateful I gave 'em the out. Jean--well, she told the modelling agency she was getting out of the business, that she didn't want to show off her body to make a living anymore. They tried to convince her that loads of girls would kill to have a body like hers, or to get a chance to make money by showing it off in a bikini. They tried to get her to accept modelling assignments that weren't for bathing suits. And Jean really doesn't feel bad about her body, or showing it off. But she faked it all, so she could come back to the team."

Xavier saw the regret on Scott's face. Perhaps, he thought, it would have been more convienient if I had died, after the Z'nox incident. For everyone but me.

"Hank and Bobby were glad to come back, and so was Warren. Jean and I were conflicted. I guess that's the best word for it. Sure, we liked being with the others. But we were starting to make it on our own, in the real world. And that, Professor, is an experience that nothing in school can compare to."

"Independence, Scott."

Scott said nothing.

"I tried to prepare you for it," said Xavier. "Though you may not believe it, because of the way in which I did it."

A slight pulse beat in Scott's brow. "I think I know what you're talking about. The first time you did it was when you told us you'd lost your powers from a bomb blast."

"Yes," said Xavier.

"We went out and fought off Magneto and his bunch in that satellite, thinking we were on our own, thinking you didn't have any powers anymore. But you were faking it."

"I was," said Xavier. "It was your graduation exercise."

"You lied to us," said Scott.

"I suppose that I did," said Xavier. "I had to see how well you could operate without me. You performed excellently."

Scott wet his lips. "How many other times have you lied to us, Professor?"

Xavier's stern look returned. "As far as I can tell, none," he said. "That time, and during the Z'Nox incident. I was not one of you, Scott. I was a master, not a student."

Scott said, "You were like us a lot more than you think, Professor. A lot more."

"Scott." Xavier tented his fingers. "Do you recall how we first met?"

"You have to ask?" said Scott.

Xavier relaxed back against the raised head of his bed and looked at the ceiling. "You had become a hunted man after using your eye-beams to destroy a falling girder that threatened a crowd. They should have treated you as a hero. They did treat you as a monster."

Scott shook his head, wearily.

"You went on the run, a quite scared and lonely 16-year-old boy. You were assaulted in a hobo jungle, managed to break free when they unwisely snatched your glasses away. Then you fell in with another mutant, one not so benign as myself. Your personal Fagin."

"Jack O'Diamonds," said Scott. "I remember."

"You also recall how I got you out of that incident, brought you here to this school," said Xavier. "I shall never forget how you looked that day, walking through the front doors in that suit I'd newly bought for you, still a bit banged-up and weary, to be sure, but..." Xavier's voice trailed off for a moment. "For a moment there, I believe you felt yourself something of a lost prince, seeing his castle for the first time."

Scott chuckled. "Something like that. Going from an orphanage to a hobo jungle to seeing how the other half lived, all in a week. I was lucky the last part worked out."

"So was I, Scott," said Xavier. "You were green, coltish, walking on untried legs, so to speak. But you wanted to please me. You wanted to learn how to become a person of worth. Even if that entailed putting on the black-and-yellow uniform of my school."

"Yep," said Scott. "Damned if I knew what I was supposed to do, once I had it on. When the blast came out of the visor for the first time, instead of out from behind my glasses when I took 'em off, it even scared me. It was different, channelled. You did a helluva job with the design, Prof."

"Thank you," Xavier responded. "Do you remember the rest of the early days, Scott?"

Summers rubbed the back of his neck. "All of them. You staying on my back till I cracked my books and got good enough grades on the tests you gave me. Those plans you showed me for the Danger Room, setting that thing up with all that stuff you had Duncan's boys buy for us. Getting used to that crazy costume. Heck, the Fantastic Four had only been around for a year or so when I got the thing."

"What else?"

"Oh, the time we went out, got Bobby recruited, and I almost got lynched. Then Bobby and I tracking down Warren, getting in a brawl with him, and getting him signed up. Then all of us saving Hank and his parents from that nutjob in a Spanish explorer's getup. And yeah, I really remember the day Jeannie showed up."

Xavier smiled, briefly.

"The first girl to ever show up at the Mansion," said Scott. "Looked like something off of a movie poster. Kind of put up that haughty-snotty front at first, and that smooch Hank tried to steal from her didn't help things, I can tell you." He laughed. "She raised him right up to the ceiling and bonked his head on it. Oh, we were cracking up big time, Prof, I'll never forget that one. But you weren't laughing."

"I was, inwardly," said Xavier. "Remember: I was the master."

"Yeah," said Scott. "So you were."

"Do you remember what happened later that week?"

"Sure as hell do, Prof," said Scott. "Sure as hell do. Magneto."

"Your first assignment as a team was to oust him from Cape Citadel, which he had taken by force," said Xavier. "I had known Magneto's deadliness for some time previous to that. It was not an easy thing to send you against him. I sent a band of teenagers against one of the deadliest villains of our time."

"We beat him," said Scott.

"Yes. You beat him. Time after time. Even in my abscence, you beat him. Twice."

"What would you have done if one of us had died on that mission, Professor?"

Xavier said, "I would have contacted the parents of that student, told them what we were really doing, told them in what manner the student died, sworn them to secrecy, and overseen the cost of the funeral myself. Then the rest of us would carry on."

"What if they wouldn't agree to keep the secret?"

"I would have substituted a faked memory and erased what I had told them."

"Okay."

"I have never done that with you or the others."

"I hope not."

Xavier smiled a bit more. "Scott," he said.

Summers looked up.

"Now that we've had this talk, I'd like to advise you to take several days off, make that two weeks, with the others. When you get back--"

"No, Professor!"

Xavier said, "You don't know what you're saying, Scott. You don't know what you're getting into. The world out there still needs the X-Men. It doesn't trust mutants any more now than it did when we were just starting."

Scott fixed him with a gaze. "Then maybe it never will. But we can't keep on living in an upscale monastery because it doesn't, Professor."

"You can't turn your back on all your life, Scott," said Xavier. "Believe me, I know."

"Professor--don't you know that's what you've been asking us to do for all the time we've been with you? You--"

Xavier tried to say something, then gave it up.

"--You prepared us to be a team," said Scott. "You made us into super-heroes, into X-Men, for--and--well, we're grateful to you for it. We love you for it. Hell, you were my, my father for five years, Prof."

"For five years, and more," he said, "I was father to all of you."

"And you did a good job," Scott continued. "I can't say you were perfect, but no dad is. And I needed that. I'm the only orphan here, Prof. But there's something fathers don't like to face."

Xavier waited.

"That's the fact that their children have to go away," said Scott.

After a pause, Scott spoke again. "You spoke about the world needing the X-Men. But it works both ways, Prof. The X-Men need the world, too. We need to be part of it, as, well, Scott and Jeannie and Bobby and Hank and Warren, not just as Cyclops and Marvel Girl and Beast and Iceman and, and Angel. We've been a team so long, we've forgotten how to be individuals. The other three are even scared to date too seriously, and you know why? It's because they're afraid that, if they got married, they'd have to leave the group."

"I know what love is like, Scott," said Xavier. "Though my time was before we ever met, long before...oh, yes. I know what it is like."

Scott looked at Xavier, thought of asking half a dozen questions, then put them aside. "We talked it over last night, Professor. You coming back the way you did helped us realize what's happened to us. We built our own prison. Now, we want to leave."

"This was never a prison, Scott. It was a school. A refuge."

"That can be the deadliest prison of all, Professor. The kind you don't want to leave."

Xavier looked at his useless legs beneath the covers.

Finally, he said, "Do all the others concur with your judgment on this?"

"I already told you they did. All except for Warren. His decision will be his own."

Xavier looked up at Scott, and, for once, his expression was sympathetic. "Then, perhaps, you will not begrudge me sharing a few thoughts of my own."

"At first, I was insecure myself about the role I played here," said Xavier. "Do you think, because I never showed it, that I lacked such feelings? I assure you, I learned to cover my feelings in my early years. Especially when, by sixth grade, my classmates were able to call me 'skinhead'. Or when my father died, and my mother, and my stepfather, as evil as he was. Or when I had to spend those years with my stepbrother Cain. Experiences such as those...you learn to hide things, Scott. You have to.

"With you, I had to play the role of instructor, master, trainer, and, yes, parent. I placed myself at a bit of distance from you all, emotionally, because the teacher must be a tyrant to some degree, as must the parent. Authority. As you know from your own post of leadership, Scott, it can be a lead bag between the shoulders at times."

"I know," Scott responded.

"I worried many of those early days whether or not I was doing the right thing for you, if I should not send you back to another orphanage to give you a chance at entering the 'real world' with a buried secret. But I saw you change, Scott. As grim as you were in those days--and you still carry a good deal of that about with you--I saw you become a youth with pride. When you went to recruit young Drake, wearing the uniform in public for the first time, you were still a bit unsure, but you performed. With a bit of help from myself, of course. And then, as we have noted, the gatherings of Warren, Hank, and finally Jean, in each of which case you performed a bit more effectively. As frightened as you were of that weapon you carry between your brow and your nose, you were learning to use it with greater proficiency. Like a lawman with his gun--and that is no idle analogy.

"I recall the second instance in which the entire team participated, the Vanisher case. For once, I had to step from behind the curtains, and face the foe myself. I was angered at him, yes, angered for what he had done to you. It gave me great pleasure to regress his mind, as temporary as it proved to be. Then, all the other times the X-Men proved themselves...all the encounters with Magneto and his Brotherhood, the time in which I was mentally dominated by the Puppet Master, you were forced to fight the Fantastic Four, and the Beast turned the tide of battle...the time in which I guided you in disarming the bomb of Lucifer, which would have destroyed the world..." Xavier shook his head. "What a yearbook our class could have produced, eh?"

Scott saw a twinkle in his mentor's eyes and decided that it was almost a first. "Yeah, Prof," he said, smiling. "I guess we could've had a really interesting volume. 'Bobby, with Awesome Android. (The Android is the one on the ground.)'"

Xavier laughed. Short, and sharp. But he laughed. Scott snorted, himself.

"Then came the time that I was abducted by Factor Three, along with the Banshee," said Xavier. "I spent months in their hands. You rallied the others to come to my aid, you and the team rescued us both, and, in the end, even our enemies joined with us to defeat the real foe. That, Scott, is one of my finest memories."

"Oh, yes," said Scott. "And I still remember what you said afterwards...that we should remember the day when there were no good mutants, nor evil mutants, just a band of men united against a common foe. I think Unus, the Blob, Mastermind, and Vanisher forgot it...but I didn't."

"Nor have I," said Xavier. "Do you think that, if properly approached, they might have joined us?"

Scott looked shocked. "Oh, come on now, Professor. You're not suggesting that we go after them with a recruiting pahmplet, now, are you?"

Xavier looked thoughtful. "The second grouping of Avengers was made up of Captain America and three ex-super-villains. Two of them, former members of Magneto's band."

"Yeah, but we all agreed from the first time we met them that Pietro and Wanda didn't act like they belonged in that bunch."

"They were lucky enough to break away," said Xavier. "If others were given the opportunity--"

"They'd use it to break your neck," Scott answered. "Don't do it, Prof. Please."

Xavier switched the subject. "I wanted to get to the point which I was trying to make, Scott, but it got lost there in the tide of reminescence. Very well, then. What I was trying to say is that, as you learned, I learned with you. I learned a step ahead of you, usually, but that was all it took. I learned about handling students. I learned about parenting, about training them for careers...two apiece. I learned about education. Finally, I learned how good it is, how very good it is, to live within a full house, among five persons as fine as you and the others turned out to be. And one thing more, Scott. With you...I learned what it must feel like to have a son."

Scott Summers, X-Man, Cyclops, leader of heroes, vanquisher of Sentinels, super-villains, and evil mutants galore, understood one thing at that point:

How it was possible to be willing to say a million things at once, but be unable to say a one of them. Indeed, to be unable to do anything but go to the man in the bed before him, put his arms about his shoulders, and hug him very tightly.

Charles Xavier let the mask drop, because Scott could not see his face, because it had been a long time since anyone had treated him thus, and because he damned well felt like it.

He hugged Scott back.

It was a long time before either could say a word, and they did not break the hug when Xavier spoke. "Scott."

"Uhhuh?"

"I had hoped that I might spend some more time with you, with the five of you. Being away so long, and only seeing you for a month, seems hardly fair."

Scott released his grip and stood away, giving Xavier a smile both firm and good-natured. "Sorry, Professor. We've made plans. Bobby and Hank...they've gone to rent some U-Hauls. Should be back pretty soon."

"Oh. Did Jean go with them?"

"No. She's still here. Which brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you about, Professor."

Xavier looked at Scott, a smile trying to quirk one side of his mouth, though he forced his eyes to be stern. He knew what the next words would be.

"I've asked Jeannie to marry me. She said yes. We're going to her parents' house to let them know."

The Professor nodded. "Have you set a date?"

"The fourth of next month. You're invited, and expected. I'm hoping we can get Banshee and Mimic to come. But no other heroes. I don't want this to be like the Richardses' and Pyms' weddings."

"Congratulations, Scott. My very best to Jean, and yourself. Can it be held--"

"It'll be held at Jean's old church," said Scott. "That's what she wanted."

"I understand," said Xavier. "But one thing more, Scott."

"Yes, Professor?"

"What of the X-Men?"

Scott paused, weighed his words, then spoke. "We haven't decided. As individuals, we hope to keep on operating. As a team, well, it's been discussed. We could operate like the Avengers, just get together when we're needed. I think we'll see each other often enough. But, my God, Prof...we have to find our own paths. Maybe we'll find our way back together. Maybe not."

"I have a feeling you will, Scott," said Xavier. "Maybe there will be another X-Men soon. Maybe you all will begin anew. But I do not think your days as Cyclops are ended. Nor your days as an X-Man."

"You might be right about that, Professor. You might just be right."

"Will you be leaving soon, Scott?"

The young man hesitated. "Jeannie and I are going out in a moment to do some shopping in town. You know, for the apartment. We'll be back afterwards. Bobby and Hank will be back in before then. I hope you'll respect their decision."

"Of course, Scott."

"I imagine we'll be checking out tomorrow morning. We've still got a lot to pack up. You never know how much junk you can accumulate over five years."

"Or how many memories," said Xavier. "You'd be surprised to find out how hard they are to carry."

"No, I wouldn't, Prof."

"Scott. Call me Charles. You have graduated."

"I..."

"Call me Charles, Scott."

He looked at Xavier for a second, more glad than ever before for his sunglasses. Then he stepped to the door, opened it, and called down the hall. "Jeannie."

Jean's voice came, from not too far off. "Yes, Scott?"

"The Professor wants to say goodbye. He wants us to call him Charles."

Jean Grey rushed in, pretty as a rush of fall leaves turned red, in a green and white dress with a skirt nowhere near her knees. She had many things to say, but swept them all up in a crushing hug and some tears on her mentor's shoulder. Scott stood near the door and scratched under his nose with one finger, or appeared to.

After a few seconds, Xavier said, "I hear you have some shopping to do, Jean."

She took her head from his shoulder and placed Xavier's head between her hands. "Oh, Pro--"

"Charles, Jean."

"Charles, then. I have so much to say. The shopping can wait."

"No, Jean," said Xavier. "Some things cannot wait. We can speak at dinner, when Robert and Hank will be back. We will all--speak at dinner. But shopping should never be put off. Go." He put on his sternest face. "Or I'll give you ten demerits."

She bit her lip. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll be very much all right. Go. You young ones are not so young any more, but you're still too much for an old man like me. Jewelry stores and Saks await."

"More like the pipe racks at J. C. Penney's," grinned Scott. "At least for me." He stretched out his hand. "Professor, Charles, thank you."

Charles Xavier took Scott's hand, and offered his other to Jean. She took it, in turn. "Thank the both of you. Good luck. Now--go."

The two of them left.

Xavier listened to their footsteps clacking down the hall. He always loved to hear the sound of Jean's high heels on the green tile, but never showed it.

He never showed them a lot of things.

He was certain that, by the time any of them got back, he would be finished shedding his final series of tears.

********

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Next: Halfway Fallen Angel